I must know if you made that picture or you found it online somewhere. I have to send it to the guy who’s the head of our Godzilla film festival.
And it gets worse:
I admit that I found it. I don’t have that many Godzilla figures ( and I know I don’t have peeps shaped like Raving Rabbids ).
I got called a racist on Twitter earlier. I uploaded a pic of my fiancée and I to a Twitter thread about relationships (I’m white, my fiancée is Black), saying that some of us white people love and support strong, beautiful Black women, and I got this response from someone:
“He has a sick fetish for black women like his rapy ancestors. He’s saying he supports black women, meaning I don’t support black men. Just a little divisive strategy that only works with 
wenches. We see u“
It was a little disheartening. I don’t think I’m a racist. I don’t know of any way to dispel the notion, though. Girl Wonder doesn’t think I am. I’m among the more liberal people I know (which may not mean much).
Sounds like the Twitter troll is the racist, as well as a garden-variety asshole. . I don’t think his opinion deserves any consideration whatsoever.
Pretty minor rant, but we have a floor lamp with a rotary switch that’s going bad. So today I decided to hit the hardware store and get a replacement switch and put it in. I took out the old switch and took it with me, spent about 10 minutes looking at the various switches and comparing to the old one, and decided on one that I thought would work. Got it home, tried to put it in, and the switch is too big for the hole in the lamp that it needs to fit through. So I figured I’d hit a couple other home improvement stores and see if I had any better luck. Every store that I went to had the same damn brand of switches! So I’m either going to have to go to a lighting supply shop (I think we still have one in town) or just buy a new lamp to replace the one that’s perfectly fine except for the switch. Argh.
Q: why not measure the diameter of the new switch with a caliper, lock it tight, and then see which drill bit in your tool box matches it? From there you just place the lamp in a vice and bore out the hole.
Willful ignorance and deeply ingrained hatred are not anything you’re going to fix on Twitter.
Don’t worry about it. As has been already said, don’t argue with a twitter troll. You and your fiancee know what is in your heart. There are extremists of all races out there, with fucked-up ideas about race and history. It is not your job to set them straight about anything, nor is it necessary to try to “prove” that you are not a racist in the face of their accusations.
Just the two cents of an African-American woman who has been in a happy 18-year marriage to an Italian-American man.
Dearest neighbors,
I got the tallest, spikiest fence that the HOA would allow because I wanted to keep my backyard to myself. [Before any readers get upset, it’s 4 feet tall and made of extruded aluminum.] So imagine my surprise when I looked out and saw the destructive forces of nature you call “grandchildren” climbing over said fence and rummaging around under the cedars. I quickly went out to unlock the gate and usher them back toward your yard. Aside from the obvious danger of anyone climbing a spiked fence, I would like to point out that my yard is not childproofed (of course, neither is yours, although I’ll admit that the improvised burn barrel made from old tire rims is very rustic chic). I like my yard, along with the little plants, trees, and decorative things in it; I’ve seen what your grandkids did to your garden, and I don’t want that happening over here. Hence, the installation of the fence. It’s also not my responsibility to look after the little scamps when you can’t be bothered to sit on your porch and supervise them. Don’t I recall you saying that grandkids are the greatest blessing life has to offer? Well, why not try keeping those little blessings closer to you? 
In case there’s any doubt, your phones ARE listening to you even when you don’t want them to.
I have Google Assistant basically disabled on my phone. That is, if I press and hold the home “button”, it’ll pop up saying something like “Say OK Google to ask a question” or whatever.
A couple years back, I was driving my daughter somewhere, and had the phone in nav mode, and all of a sudden it chimed in with “I don’t understand…(whatever it was one of us had just said)”. I did some searching, and there was a setting saying “turn it off except when navigating”. Which kinda made sense: if you’re driving somewhere, you might want the phone to respond to your voice when otherwise you do not want that to happen.
BUT: the other day, my husband and I were talking about something innocuous. Step stools, to be exact.
Then I picked up my phone, hit the power button to turn the screen on - and got a pageful of ads for stepstools.
Da fuq???
Doing some googling, this may be some kind of bug - but now I really do not trust the damn thing. I wound up disabling all the permissions for the “Google” app, despite dire warnings saying “Your phone may not work right!!!” and… it works fine.
Translation: Your phone may not be doing what we want it to do, instead it might do what you want it to do.
Huh. I wonder if I can do that for the Bixby voice assistant on my phone. I don’t recall ever turning the damn thing on, but it’s started showing up at random times to tell me it didn’t understand what I was saying or to ask if I want it to do something for me.
I have Siri enabled on my phone, and so far I haven’t seen any advertising specific to any conversations we’ve had. I gave Siri a male English voice, which I find less annoying than the classic Siri woman’s voice.
My rant: I’ve eaten my last raw oyster. The last time I had any, I had stomach upset and diarrhea the next day, and I thought maybe I had gotten ahold of one bad one. Yesterday, I cautiously had two small ones from my husband’s half dozen. Hoo boy, the results are such that you’d think I was doing colonoscopy prep. Last night and this morning was queasiness and unending diarrhea. It’s still going on, and I think I’ll have to call in sick today.
So, no more Kumamotos for me, no matter how delicious they are. I’ll stick with fried calamari as an appetizer from here on out.
We got our favorite annual letter yesterday. It’s the letter you get from the rental company telling you how much your rent is going up this year. They are hitting us with a $55 (5.8%) increase this year. Now, we were already wanting to move because we need more space now that we have 2 children. But the market has been terrible. There’s barely anything available unless you want to spend A LOT of money. I’m not sure what we will do. At least they are willing to renew our lease. Some of the others in our trailer park have not been so lucky.
For the love of god, the goddam sign says “END 45 mph speed limit”.
How many times have I gotten behind somebody going by this sign who takes it to be 45 mph, and then I have to sit behind them for miles and miles much slower than necessary?
Some lunatic decided to steal a company pickup truck and go driving around at high speed through our property, a container ship terminal. He then slams into one of our trailer hauling trucks and dies.
I’m pissed off at him for endangering the people here, for making my coworkers have to deal with both a dangerous driver and a poor dead guy, and I’m pissed off at whatever caused him to take these risks that ultimately ended his life. He obviously needed help and either didn’t get it, or the help he got just didn’t take.
I am thankful that he didn’t take anyone else with him.
I wanted some nice, soft, warm pretzel bites when I got home from work today, and instead I almost got a burned-down kitchen because the damn toaster oven started arcing. The cord was almost burned through by the time I hit the breaker.
That is unpleasant. I almost burnt up my oven broiling salmon, and now I’m very nervous when I use kitchen appliances.
My geriatric cat is leaving me poop presents every day for the last week. I’m sure I haven’t found them all, too.
This morning I came downstairs and the little shit had shat on the couch.