Wuwei-oo0 - Untitled - Tumblr Blog

"Look at this video of a child disappointed at their expensive gift! Children are so spoiled these days!"

That's cool. So, why did their parents upload their small child being upset online? In a public video, shared to the entire video? Why did they even save the recording?

Like. The kid in that scenario could be saying the most entitled nonsense in the world, and if their parents post it online to be publicly shamed, I'd still support the kid 100%. Thinking your child's life is a toy to exploit freely for #content is "spoiled"; when faced with mommy vlogers, kids should be demanding three PS5s and a new Bugatti, and we should be applauding them for it

I’m glad they specified that it was temporary.

little kids always latch onto the older cousin who is the most aloof to them they're like i am so sorry sweet old ladies who want to give me toys & candy but i do not give a fuck about you right now because i have GOT to go bother the unemployed 23 year old who wants to play call of duty in the dark in his room

When I was a TA for the freshman art class in senior year my students really adored me. It was so sweet. I’d had classes that were more ambivalent toward me but these guys were all about me.

I loved working with that teacher too. He was the kind of crunchy art nerd whose own kid didn’t know what candy was, who loved bird watching and wearing tweed. We’d chat while they worked and it was just a three hour pleasure rather than work.

When the class switched from charcoal to gouache a devil medium, the evilest watercolor, the students struggled. We’d have in class painting where they’d spend the whole time trying to mix one color instead of just accepting something as good enough and trying to practice other skills.

So one day I showed up to my shift and announced, “I have stickers. If you get color down for the whole composition, you get a sticker.”

They wanted. The stickers. So bad. Students who had agonized before about keeping lines neat and perfect plowed ahead. The first student to call me over I tsked at. “Putting grey on everything doesn’t count,” I chided, “I asked for colors on each object.”

The classroom worked in furious joy, young adults who had seen my bird and cactus stickers and gone feral. The teacher was flabbergasted. “Why do they want stickers? They could just buy stickers…”

I held up my water bottle and showed him a tiny 3D bubble sticker the program director had brought to my game teams space last week. “You never grow out of wanting to earn a sticker.”

By the end of class everyone had a sticker. There was more visible improvement in the work too, which surprised them since they’d been rushing. “Gouache looks terrible before it looks good. It’s okay to start messy and then refine.” The teacher had said the same thing but looking at their frantic sticker paintings they finally saw the truth of it.

Sometime around eight or nine my best friend and I learned about hickies. I suspect he’s the one who learned it and shared it with me. We were both utterly fascinated and on a dare I sucked mightily on my own upper arm to give myself one.

This was great fun, self made bruise. Hilarious.

But looking at the mark later I thought that perhaps it might be best to bandage it lest any questions crop up. My parents were often suspicious of my friendship with the boy across the street anyway, and I had a vague inkling that perhaps hickies might fall under the vaguely looming topic of Sex.

So I put a bandaid on it.

I’m not sure if my mom was suspicious regardless but as I was getting out of the shower a day later she popped in and spotted my unbandaged mark. The handle was flown off. She was a creature made only of yelling. She demanded to know where it had come from.

I told her I’d done it myself. She scoffed and said I couldn’t even reach that place on my arm. I put my mouth over the mark. She escalated her volume to ask why I’d hidden it if it were nothing and I gestured vaguely to encompass her irate direction. She did not care for that or believe me, but the discussion was tabled.

Tension simmered in the house. A few days later it was a weekend and I asked if I could stay over at my friend’s house. To the bafflement of my friend and I our parents were increasingly hesitant to allow this childhood bonding. If he’d been a girl there would be no issue but he was a boy.

It didn’t seem to matter that we were both children and that my menstrual cycle would not arrive for several more years. Or that a boy was safer from me than many female friends would be on later sleepovers. The constant jokes we both loathed from both sets of parents that someday we’d get married now seemed ominous.

There were phone calls. The sleepover was reluctantly agreed to. I packed up my pillowcase with all the stuff I’d need for the night and headed toward the door. My father stopped me.

