A clock whose face goes up to 13 is a total cliché at this point – If I walked into some Hell-dimension and saw that, I’d just think they were trying too hard. You know what would really unnerve me? A clock whose face stops at 11.
Especially since “The Eleventh Hour” is generally used to refer to the Last Possible Point BEFORE everything goes horribly sideways, so this would suggest that you are in a place perpetually stuck at the terrible and fruitless moment just shy of impending disaster.
This is Arwen, she’s a Husky/Kelpie mix and a little Asshole:
“I wonder if she can jump?” my dad asks the first five minutes we have her. She perks up at the word, and clears a six-foot fence form sitting on the ground. “Oh.” Says dad. “Shit.”
Later that night she got up on the counter and ate three pounds of corned beef in roughtly 68 seconds but this was considered part of the learning curve of having a new dog.
I wake up at 4 AM to the sound of the toilet being flushed repeatedly in the hall bathroom, and assume plumbing is now posessed by angry and wasteful ghosts. I get up to disconnet it and find her in the Bathroom, standing to flush the bowl, then shoving her head in to drink the running water. I’m not totally awake, so I stand there like an idiot trying to understand this, and my sister gets up to see what the noise is, sees the same thing and also stands there. Fiance notices my absence and does the same. Mom eventually wakes up and finds us standing around like very confused zombies and almost joins the parade of baffled zombies before shreiking “THE WATER BILL!” We got her a circulating water bowl after that.
My parent’s don’t have AC, but they haveone of those “fridge on top, pull-out-freezer below” fridges. Last summer, we were remarking that we might need to shave her so she didn’t get heatstroke, to which she looked up and made a disgusted noise at us. …Then got up, used the dishrag to pull open the freezer and climbed on top of the frozen vegetables, stretching out and sighing contentedly. “Arwen,” Mom began, but was interrupted by a loud ‘WHAAAaaaaarrr?” from Arwen. “Ok you can stay there for now but we’re getting you a kiddie pool so you have to get out when we get back. Don’t eat anything.” She ate a bag of frozen green beans and farted for three days straight.
Took her walking along the lake with the long lead so she could sniff things to her hearts content. She went about shoving her head in the undergrowth, usually coming up with her head covered in leaves and pollen.
Except for the bush where she came back out with a 7-foot Bull Snake wrapping itself around her ehad and neck, trying it’s best to strangle her before she can eat it. She immediately ran back to me, the parts of her face not occupied with the snake arranged in a gleeful expression of “Look! I found Snacks!”
I screamed, not immediately regognizing that it wasn’t a rattler, and fell, splitting my knee on a rock. The screaming made her let go of the snake, but I still had to grab her and wrestle the snake off her because it lacked the sense to just scuttle away. I finaly got it lose from her (Despite her best effort to continue trying to eat it and turned around to fling it off the trail-
-And directly into the face of one of my 90-year-old neighbors who’d come out to see what the screaming and profanity was, making her collapse.
I’m pretty sure being told “I accidentally threw a snake at my neighbor.” was the highlight of that EMT’s day. Dottie was unharmed but she still doesn’t speak to me.
One day, we left her in a Harness and overhead tether in the (at the time) unfanced back yard so she could enjoy some relatively free-range outdoors time. I walked by the window not a minute later to find her completely GONE, and race out to the yard to find her. It took me a good heart-pounding five minutes to realize the overhead tether was goign UP into the ancient silver maple and realized that 1. Arwen can apparently do something really weird with her shoulders where they pop out sideways, allowing her to bear-hug the tree and 2. climb a good 40 feet into the three to fight 3. A porcupine, which i didn’t even know LIVED out here.
Fortunately, Porcupines weigh considerably less than Awen and she couldn’t get a good enough foothold to get all the way up to it, but I still had to climb up there and lower her down, barking dog profanities at the porcupine the whole way.
My parents recently acquired a mechanized recliner which has been instumental inmom’s hip surgery recovery. Execpt that Awen Also likes lounging on the furniture, and is more than capable of hitting a large, elder-friendly button with her paw. So now when she gets back from a walk or the dog park she makes a beeline for the living room, get in the recliner and pushes the button until it’s flat and stretches out in it.
