And Remember Kids

"I got guns in my head and they won't go. Spirits in my head and they won't go." (c) The Strumbellas

STUDIO GHIBLI MOVIES AS FILM GENRES: COMEDY requested by @studiobhibli

Howl’s Moving Castle (2004) Porco Rosso (1992) Spirited Away (2001) Ponyo (2008) Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989) Castle in the Sky (1986)

Places we won't be shopping:

Walmart

Sephora (pending more research to confirm)

Home Depot

Big lots

Ace hardware

Dollar general

Chick fil a

Publix

Bass pro shop

Wayfair

Kohl's

Tractor supply Co

Hobby lobby

All have made donations to Donald Trump's campaign. Now I haven't shopped many of these places and I also don't have some of them around me but I thought I'd share.

I'd also like to mention that yes target and Ulta are alternatives but I'd rather, for makeup at least, buy from black owned businesses. Some of my best quality makeup comes from these brands.

I've recently begun buying from Adriana Nichole Cosmetics. Her pallettes are incredible! The duo chrome eyeshadows are out of this world beautiful.

The magic lip oils and foundation and liquid blush from Juvia's Place are fantastic. The lip oils are so hydrating.

I use The Honey Pot for organic tampons, panty liners and feminine wipes.

Pat McGrath, a legend in the makeup industry, is a high recommendation. The products are expensive but very much worth the price.

Briogeo for hair products. Their hair masks are quality.

Uoma Beauty. Their foundations and concealers and lip products are so good!

Made this for u 💝

I actually love hearing about reformed people's stories. I love hearing about people who were in toxic communities or people who used to objectively be dickheads talking about how they got out of that. How they made themselves better.

I hate how most people's initial reaction to stories like that are things like:

"How could you have ever done those things?!" "Oh my god, you believed those things?!" "Well it doesn't un-do the harm you did!"

People incessantly advocate for change but then refuse to allow people who have changed the grace of being acknowledged and given opportunities and chances.

I love hearing about ex-antis talking about how they don't spend their days being angry and sending death threats anymore.

I love hearing about ex-homophobes who realized there's no magic law about what is "natural."

I love reformed bullies talking about how they made amends with their victims and spend their days being considerate of others.

You can't scream about wanting people to change but then expect them to spend the rest of their lives stuck in the past and on who they used to be. You can't expect people to spend the entire rest of their lives grovelling and apologizing and demeaning themselves.

Instead of clinging to who they were, latch onto who they are.

Ask how they got out of it. Commend them on changing. Enjoy that there's one less cause of harm in the world.

It doesn't get more snowbaz than this.

I've got this recurring nightmare where I catch sight of a mirror and decide to creep myself out by levitating. (Look, it's scary in the moment, okay?) So I drew this to rewrite it.

I went to a christian funeral last week for an elderly person I used to go to church with and have been processing it for days. I didn’t know the person who passed very well (I mostly went to support their spouse), so I was able to see a christian funeral from outside the lens of personal grief for once and it was also the first one I’ve been to since deconstructing.

I have..so many thoughts.

There was just. So little emotion. So little sadness or grief was expressed. The pastor who led the service spent all of maybe thirty seconds talking about the man who had died, and the rest of the time warning everyone in attendance that they ought to get right with god before their own time came to an end. Repeatedly emphasizing how imperfect and sinful this poor man had apparently known he was deep down, and how wonderful that Jesus had bothered to save him in spite of that.

It felt disrespectful, to be quite honest. It felt so callous and cruel to all of this man’s grieving family and friends, to spend this time meant to be in his honor — a celebration of his life — talking about all his supposed flaws and sins and the inevitability of hell for the unsaved. And god, I know for certain that some of those people there were not christians. I’m not! And I wasn’t even one of the ones grieving. I can’t even imagine the pain of having to sit there through a service like that and be talked down to and chastised and scolded and threatened with never getting to see their loved one again if they don’t “ask god for forgiveness” immediately. All while mourning said loved one.

Just. The whole service! Every song, every anecdote, every prayer and poem, all about their god and their heaven and hell. That poor man was barely an afterthought in his own funeral, and what’s worse is that’s probably exactly how he would have wanted it! I just sat there and kept thinking, How does this help anyone? Who is this comforting?

It’s been a while since I went to a christian funeral as a practicing christian, but I don’t remember the sermons and songs being particularly comforting then either. It’s like every emotion is frozen, unable to be expressed, because you’ve been promised that you’re going to get to see them again. They’re not gone, they’re just with Jesus now, and actually that’s a good thing. That’s the real future you’re supposed to be looking forward to, if you’re a good believer, so there’s no reason to be sad or upset or angry. There’s no point in lingering over the grief. Better to use this great opportunity to save as many other souls as we can while we have a captive audience! ..It sounds ridiculous to me now.

I used to wonder why I never grieved the way people in books or movies seemed to. I thought it must be proof that I was secretly uncaring or broken, when I sat at my grandmother’s funeral and couldn’t shed a single tear despite how much I had loved her. But how many times was I lied to about death? To me, death wasn’t real. It wasn’t something I was allowed to get upset about, at least not for long. It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. And now I wonder how many deaths I have never grieved, how many losses I never processed because it wasn’t safe to do so. And I wonder when I will finally be able to cry without tricking myself into it with sad movies or angsty stories just to release a bit of all that pent-up grief.

The dissonances of all that masked loss and false promises were staggering last week at that funeral. I had felt it before, but never so acutely and with all the context I have now. Christians like to claim that they’ve overcome death, but to me it seems pretty clear that they’re just great at repression.

I just hope that I’m getting better at allowing myself to feel again. It’s a work in progress.