I owe a lot to that vanished group. Were you in it? I miss you. Made this short comic for Dirty Diamonds #4- breakups. If you missed it at MICE and SPX this year, it’ll be at Asbury Park Comic Con in 2014, and fingers crossed for TCAF.
this comic is ten years old!!!! The obfuscated forum was a matrix fanfic/RP guild on neopets around 2000-2001 . I’ve never been able to find any of the people in it, but I still think a lot about the slightly older mod who ran it and the folks I bumped into in fandom spaces who helped me figure out how to survive online; I owe a lot to them.
If someone starts crying and you don’t know what to do / how to react, offer them a tissue. If there are no tissues around, offer to go find something that can be used as a tissue, such as going to the nearest bathroom and getting toilet paper.
Often people who don’t have super advanced social skills panic / freeze when someone starts crying because they’re not sure how to react.
Offering them a tissue, or hurrying off to the closest bathroom to grab them some toilet paper that can be used as tissue, is a good and safe first step in reacting to someone crying. It comes across as caring and compassionate, and it’s definitely helpful as crying often gets messy with fluids leaking down your face.
Plus, it forces you to move and act which can bring you out of that frozen “ahh what do I do, what do I do” state.
Quite a few people in the notes have also suggested getting them a glass of water, which is also a great idea. Always stay hydrated, and a few sips of cold refreshing water could help bring them out of their emotional state.
If you have access to getting them a cup of tea that can also be comforting and uplifting to someone who’s crying.
For all the US-based folks, here’s Celiac.com’s annual GF candy list for 2023! Please remember (as always) to double check your ingredients, and contact the manufacturer with questions or concerns.
Breaking news! Fic author starts writing a fic thinking it will be short and it turns out to be long! It is not the first time nor will it be the last!
being fat is hard because you don’t just run into inaccessibility that affects only you. for example, if i’m bigger than a car seat is built for, then i inconvenience those sitting next to me. if i’m bigger than a room is built for, i encroach on others space. it makes the fat person feel like it’s a personal fault, and skinny people are often not kind to fat folks who take up space. i want to make this clear: it is Not the fat persons fault AND i understand the strain and shame it can cause fat people. this world is built to exclude fat people. fitting of my favorite phrase inspired by the social model of disability; it’s not the fat persons fault, it’s the worlds fault.
Keying/graffiti-ing someones car is old news now if someone cheats we go at their wardrobe with a seam ripper
yknow what? Fuck you *unstitches all your shirts and jeans*
My mother did this to my father once. They got into an argument, my very pregnant and hormonal mother stormed off…except they lived in a tiny apartment so the only place to go was to shut herself into the closet for a good long sulk. And while she was sitting in there, fuming, she looked up and saw her sewing kit on the shelf, and all my father’s uniforms hanging right there.
So she picked one shirt and one pair of trousers, carefully, methodically ripped every third stitch out of every seam, and then hung them back up together so that he would be likely to pick them at the same time. This took her a couple hours, so by the time she was done, the anger had worn down. She came out, she and my father had a talk that ended in apologies, after which they were tired and went to bed. My mother swears up and down that she meant to warn my father about the sabotaged clothes in the morning, but he wore a different uniform set and they were both still feeling a little raw, so she didn’t want to bring up the fight again. She decided to tell him that night instead.
And then she forgot.
Anyway, about four days later, my father apparently came home roughly an hour after he left for work, his clothes slowly, gently shredding off his body, the most bewildered expression on his face. “Paula,” he said, his voice mildly shell-shocked. “Paula, my clothes are broken.”
My mother promptly burst out laughing so hard that she went into labor. And that’s the story of my birth, heralded by petty vengeance and utter confusion.
Fun fact: two days after making this post, I sat patiently with a headache for hours until notifications for it made me remember that perhaps I, too, could do something about this situation.