My parents didn’t have a problem with this because she gets out of the chair when they ask her (Mom even tells her “Go get my chair ready” in winter because she does a good job pre-warming it), until last winter when Arwen taught my dog Charlie, another devoted couch animal how to do this.
One afternoon there was a tremendous outburst fo barkign and snarling from the living room and we rished in to find both dogs in the recliner, Charlie on the fully-reclined back and Arwen on the elevated seat and foot rest, bellowing at eachother for control of the recliner, thier movments having pitched it back to it’s two hind feet, the device swaying to and fro like a leather covered boat upon the high seas, a furry mutiny on board. Neither dog was willing to yeild the plush throne, nor to listen to the humans yelling at them to knock it the hell off, until Arwen tackled the usurper, kocking him off and managing to cantaleiver the recliner clean over, flipping it into the hall, both dogs and all humand miraculously unharmed.
She still doesn’t let him sit in it.
I love her so much.
(If you got a laugh out of this, please consider donating to my Tip Jar or Paypal to get Arwen (and Charlie!) nice treats)
Evening reblog with an additional Shenanigan I just remembered:
One of the regulars at the dog park was an unfixed basset hound with an obnoxiously indifferent owner. “Brad” shows up pretty much to smoke weed and let “Bojangles” harass the other dogs, in spite of regular complaints about Bo starting fights and trying to mount every dog, leg, and toddler in sight.
One evening, Bo was particularly interested in Arwen, aggressively following her, nipping her heels and trying to mount her, even after her usual wolverine-like Snap’n’Snarl, which has tended to discourage unwanted suitors before. Brad was Too Damn High to notice, as usual, but mom knew that if Arwen actually bit Bo, Arwen would be the one in trouble and was trying to call her when Bo made yet another attempt and Arwen finally had it.
Instead of rightfully tearing his face off, Arwen instead did what Mom described as “A Judo-style front-flip” that pulled Bo clean off the ground and threw him on his back, Arwen landing on her feet like a cat. Bo’s stubby little legs didn’t allow him to right himself before Arwen jumped on him, front paws slamming into his saggy basset balls, squatted over his face, and peed on him.
“ARWEN NO!!” howled my mother as nearly everyone else present laughed, but having made her point, Arwen daintily got off Bo, and trotted to the gate, ready to go home. Bo yelped but got up and skulked away, only moderately bruised, cowering under the bench by Brad, who finally noticed something might be amiss.
Mom remembers hearing “Dude, why is my dog all wet?” right as they were leaving. Apparently nobody told him what happened, becuase Brad still brings Bo to the park, but Bo has much better manners now.
I read this whole thing to my mom and upon reading the end part she was like “OH MY GOD! Our dog Lady once flipped another dog and I didn’t know it was a thing dogs could do!!”
So there’s that.
Update: Arwen was at the vet’s office for a check-up and daycare, and decided partway through the afternoon that the other two kelpies were annoying her, but she didn’t want to go inside to be kenneled for a nap, so she instead…
…ninja’d her way onto the vet’s roof despite there being three people in the yard watching the dogs and no clear way up there. She had a pleasant hour of watching the vet staff try to figure out how she did that and how they were going to get her down before mom came to pick her up.
“Arwen, get your furry butt down here!”
At which point Arwen obidently got down by jumping into a nearby tree that’s technically inside a neighboring house’s yard, shimmied down that like a bear, then walked out of their side yard and back around the block to come sit at Mom’s feet, putting her paws up like she expected a treat.
That tree is not accessible from the daycare yard. We still have no idea how she got up there.
Shine on you beautiful bitch.
This just gets better and better every time i see it
I…
I have fostered doggos for a good majority of my life and my brain simply cannot process half of the bullshit in this post…
1. She’s a mix of two extremely smart breeds 2. She’s a mix of two extremely energetic breeds 3. The inmates trained her to do lots of “Extracirriculars” like veritcal leaps, how to climb chain-link fence, agility courses, physical-comedy type tricks becuase they finished teaching her the regular Service Dog Cirriculum and wanted to keep working with her. 4. Due to said Extrcirriculars, she doesn’t have any fear of heights, strangers, animals, or the nonsense of other dogs.