He insisted I sit down. I sat.

He stuttered, “Now. You’re like. Ah. A flower. And your friend is a- uh. A bee. And bees will sting you- uhm- if they can so you need to use- uh- protection- from stinging.”

I was nine. I had no fucking idea what was going on and my dad was not really helping. As he rambled I slowly started to intuit that this was about S-E-X and was very probably the result of my hickey but I had no idea how to make him stop talking.

I will never understand why it was my father giving this talk in the first place. My mother had previously worked in a sex shop and phrases like, “Make sure to use lube, you don’t wanna rub it raw down there,” were a common part of my youth. My father meanwhile turned red as a beet and stammered at any mention of Sex.

He finished his mortifying and confusing talk with, “Don’t tell your friend about this talk.”

The door closed to my friends room and I immediately told him about it.

We were both utterly horrified at the thought of each other as anything more than frenemies. We fought, we played games, we set off fireworks. Why did adults need to taint that?

But tainted it was.

Both sets of parents continued to radiate an unwholesome suspicion about our friendship now and we never brought up the topic of sleepovers ever again. It is a source of tremendous amusement that despite all their worry over our relationship my friend and I both turned out gay.

Scenario: a sample of your DNA was taken, popped into a cell, and cloned into a baby, gestated in a sci-fi artificial womb vat. The first time you or anyone in your family meets this baby is after it has already been born out of said vat. You can hold the newborn if you want, it's up to you, but it is a living breathing baby that was cloned from your DNA and is genetically identical to you.

I love clone philosophy. Give me all your philosophy of clones

Scenario: a sample of your DNA was taken, popped into a cell, and cloned into a baby, gestated in a sci-fi artificial womb vat. The first time you or anyone in your family meets this baby is after it has already been born out of said vat. You can hold the newborn if you want, it's up to you, but it is a living breathing baby that was cloned from your DNA and is genetically identical to you.

I love clone philosophy. Give me all your philosophy of clones

Moo Deng, a famous baby hippopotamus at Khao Kheow zoo in Thailand ♡

Bonus:

It occurs to me that there are people who weren’t on this website in 2012 and therefore never saw the magical gif that you can actually hear:

It’s been over five years and that still impresses the hell out of me.

‘bread is bad for you’ ‘rice is bad for you’ sorry im not subscribing to the idea that staple grains that have been integral to cultures for centuries are evil. i love you carbs

might i ask, how did you get into construction?

Funnily enough, it started out as a joke? I never planned to go into the trades, I went to college and got my BA with the intention of becoming a technical writer. After graduating and starting to work in office jobs, I very quickly picked up a running joke saying "you know who doesn't have to deal with this? Electricians" every time I had to sit through a pointless meeting or do some inane corporate bullshit that in no way related to whatever my actual job was at the time.

I'm an overachiever and had a midlife crisis about my chosen career in my early/mid 20s lol. I had just landed the job I thought I wanted as a technical writer, but when I looked ahead at the coming 40+ years of my working life I couldn't imagine doing it for more than 10 without becoming utterly miserable. I was good at it, but the more I thought about it the more the idea of sitting in an office for at least half my life made me feel trapped and stifled.

I sort of sat down with myself one day and really thought about what things I had learned made me feel happy -- or at least content/satisfied -- across the jobs I'd already had. It was a judgement free list of facts: I liked the jobs where I got to move around and do many different things, because I really struggle with sitting in one place and being bored with working on the same thing for a long time (it's the ADHD). I liked the projects that had a tangible finished product that I could literally see people using or benefitting from, because I struggle to see abstract results and the concept of "this could be useful to someone somewhere" is meaningless to me as a reward. I didn't care if people knew it was me doing the work or if they even wondered about how the thing they used was created. Stuff like that. I wanted to work with myself, not against myself, and figure out what kind of job would get me most of those things. And after doing some research, lo and behold, the very thing I'd been joking about for years (being an electrician) was looking like a damn good fit. I took the very scary risk and jumped into a WILDLY different career I had very little knowledge of and absolutely zero experience in. My friends and family all thought I'd lost my mind, but I kept telling myself that, worst case? I didn't like this job either and kept hunting for one that I did like, and I wasn't going to be any worse off for the experiment. It's not like that BA I earned was going to expire XD

