I was never much of an Elvis fan, but I will always remember the day he died because my best friend at the time, Vicky Poff, was heartbroken. She spent the night at my house that night and brought all her Elvis records and magazines with her, and we stayed up all night, having our own little wake for him.
Meet my new upstairs neighbors, the Romper-Stompers. You remember those plastic or tin cups you used to strap to your feet, when you were a kid? There was also the quick and dirty version, where you stepped on the side of a soda can so that the ends molded around the inner and outer sides of your shoes. And then, YOU ROMP. AND YOU STOMP.
So, I like to envision my neighbors with romper stompers on their feet. Because I can’t imagine any other explanation for why grown-assed adults would make that much noise.
(That water noise in the background is the fish aquarium. All the other noises are coming from my upstairs neighbors.)
Deadhead
Bumblebee
Because of the drought, a watering ban goes into effect on Monday, so there may not be many more flowers this season.
First, from the ACLU blog, if you’re a girl in Delhi, Louisiana and you are even suspected of being pregnant, you lose your rights to bodily autonomy and privacy. You must submit to a pregnancy test. If you refuse, you will be kicked out of school. If you take the test and are pregnant, you will be kicked out of school.
This, after a “quote in a box” image that circulated on Facebook over the weekend, stating that pregnant teens need an ass whipping. Because child abuse will solve EVERYTHING.
This world is not a safe place for women, and it’s an even less safe place for girls.
Second, this world is also not a safe place for brown people. My heart goes out to the Sikh community. I am sorry an entitled, racist, hate-filled white dude had access to guns. I’m sorry that racist news media has made a business out of spreading misinformation and intolerance, adding fuel to the fire of would-be terrorists like Wade Michael Page. I’m sorry.
Third, I’m sick to death of smug “christians” who insist that it’s Just Fine to hate the sin as long as they don’t hate the sinner. They frame it as “disagreeing with” homosexuality. As if it’s just a differing of opinions. They call it a “lifestyle choice.” As if being straight were a “lifestyle choice.” They claim that it’s possible to disagree with someone’s choices, but still love that person. Well, that’s bullshit, and it’s beneath contempt. Being gay is not a fashion choice. It’s not something you can just decide to stop being. It’s an integral, interwoven part of you. JUST LIKE BEING STRAIGHT is. So when you say that you hate homosexuality, you ARE, in fact, saying that you HATE gays. HATE. And last time I checked, Jesus said we should love our neighbors, not hate them. You can’t have it both ways.
Fourth, I’m pretty well over all the ignorant, bigoted assholes who think everyone is being a big meanypants to Chick-fil-a, just because the company’s president exercised his freedom of speech. “Waaah! You must tolerate our intolerance!” This was not about freedom of speech. This was about a company that funnels millions of dollars to hate groups like the Family Research Council and pray-away-the-gay groups like Exodus International. Why would anyone with a shred of human decency give a penny to them, knowing where that money is going to go? So fuck you, Dan Cathy, and fuck the horse you rode in on, and fuck all the hate-mongering “christians” who line up to eat your bigot chicken knowing full well that they’re supporting HATE.
“GET OFFA MAH TUFFET!”
My new neighbors woke me up again at 1am, stomping around, yelling at each other, and dropping boxes on my head. And then it started all over again at the crack of dawn. I hope their schedule becomes more reasonable SOON, and that they learn to walk like grown-ups and not God-effing-zilla.
Hi! Remember me? I’ve been busy doing lots of nothing. And by nothing, I mean NOTHING. I have new neighbors who decided that the middle of the night was the perfect time to move in, and they’re stompy stompers, so I’m over tired and totally lacking in any kind of sense of humor about the situation. Seriously, do they HAVE to drop boxes on my head at 1am? I DO NOT THINK SO.
And then they woke me up at the asscrack of dawn, which means I was wandering around aimlessly at butterfly o’clock. And my camera was handy. So I took some pictures, which is kind of like doing something. It may be all I accomplish today.
Hobomok Skipper (Poanes hobomok) on Zinnia
And then this adorable little honey bee came along and chased off the skipper and stole his flower. Poor skipper.
red paper boat 