This one time i was in church and my mom said she would give me 10$ if while the priest was flinging “holy water” at us i would run into the aisle once he passed and start hissing and screaming “IT BURNS”
do u know how many angry Christians i got in my inbox because of this
666?
Why isn’t anyone talking about what a great sense of humor your mom has?
my mom just came to me and ranted about how everyone is making this facebook status that says, “raising teenagers is like nailing jello to a tree”. she was so baffled by this because she said, “you were pretty easy to raise as teenagers. all you did was sleep and eat.”
so to prove some point she’s going to nail a small cup of jello to a tree.
she’s so pleased with her self
incredible
parents are weird
yeah but this is about as accurate as it gets.
you say “nail jello to a tree” and most people think jello all by itself.
but if you put any actual thought into what you’re doing and then give it just a little support
what’s it like to be taller than 5’2”??? is it nice? can you comfortabley reach cupboards?
We live in constant fear of the short ones, who (in my experience) will climb 4 chairs, 2 boxes, a small coffee table, and 6 oddly placed stools to get what they want
Alright story time.
I’m 6′0″, and one of the ways I assert my dominance over short people poke fun at short people is by holding my hand all the way up and asking them for a high five.
I do this all the time, but in highschool, I was friends with this one girl who I swear was about 4′5″ at most, and I put my hand all the way up and asked her for a high five.
Without hesitation, she literally climbed up my side like a fucking ladder and gave me the high five before hopping off and staring at my slack jawed face.
The Navajo have a unique tradition. When a baby is born, it is regarded as the ultimate, precious gift and must never be abused. From the moment of birth, the child is watched over continuously by family and friends, who patiently wait for the child’s first…laugh.
“Has your baby laughed?” is common question posed to parents who have infants around the age of three months. The first laugh of a Navajo child is a very significant event. It marks the child’s final passing from the spirit world to the physical world, meaning he or she is now fully human. This milestone warrants a party, and what a party it is!
Whichever brother, sister, parent, cousin, aunt, uncle, or passing acquaintance is present at the first laugh is deemed to have caused it. The laughter instigator then receives the honored privilege of preparing a special ceremony to welcome the child into society.
Once a baby has laughed, training in generosity begins immediately—a value held in high regard among the Navajo people. At the party, where the baby is considered the host, the parents or person responsible for the first laugh help hold the baby’s hand as he or she ceremonially gives the rock salt, food, and gifts to each guest. There are also bags of candy, money, and other presents that the child “gives” along with the food. [x]
Yes it is true. I have had of a few relatives invite me to a A’wee Chi’deedloh "The Baby Laughed Ceremony" however I have not had the privilege to actually attended one personally. The Dine’ peoples believe that babies are of “two worlds” (Earth people & Holy people) when they are born. The first laugh signifies the babies desire to become a part of the Earth People so it is a great cause for celebration.
The Deserter’s Song (Radical Face) :: Man Burning (Josh Ritter) :: Hail St. Sebastian (The Mountain Goats) :: Hebrews 11:40 (The Mountain Goats) :: This Losing Fight (Sons of Bill) :: When The Pin Hits The Shell (The Drive-By Truckers) :: Hurt (Quiet) (Nine Inch Nails) :: All Is Well (It’s Only Blood (Radical Face) :: Good Man (Josh Ritter) :: Amy aka Spent Gladiator 1 (The Mountain Goats)
It is the year after the Battle of Hogwarts. School is starting again. And the thestrals are confused by all of the attention they are getting.
oh
oh no
you BITCH
WHY IS THIS NOT A THING I’VE CONSIDERED?
No. NO. Sit the fuck down, we’re going to talk about this.
The year after the Battle of Hogwarts. Students nervously climbing into the carriages (no first years, thank god, no one wants to think about that) and eyeing the creatures in front of them. Is this some sort of stunt? Like a memorial?
Hagrid showing the fifth years the thestrals. He wonders if he should, if this is asking too much, but he thinks it would be wrong to keep the truth from them. There are more in the class who can see them than those who can’t.
He wakes to a knock on his door after nightfall. For a second he thinks it’s those three again, but no, that’s not right. He shuffles to the door, holding Fang down behind him, and finds a wide-eyed second year on his doorstep. They came to ask about the horses.
Hagrid isn’t one to turn someone away, so he ushers the child inside and puts the kettle on. He explains they’re not quite horses. They’re gentle creatures, really. Yes, you have to…you have to have seen things to see them, too. But they wouldn’t do anyone harm.
Can he see them? Why, yes, he can, has for the longest time. Ever since his Dad…ever since…
Hagrid stops for a moment, unable to speak. But the child at his table waits patiently, understanding. This is not the first time they have heard someone’s voice catch on the words. It’s reassuring, somehow, hearing an adult share the same problem.
They drink a pot of tea before Hagrid sees the kid back to the school, Fang loping along beside them. It’s reassuring to have these two massive, almost comical forms tromping to the front door. Safe.
Hagrid warns not to go out after dark again. If you want to visit, come along any time in the day.
The next time he opens his door, there are three. Third years, this time. They know a little more, more than they ought to, he thinks. Makes him feel nostalgic.
He sits them down as before and has a long talk. They’re less open, keep glancing at each other as they speak, but he can see they have questions. It’s just a matter of waiting them out.
This goes on for weeks. Hagrid sees a steady stream of students at his door until he’s sure at least half the school has walked across his mat at some point. One day McGonagall approaches him and suggests a change in the curriculum. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to move a few things up on the syllabus? If he’s willing, of course.
Hagrid leads more students into the forest. He sees their faces, eyes wide with fear, as they see the creatures in the light of day. He patiently explains that they’re quiet animals, don’t much like a lot of noise. Easier to manage, certainly. That’s why they pull the school carriages.
He finds taking them once isn’t enough. Students keep asking to see the thestrals. Bewildered, he takes them back again and again, watching as the kids sidle up to stroke the long, black wings. They hold out bits of meat to the sharp beaks and whisper calming words under their breath.
Gradually, the looks of fear subside into something else. More than once he hears someone say these things are all right. Kids show up at his doorstep to ask about what he does and what kinds of animals he’s seen. Someone even says they might like to be a teacher like he is someday.
He doesn’t know what to say to that. His eyes glisten and he makes a sound like a trumpet as he blows his nose. He hears a giggle when he knocks over the umbrella stand with his elbow.
Things have changed, he thinks. He leads children into the forest because they ask, not because they’ve been punished. Students are clambering to get into his classes when it used to be seen as a last resort. People don’t stare up at him with suspicion or fear when he walks the halls these days.
They aren’t afraid of monsters anymore. They fear the people who become them.