She does do the Professional Service Animal thing when we put her vest on, but then she’s working and has things to do like teaching social skills to people or being a living stress ball to someone having a bad time, so all that brains, energy and training can be put towards a productive end, but if she hasn’t got an active job, Shenanigans Ensue.
I love everything about this omg
Update:
She ate a four inch hole in the carpet because someone dropped a pork chop there. She’s completely fine, it all passed without so much as an upset stomach on her part.
-also ate the garden hose because we weren’t spraying her with it.
-conned one of the guys that installed the AC out of his sandwich by pretending to bark at something on the other side of the house, and doubling back when he came to investigate.
-is back on the therapy circuit helping kids in a summer school program get better at reading by having them read books to her. Her favorite student right now is a boy from Venezuela who is still learning English who gives her a big hug every morning. She doesn’t normally like hugs but she puts a paw on his back to hug him back.
They’re more comfortable, still form fitting, and best of all: THE POCKETS. THEY HAVE ACTUAL POCKETS.
don’t believe me? look:
these are boys pants, and they look just as good on me as any other skinny jeans I own
See that phone? I’m going to put it in the pocket. Must be so small right??
Ah yes, girl pants length. Probably can’t fit any further than that-
what? what’s this?
Good god. Oh good lord in heaven. This is blasphemous.
Look at how much room is still there. There’s chaos in the streets. Babies are crying. Fashion designers are screaming out of fear of the unknown.
Buy your pants in the boys section, girls. Live in the beautiful world you deserve where you can fit shit in your pocket.
Curvy ladies: Men’s dress pants have more room in the butt. I don’t know why, I only know that all my dress pants for work are off the rack in the men’s department in Target. Literally nobody has noticed, except a couple of my younger coworkers who’ve asked me–you guessed it–”oh my god, where did you find pants with pockets?”
Tall ladies: men’s pants are easier to find in longer lengths than women’s pants are.
Trans ladies: Wanna get on this gravy train, but afraid people will misgender you for wearing clothes off the men’s racks? Step one: tell me who these people are and I will punch them in the face. Step two: if it doesn’t make you dysphoric, please don’t feel obligated to wear pants off the women’s racks if pants off the men’s racks are more comfy/useful to you. I’m a cis woman who’s been wearing pants from the boys’ section and, later, the men’s section, ever since I hit puberty and in thirteen years maybe, maybe half a dozen people have noticed. And it’s always women asking the oh-my-god-pockets question. You’re all good. ❤
Fat ladies: you will pay the same for a pair of 42×32 jeans as for a pair of 34×32 jeans, instead of having to pay some kind of Fat Penance Tax by way of being in the “plus size” section. Also, did I mention more room in the butt?
Ladies concerned about modesty: For obvious reasons, there is more crotch space in men’s pants. Embrace it and enjoy a life free from cameltoe worries and spontaneous labia-wedgies when you squat down.
All ladies: I swear to god the waists in women’s pants these days are made specifically to fit exactly nobody so that no matter what you do, your underwear will show. Men’s pants do not do this. The waists sit where they’re supposed to and will actually lay flat against the small of your back instead of flopping open to show your unmentionables to the world. If you want hiphugger jeans, buy one leg-length too small and one waist-size too large and let them hang, and they still won’t accidentally show your undies. Men’s pants will last longer. They cost less, in a lot of cases. Embrace the men’s jeans. Buy the men’s jeans. Stop buying shitty flimsy women’s jeans that wear out in six months.
AND FINALLY: to determine your size in men’s pants, take a tape measure around your waist at its smallest point. This is your waist size and will be the first number in a pair of men’s pants. Next, take the tape measure from about an inch below your no-no squares parts, and run it to your ankle. (You may need a friend or parent to help with this.) This is your inseam length, and will be the second number on a pair of men’s pants. Men’s and boys’ pants are tailored the same way, so if you have trouble finding your waist size in men’s, hop over to the boys’ section. Feel no shame. If they’d give us decent fucking pants we wouldn’t have to steal theirs, right?
Listen you guys, I am SO MAD ABOUT THIS. I’ve seen this first post before, and recently my mom said, “Hey, did you see that post on Tumblr about shopping for jeans in the men’s department?”
