In my line of work, there is no such thing as a weekend or “working hours”. People that are retired are also in a similar situation where technically there is no difference between a weekday and weekend.

The problem is that others have decided that Saturday and Sunday are days of rest. The genesis of this being religion. So, whether you work or not, Saturdays and Sundays are significantly quieter. In my case, they are much more peaceful and productive. Come Monday, other people’s bullshit (especially the one left unattended for two days) floods my inbox and blows up my phone.

TL;DR: Mondays suck anyway, thanks to religion. (/s…but just a little)

Why not both?

Disco Elysium absolutely counts.

Donut County. It’s cozy and silly and perfect before going to sleep.

I checked my PayPal account and the option for personalized shopping was unchecked. Maybe they changed the default opt-in behaviour?

The Barbie movie was primarily an excuse for Greta to put this epic monologue out into the world.

It is literally impossible to be a woman. You are so beautiful, and so smart, and it kills me that you don’t think you’re good enough. Like, we have to always be extraordinary, but somehow we’re always doing it wrong.

You have to be thin, but not too thin. And you can never say you want to be thin. You have to say you want to be healthy, but also you have to be thin. You have to have money, but you can’t ask for money because that’s crass. You have to be a boss, but you can’t be mean. You have to lead, but you can’t squash other people’s ideas. You’re supposed to love being a mother, but don’t talk about your kids all the damn time. You have to be a career woman but also always be looking out for other people.

You have to answer for men’s bad behavior, which is insane, but if you point that out, you’re accused of complaining. You’re supposed to stay pretty for men, but not so pretty that you tempt them too much or that you threaten other women because you’re supposed to be a part of the sisterhood.

But always stand out and always be grateful. But never forget that the system is rigged. So find a way to acknowledge that but also always be grateful.

You have to never get old, never be rude, never show off, never be selfish, never fall down, never fail, never show fear, never get out of line. It’s too hard! It’s too contradictory and nobody gives you a medal or says thank you! And it turns out in fact that not only are you doing everything wrong, but also everything is your fault.

I’m just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself into knots so that people will like us. And if all of that is also true for a doll just representing women, then I don’t even know.

When they say “live life to the fullest” they never mention that doing so will absolutely put you at greater risk of an untimely death. Worth it though.

A bunch.

Two while snowboarding. First time I hit some rocks that were hidden in fresh snow. When I checked my helmet, a rock had pierced it in the back of my head. It was easily a fatal hit had I not had my helmet on. The second time I accidentally rode off a cliff (took the wrong line). I landed on my back in powder but a snapped branch was sticking up two inches below my left arm pit. Had I fallen four inches to the left, it would have impaled me through the heart.

I lost count how many while surfing. Lost a surfer I was trying to rescue and almost drowned myself.

Oddly, never while downhill skateboard racing.

Twice while riding a motorcycle.

Once in a car. A pickup hydroplaned on the interstate right ahead of me. It went in the ditch, overcorrected and came right at my door at speed. I turned my wheel into it so it wouldn’t t-bone me but instead I missed it entirely and all I got was mud on my car and in my underware.

Blockage in three of my four main heart arteries. Two were 99% blocked. It required four emergency stents in my heart. I should be dead for sure from that one but a little voice in my head told me to skip the boat trip and go to the ER because I felt “funny”.

Stage 3 cancer. Beat it but lost my singing voice. Fuck cancer.

Microbiome changes can do this.

“I gotta say, it was a good lay.”

“Out, damned spot; out, I say.”

Call him princess. Please.

Seven
Seven
Seven is my name
Seven on the grandest scale
In seven I remain

I can see a dragon also fitting the requirement for people that suffer from giraffophobia.

I can’t set foot in LinkedIn. By virtue of having been in tech since 1997, my direct relations include a lot of C level execs from recognizable names. All I get the moment I log in is spam from sales people, recruiters, hustlers, etc. It is just desperate in there.

TIL that the “f” in NAFTA stands for “furry”.

Nonplussed…that takes me back.

I was educated in a private school for British ex-pats run by a very old and very posh couple. This was the early eighties and they were already in their seventies, so definitely from a different era. Because of this and because of the size of our school (my entire year consisted of nine kids) we ended up quite odd. Up until highschool we had a mild but “poshy” London accent and words like vexing, nonplussed, providential, etc., peppered our vocabulary. Then my family moved to Louisiana followed by Texas and that shit went right out.

Also, the word is aluminium. It is NOT aluminum!

I’ve got this one covered. No matter how much and how often I succeed, I still see myself as a failure.

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