Within just a few months of starting my new job I was having the time of my life and loving what I was doing, and even on the worst days I still didn't hate the work. I've never looked back since!

you live most of your life like "oh yeah i like pineapple. pineapple is pretty good" the you eat a fresh pineapple and you're like

so this is the bounty of gods green earth? what could heaven provide me that is so sweet and satisfying? I would choose hunger every day forever, as long as I could sate it with a miracle like this. only a cruel creator would fashion a base animal like myself and a fruit of such decadence in the same world, and expect me to resist indulgence. I cannot blame Eve if this was her temptation, and truly I thank her, because these are the things that make life worth living.

Went for my adhd assessment testing at last and if they don't diagnose me with adhd they absolutely will diagnose me with Dumb Bitch Disease

where's that masterpost of quotes that have no right going as hard as they do. I'd like to submit "Protagonism is best left to teens and the insane"

there are no fucking words to describe the emotions this animal evokes in me

ok so i do have adhd but i feel as though this somehow transcends it. I just made a cup of tea 10 minutes ago. Im in a very small room. It has disappeared. I didnt leave the room. It just escaped. It is gone. It never was. Wheres my tea. It couldnt have gone anywhere and yet it has. Did i drink it and eat the cup and forget? Where is my tea. I miss her. This is fucked

A windy day with a moderate temperature will make you feel like you got reborn into a world that really loves you this time

an incomplete collection of tweets i consider to be short poems

I’m remarkably bad at food in general. I didn’t come from a household of cooks and my family doesn’t do food in a wholesome way. Food ends up being fuel that’s tiresome but necessary for the most part.

There’s also not like easily accessible classes or ways to really learn about food. So I really feel like I can’t be blamed for this one instance when I was living in Arizona.

I had moved there to be with my then-girlfriend. I ended up doing more of the shopping because she was working 11pm-4am shifts at the radio station and her sleep schedule was disastrously not conducive to daily tasks.

She requested lettuce for her lunch sandwiches. The morning after shopping I awoke to her standing over me in bed.

I sleepily greeted her and she said, “I’m not mad, but did you buy cabbage?”

My tired brain processed this. What was the difference between cabbage and lettuce? Lettuce was round. Was cabbage? I didn’t think cabbage was round. Wasn’t it purple? “No,” I said decisively.

“Come look at this.”

I dutifully got up to follow her to the kitchen. She pulled out the vegetable I’d bought. It still looked vaguely lettucey but I was starting to feel a tingle of uncertainty.

“It’s lettuce,” I stated, proving once again that just saying something doesn’t make it so.

“I ate a whole sandwich with it. It didn’t taste like lettuce.” Folks. It was cabbage. She’d eaten several leaves of raw cabbage. But in my defense why didn’t she know better?

“No, it’s definitely lettuce.” An undercurrent was forming between us. She knew I no longer believed this was lettuce. She’d eaten raw cabbage leaves rather than question me sooner about the purchase. But I was clearly willing to die on this hill.

“Where the receipt?”

What followed was an instantaneous mad dash across the kitchen to secure the receipt first. We flailed and squabbled at each other, both desperate to have our way with the truth of the matter.

My grubby little hands found it first and we wrestled down to the ground over the unassuming slip of paper. I was wily and quick, but she was stronger, and we tussled with our whole hearts over the inconsequential thing.

When it was clear she was moments away from overpowering me I shoved the whole receipt into my mouth like a frantic little Pac-Man, undeterred by the toxic bitterness of the receipt paper.

We ended up in stitches on the ground as I laughed and choked on the wretched thing. I spat it into the garbage and thus won the right to my fiction. It was lettuce.

Andromache of Scythia

1184310666254

**Update For the people asking I asked her and she bought the frog tea set HERE 🐸