Brianna. In search of lovely. Éirinn go Brách.
Christian, professional theologian, white. Ginger, baker, singer, busker. Skip Beat! trash, always. Ringer, Earthbender, fan of Cabin Pressure, bookworm, hyperpolyglot, etc.
I want landlines to make a giant resurgence / become affordable and accessible again because there’s nothing like sitting on your kitchen counter gossiping while twirling the bungee cord around and around
also hanging up on someone and physically slamming the phone into the wall? SO satisfying
If I didn’t have anticipatory anxiety I’d be unstoppable. But half of why I procrastinate on a task sometimes is purely bc I’m so scared of how much energy I would expend into doing it successfully. It is so much simpler to just lie down and do nothing
simple sad and lonely girls will watch Amélie (Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain) for the 50th time and will get physically sick at the thought of not having anyone so intimate to do the lip corner-neck-eye kiss with
the great thing about the kungfu setting is the hero can be fighting three strapping young men simultaneously and you know he’s not going to have any problem ripping them to shreds but then a portly octogenarian shows up and you think oh fuck this guy looks like bad news!!!
and after the geezer fuckin’ obliterates everyone on the scene with psychic energy blasts of incredible cosmic power he has to be helped into a chair because after all he is exceedingly ancient and those knees don’t bend like they used to.
Still insanely funny to me that he originally went to Emma Goldman speeches and tried to meet up with anarchists there to do smaller-scale praxis but because he was awkward and very loudly enthusiastic about wanting to do crimes, everyone thought he was a cop and wouldn’t talk to him, so he was like “ok fine I’ll just kill the President by myself then” and did
Peppers, Yorkshire Terrier/Shih Tzu mix, Degraw & Court St., Brooklyn, NY • “This is her first day out after being sick. She’s doing much better – she’s so happy to be out today. She’s a fun girl – she loves to be outside, she loves people. She loves to eat grandma’s cooking. She runs to the door when Amazon comes. When I was sick one time, she didn’t leave my side. She’s very loving. I love the girl.”
Jacques Chevillet’s meltdown in regards to being told to cut his hair as new military regulations lives rent-free in my head
Afterwards our regiment lodged in the villages around Koblenz, a stay that was memorable because I lost what was most precious to me in the middle of a drunken binge. It pleases me to report this circumstance that leaves me a memory I will regret for a long time I have to tell you, my friend, that our regiment all wore or hair braided and tied in pony tails. Up to this point, my finery consistest of the beauty of my head of hair, in which I always took great care. I can say that I was pointed out as the third soldier, because in the regiment there were twin sergeants and I who had the best heads of hair and the most handsome ponytails. I was so interested in mine that I would never have decided to cut it even if someone had given me a thousand francs, Well, my friend, I was on the eve of losing everything in order to conform to uniformity like the others. Our regiment received the order to cut off all pony tails: that is, to trim our hair in the Roman style When I learned this news, a saber cut could not have caused me more grief. I cried in despair, saw many non-commissioned officers and soldiers who were not much more pleased than I was I didn’t know what to do to avoid cutting off my ponytail. I wanted to desert instead. Thus I left the village without anyone seeing me and I went straight to Koblenz, where I encountered Florentz, a bugler of the Elite Company of the regiment. He was as vexed as I was. We ran round the streets of the city together, looking for a distraction from our heartache. So it took my fancy to go into the shop of a wigmaker to have myself freshly combed. There, I had my pony tail done and decorated in good taste. I spared nothing (since it was for the last time). Next I went with my friend into a wine merchant where we stayed part of the day. We drowned our heartache in a dozen bottles of Rhine wine, after which we found ourselves tipsy, walking arm in arm. In the city, we ran into Mr. Rene, an adjutant in the regiment, who asked us what we were doing there. I responded very resolutely. “We are not looking for a fight, Mr. René. We would like to find a regiment where they aren’t cutting off their ponytails, so we can go enlist in it. It is out of pique that you see us like this.” And Florentz laughed like a big half-wit, without saying anything. And babbling other reasons, we could almost not stay standing, but luckily we were dealing with a good adjutant who was not mean and who laughed at seeing us. He persuaded us to return to the village and our companions, where we arrived as best as we could, committing follies related to our condition. We soon attracted the attention of all our comrades: some laughed at my resistance to cutting such a beautiful ponytail, and others persuaded me that it was good riddance and that I was the last one to get the Roman haircut. But no one could make me see reason. So, my bunkmate, Billard. whom I encountered, brought me to our lodging where he put me to bed and I soon fell asleep. Would you believe, my friend, that they managed my sensibilities so far as to profit from the moment I was asleep to dispatch my ponytail, because on awaking I found myself shorn. I was very surprised to see my hair on a table. So, what could I do? What could I say? I had to get on with it like the others. There was no longer any remedy. I persuaded myself too that this was much more convenient for going on campaign and that consoled me.
