@Ganymede said in Real World Peeves, Disgruntlement, and Irks.:
I’m not sure I understand what you revealed, but that’s all right. My understanding does not enhance or diminish your courage.
I'm not sure trans people understand being trans either so that's just fine
Here's hoping the ugly fuckin' duckling turns out to be a swan
ETA: and thank all of you for being as supportive and wonderful as you are. It means so much to know people are just... okay with this sort of thing.
Well people have responded positively so far which is good I suppose.
Now I have to, you know... socially transition.
Oh man
Idk where else to put this
I JUST CAME OUT ON FACEBOOK. TO EVERYONE. EVERYONE KNOWS NOW. OH MY GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE
Thank you. I appreciate that, truly. I've never really struggled with suicidal ideation, in part to that support. 
People who put up with me. It's a broad category and sounds needlessly self-effacing, but it's honest. Most people in my situation would be, at best, living in a shelter and surviving off of disability. A great many would be homeless.
I am employed by people who understand my illness and genuinely care about me, and though I am embarrassed to be living with my parents as I approach 30, I am deeply, deeply grateful.
The suicide attempt rate for trans people is terrifying. It is entirely possible I would not be alive but for my family and friends. That is a very sombering thought to carry with you.
It's a fuckin' ROWLET and he is a POKÉMON and how DARE YOU IMPUGN THE GREAT RUMPUS CAT
Ffs gany this is why I didn't go into details
I did that in college with a reasonably large and very fake tree who quickly became known as Daphne (I lived in a house full of classics and archaeology undergrads). Daphne would move from people's doors to various stair landings to, in one particularly memorable incident, the inside of a shower.
Whereupon she promptly fell on top of the person who went in bleary-eyed in the morning for his daily ablutions.
He was not amused.
@Derp said in Real World Peeves, Disgruntlement, and Irks.:
@Rinel said in Real World Peeves, Disgruntlement, and Irks.:
Something like 80% of my past week's meals have been soup. The same soup.
I feel guilty for complaining about this because it's a really lovely soup and this is first world problems to the max... but I really don't want any more soup. ;_;
...what kind of soup? Wanna trade for some pasta?
I'd kill for some pasta aglia e olio. It's an everything soup. Carrots, peas, potatoes, chicken, sausage, other assorted leftovers as necessary.
Most of my clients are sex offenders. I have to learn a lot about forensics. I won't get into the details.
Anyway, working in crime has me interested in things like the perfect crime, which is a fun thought experiment but by itself has put me on innumerable lists, I'm sure. Combined with the somewhat-famous hypothetical "you have X amount of time to prepare before everyone in the world tries to kill you (and only you) for 24 hours; how do you survive" and the aforementioned forensics research... I'm really glad I'm an attorney.
Something like 80% of my past week's meals have been soup. The same soup.
I feel guilty for complaining about this because it's a really lovely soup and this is first world problems to the max... but I really don't want any more soup. ;_;
@Ghost said in Why We Don't Make New Friends Anymore (Or Creepers Do Creepy Things):
In my estimation you can probably trust people at ACTUAL sex/swinger/bdsm clubs more than some of these people.
You almost certainly can. Kink communities tend to take consent very seriously and proactively warn new members about predatory people in the area.
Your safety comes well before any duty you may have to give to homeless people. I still look like a six foot tall guy in his twenties; I have the privilege of not being accosted, for now.
@Admiral said in RL Anger:
The ones who approach you and ask for food/money are junkies or scammers, for the most part. You're just enabling bad habits or a toxic lifestyle.
This is what I mean when I talk about people writing off addiction. It's not a bad habit; it's a serious disease that kills people.
Would I prefer that my state focus on harm reduction by implementing enormous structural reform? Yes. But I'm also okay with giving someone some funds so they can go shoot up now instead of ODing and dying alone under an overpass because they went overboard after going into withdrawal.
When people scoff and say "oh, they're just going to spend it on drugs," it makes me think that those people don't really understand addiction.
I usually give food to the homeless folks I come across. But sometimes I give cash. Whether they're legitimate or they're "scamming" for the grand total of 12k per year, they need it more than I do.
Beefeater gin and schweppes tonic. I am a lady of simple tastes.
ETA: Delicious cocktails off the top of my head include...
The B-52
The Old Fashioned
The Sazerac
The Orgasm (dangerously delicious)
The Screaming Orgasm (much stronger than its mute counterpart but less delicious and therefore, ironically, somewhat safer)
The White Russian
Bold drinks are official IBA cocktails and every bartender should know them. The White Russian isn't official but the Black Russian is, so any bartender worth her salt should be familiar with it.
Yvette for Primogen 2019!
+local
+can punch things really hard
+doesn't like bright lights
+knows what it's like to need a fix
-the fix isn't blood
-not actually a vampire
+/- angry, like... all the time?
+/- no I mean seriously angry
+/- damn girl calm down
Church Going
Once I am sure there's nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats, and stone,
And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut
For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff
Up at the holy end; the small neat organ;
And a tense, musty, unignorable silence,
Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off
My cycle-clips in awkward reverence,
Move forward, run my hand around the font.
From where I stand, the roof looks almost new-
Cleaned or restored? Someone would know: I don't.
Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few
Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce
'Here endeth' much more loudly than I'd meant.
The echoes snigger briefly. Back at the door
I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence,
Reflect the place was not worth stopping for.
Yet stop I did: in fact I often do,
And always end much at a loss like this,
Wondering what to look for; wondering, too,
When churches fall completely out of use
What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep
A few cathedrals chronically on show,
Their parchment, plate, and pyx in locked cases,
And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep.
Shall we avoid them as unlucky places?
Or, after dark, will dubious women come
To make their children touch a particular stone;
Pick simples for a cancer; or on some
Advised night see walking a dead one?
Power of some sort or other will go on
In games, in riddles, seemingly at random;
But superstition, like belief, must die,
And what remains when disbelief has gone?
Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky,
A shape less recognizable each week,
A purpose more obscure. I wonder who
Will be the last, the very last, to seek
This place for what it was; one of the crew
That tap and jot and know what rood-lofts were?
Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique,
Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff
Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh?
Or will he be my representative,
Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt
Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground
Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt
So long and equably what since is found
Only in separation - marriage, and birth,
And death, and thoughts of these - for whom was built
This special shell? For, though I've no idea
What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth,
It pleases me to stand in silence here;
A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognised, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.
-Larkin
