[3:36 PM]
you don't think there's a better couch in the world than vernon's.
it's blue-gray and you think it's been through several world wars even though you remember the exact moment you picked it out at the local ashley furniture two years ago. there's a hole in the right-most cushion (from when vernon tried to kill a spider with a pen), and mascara stains (yours) you haven't quite figured out how to remove yet, but it is one of your favorite places in the world.
and quite frankly, it's the only place you want to be sometimes—especially now.
"vernon," you wail. "i think i'm destined to die alone. i'm going to adopt a million cats, move out of the city, and die alone."
you watch him fumble with his phone as he attempts to text the doordash guy the apartment code while juggling a box of tissues and your favorite four dollar trader joe's wine.
"hey," he says, as if attempting to calm a wild horse. "you know that isn't true."
he dumps his armful of crisis objects on the coffee table before taking a seat on the couch next to you.
this is the usual order of things.
somehow, you, local disaster, had befriended vernon, the most normal person in the world. and this—the wine, the doordash, the sad sza playlist he made you the week you met—somehow became a familiar ritual of yours. (even one you look forward to, seeing as you don't seem to run out of disasters.)
"he's an asshole," vernon supplies unhelpfully. "don't let it get to you."
"it's getting to me. it got to me. i've been gotten." you bury your head in your hands.
"you really deserve better." he takes some tissues out of the box and pats you on the shoulder, visibly searching for the right words to say.
quite honestly, vernon has never handled these situations with ease. he doesn't get worked up like your girl friends, and he doesn't throw his arms open for a long cry like your mom would. but he handles them, and you, with more patience than you ever think you deserve, and you think that's why you love him so much.
"who gets stood up on a hinge date?!" you snort into a tissue. "we had been talking for weeks!"
vernon shrugs as he wiggles the wine cork out of the bottle. "it just means you guys weren't right for each other."
you wad up your kleenex stack and vernon hands you another.
"i'm deleting hinge. and tinder. and bumble. and then i'm getting a cat."
"okay," he laughs. "i'll go with. i'll get one too so they can be friends."
"deal," you croak as you watch vernon stand up to get the delivery. "please tell me you got nacho fries."
"i got you two. with extra cheese sauce."
for the first time today, you laugh. you laugh big and loud because no one in the world knows you better than vernon, and you don't even think he knows it.
he looks at you, head tilted and eyebrows knit together like you've started speaking in tongues. you think he gives you that look at least once a day, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
you laugh again.
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i have a bts cursor chrome extension downloaded which means that my cursor is a cartoon version of this taehyung
and i did a virtual meeting with one of my student interns this morning where i had to share my screen and i fucking forgot she would see it jshdfjks
and then when i hover over a link the cursor changes to a cartoon version of this yoongi lying on his tummy
i'm such a bad example of professionalism for these college kids lmfaoo
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All the people that think Oppenheimer is a propaganda movie actually make me laugh, because it is propaganda! Just not the nationalistic/patriotism kind.
It’s literally about a guy that lives to regret his most renowned invention, who wished more than anything it wouldn’t become a weapon, and when faced with his own guilt is told to suck it up and fake a smile.
This movie is trying to get the audience to understand the plight of the scientist that feels like he invented death. He was manipulated time after time by the US military and government, and truly was used for his genius more than he “used” anyone.
It is a 3 hour movie of pain, regret, and opposition between scientific progress and moral implications of doing so.
Don’t shit on a fucking movie because you read a tumblr post about it. Do your own fucking research and maybe go see the movie before you lay such harsh judgement on it.
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It's no longer Halloween where I live, but anyway: Dictionary.com (of all places) had a contest guest-judged by my childhood hero, R.L. Stine. It was to write the first 50 words of a story involving a haunted house.
Sadly, neither of my entries won, but I thought I'd post them here just for fun.
Entry #1:
"Those who enter Strongmore Manor will haunt its halls forever."
I can vouch for that. I sneaked in for a dare in 1986, becoming the lucky thirteenth victim of Gregor Strongmore's curse.
I watch as another group of kids creep through the door. As if this place wasn't crowded enough.
Entry #2:
Steven could tolerate his roommates at first. The piercing screams, slamming doors and visions of hanged bodies were a small price to pay for buying a Victorian mansion so cheaply.
Then they took his cookies.
The cookies CLEARLY labeled with HIS name.
"That's it!" he screamed. "I'm calling an exorcist!"
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