And I said yeah, I’d seen it, I’ve been through the Trying To Fit Clothes On My Stupid Body wars, and this post really only applied to skinny jeans because they’re so stretchy. It couldn’t possibly work for regular jeans! I have TRIED SO MANY TIMES. I’ve always shopped in the men’s department because women’s clothes are like 90% bullshit and 10% fake pockets.
But I hadn’t seen the second addition, which gave me more hope, and I decided to just try on a few pairs when I was at Old Navy the other day. They have some “classic” jeans with no give to them at all, which is what I was trying on years ago that convinced me it just wasn’t possible. (Jeans in my price range didn’t really come with any form of stretch back then, as I recall. Textile technology is bad-ass.) But these days they mostly have “flex” jeans that have some give to them. (Women’s jeans are usually labeled “stretch” but apparently men’s have to be “flex” like they need stretchy garments so their HUGE MUSCLES don’t just TEAR THEIR CLOTHES!)
This was totally an impulse decision so I couldn’t measure myself, but I grabbed a few sizes based on what I vaguely thought my measurements probably were and decided it couldn’t possibly be worse than the endless cycle of regret, dissatisfaction, and recrimination that is trying on women’s clothing.
The first pair I tried on fit like a DREAM. I’ve been gaining weight lately which is a whole separate nightmare (mainly centered around “but I don’t WANT to buy new bras, this is bullshit!”) and the reason I need to buy new jeans because nothing freaking fits me, and I was sure these wouldn’t either, but DAMN. They’re the best pair of jeans I own. Twice as thick, pockets twice as big, legs nice and loose (they don’t even sell women’s jeans with a cut remotely similar to this), and contrary to my super dumb opinion from before this experience, they’ve got my plenty of room for all my womanly curvey bits. AND because they’re actually a relaxed fit instead of trying to cling to every inch of me, they don’t show my weight nearly as much as my women’s jeans do, they’re easier to move in, they’re not constantly inching down my hips with every move I make, and overall they just make me feel GOOD about how I look which is a strange new sensation I could definitely get used to.
It’s like a miracle. I want to cry both out of joy and because of all the shitty jeans now filling my closet when I could have been buying comfortable, relaxed, pocket-having men’s jeans all these years. Many blessings to the posters above, may your crops grow and your cows give milk and your jeans hold all the gadgets you desire.
Also: men’s pants have constant sizes that are based off of actual measurements instead of the women’s whatever-the-company-wants-to-make-the-size sizes. They’re far more reliable and your size will translate to other brands.
@get-dunkd-on help me remember this for our next Goodwill run lmao
I HAVE to try some men’s jeans. Sick of these super skinny show everything always having to be hitched up no pocket crap jeans!
Honestly signal boost. Because imagine this actually starts some kind of ludicrous pants revolution that ends up causing women’s pants fashion company’s sales to tank, absolutely forcing them to realize men’s pants have always had the right idea and start doing that instead of this bullshit. Like just imagine. And don’t just signal boost this. Tell every woman you know. Tell every trans friend and every curvy friend out there. You see a lady down the street, stop her and tell her you’ve discovered a new gospel and it’s purchasing men’s pants. With the way women spread information when we’re excited, the mentioned scenario could actually be hella achievable
was driving with my girlfriend and spotted a vulture with a broken wing standing on the side of the road. there was an animal hospital nearby with a wildlife unit so we pulled over and picked it up and drove it to tufts. i think its got a good chance at survival and it feels good to have been able to make the call and help an injured wild animal out
the funniest part of this was showing up at the Tufts emergency room with all these average folks with their dogs sitting politely on leashes in the waiting room and us being two very sweaty, disheveled haggy dykes who are bursting in and nearly running up to the desk holding a vulture in nothing but our bare hands and the look of extreme shock and horror on everybody’s face
Gay culture is bursting into an animal clinic looking to get medical treatment for a carrion bird
sometimes a descriptor is just that, guys: a descriptor
oh, goat?
PLEASE give me context for that
so, our party was traveling in a mountainous area and the DM mentioned there was a goat a little ways away, just a little scenery building. the party immediately spent the next (real-life) 20 minutes insight checking the goat, detecting magic on the goat, questioning the goat, ect. eventually the sorcerer ended up killing and eating the goat. DM was very exasperated.
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