cowboykiller

cowboykiller:

cowboykiller:

This is Bobby (rocket nose) and Ani (spotty face). They are a 6 year old (born February 2008) super bonded Calico sibling pair currently living in Brooklyn. They need a new home!

Both are in perfect health, good litter box manners, playful, extremely cuddly, and good eaters. They need to be re-homed due to no fault of their own. There is a new person in the household with debilitating allergies. This was a very hard decision for their person to make, but they’re just not getting the attention and affection they need in their current situation. 

They are great with children, not great with dogs, and would be OK to live with other cats. 

I’ve known them both since they were tiny handfuls and they are really incredibly sweet and playful and mischievous and really, really ridiculously good looking. If I could take them in I absolutely would.

They’re not micro-chipped, but their person would absolutely assume the cost and have this done with their new person’s info. They’re up to date on all their shots and tests. Their person is willing to transport them pretty far for the perfect home - anywhere drive-able from NYC. Help with food and litter costs for the first year would also be possible if someone wanted to take them in but had limited resources.

If you’d like more information - or more pictures! Or would just like to meet them in person (they’re in Bed Stuy in Brooklyn, a few short blocks from the A/C at Nostrand) please drop a note in my ask-box.

Please reblog!

Thank you!

Boost for the night crowd.

I’m literally their emergency contact at the vet. I love these babes second only to California.

I’m heartbroken but I’ve gotta help my friend first.

Please reblog? Thanks.

AUGH if my roommate weren’t horrifically allergic, these sweethearts would come home with me in a second, but alas. Signal boost, Brooklyn pals!

turnme-ontophantoms
lovebug:

Rest in peace.

Mork and Mindy reruns in my pjs with my mom. Mrs. Doubtfire, which made me laugh, but also gave me such strange feelings about my parents’ divorce. Aladdin, one of the first movies I remember seeing. Hook, which is a great movie and if you don’t like it I question your ability to feel joy.
Good Morning Vietnam, which I was definitely too young to watch. Jumanji, age 8, with my dad, in the second-run theater in our town in Massachusetts, and then again, age 24, with my little brother, who was seeing it for the first time. Fern Gully! Motherfucking Fern Gully, man, shown to me by my libdem parents and responsible for turning me into a tiny hippie. The Birdcage - oh, The Birdcage - one of my top ten favorite movies of all time. 
Walking out of the theater after seeing Insomnia with my dad, listening to the group of middle-aged people in front of us laughing maniacally and repeating the phrase “Skippy’s only got one eye!” which is a phrase I love but do not, to this day, even pretend to understand. Freshman year of college in my cinderblock dorm room, with alishalevin, listening to Live On Broadway over and over and over and clutching our sides when we were out of breath from laughing. Matt talking me down from a panic attack over the phone while I was on the downtown M15 by repeating “It’s naht yah fault” over and over. 
Even the terrible movies - AI and Bicentennial Man and Flubber and What Dreams May Come and Patch Adams and Death to Smoochy - god, I saw them all. Sometimes you don’t realize what a constant companion someone you’ve never met has become until they’re gone.
Depression is a motherfucker. Everyone is talking about it tonight and I hope it leads to a better, more open, more tolerant conversation about mental illness. There are times, even now, even in my neurotic, open-minded, New York, therapy-embracing social circle, that I feel like I’ll be judged if I talk about my own situation. But I’ve found that once you mention therapy or antidepressants or panic attacks in passing to the people close to you, these soft little moth-like empathy antennae go up, and gently, slowly, you find each other, and you find a safe place to talk about it, and you recognize the people you can call on the bad days - hey, you’ve been there too. I’m not going to call any of you out by name here, but you all know who you are.
That first step is the hardest fucking thing, though. The hardest fucking thing. Days and weeks of existing in a fog before I could make that phone call. Identify the person your depression-brain tells you will hate you the least for reaching out to them [they won’t hate you, not even a little, or be disappointed or put out or inconvenienced - they will love you all the more for asking for help when you need it - but your brain will tell you otherwise]. If you need it to be me, I am always here. If you need it to be a stranger, there are so many people who will help you. Just. Make the first step. I promise it’s worth it.

lovebug:

Rest in peace.

Mork and Mindy reruns in my pjs with my mom. Mrs. Doubtfire, which made me laugh, but also gave me such strange feelings about my parents’ divorce. Aladdin, one of the first movies I remember seeing. Hook, which is a great movie and if you don’t like it I question your ability to feel joy.

Good Morning Vietnam, which I was definitely too young to watch. Jumanji, age 8, with my dad, in the second-run theater in our town in Massachusetts, and then again, age 24, with my little brother, who was seeing it for the first time. Fern Gully! Motherfucking Fern Gully, man, shown to me by my libdem parents and responsible for turning me into a tiny hippie. The Birdcage - oh, The Birdcage - one of my top ten favorite movies of all time. 

Walking out of the theater after seeing Insomnia with my dad, listening to the group of middle-aged people in front of us laughing maniacally and repeating the phrase “Skippy’s only got one eye!” which is a phrase I love but do not, to this day, even pretend to understand. Freshman year of college in my cinderblock dorm room, with alishalevin, listening to Live On Broadway over and over and over and clutching our sides when we were out of breath from laughing. Matt talking me down from a panic attack over the phone while I was on the downtown M15 by repeating “It’s naht yah fault” over and over. 

Even the terrible movies - AI and Bicentennial Man and Flubber and What Dreams May Come and Patch Adams and Death to Smoochy - god, I saw them all. Sometimes you don’t realize what a constant companion someone you’ve never met has become until they’re gone.

Depression is a motherfucker. Everyone is talking about it tonight and I hope it leads to a better, more open, more tolerant conversation about mental illness. There are times, even now, even in my neurotic, open-minded, New York, therapy-embracing social circle, that I feel like I’ll be judged if I talk about my own situation. But I’ve found that once you mention therapy or antidepressants or panic attacks in passing to the people close to you, these soft little moth-like empathy antennae go up, and gently, slowly, you find each other, and you find a safe place to talk about it, and you recognize the people you can call on the bad days - hey, you’ve been there too. I’m not going to call any of you out by name here, but you all know who you are.

That first step is the hardest fucking thing, though. The hardest fucking thing. Days and weeks of existing in a fog before I could make that phone call. Identify the person your depression-brain tells you will hate you the least for reaching out to them [they won’t hate you, not even a little, or be disappointed or put out or inconvenienced - they will love you all the more for asking for help when you need it - but your brain will tell you otherwise]. If you need it to be me, I am always here. If you need it to be a stranger, there are so many people who will help you. Just. Make the first step. I promise it’s worth it.

thesignaturething

thesignaturething:

booksandhotchocolate:

Book Nerd Problems | Buying Too Many Books

This was me when I went to the Darien library last week. I had one book on hold, so I thought I’ll just dash in and grab it. But then I decided to look at the recommendations table, and then the new release section, and the “Hot in YA” display… and within 10 minutes I had 6 books in my arm.

But it was ok! You know what? Because everything’s free at the library! Guys, go to the library! Learn how to place holds and renew books online and your life will be easy as pie!

And if you live anywhere close to Darien, I’m not kidding—that place is a fucking palace and all the librarians are angels sent down from book heaven. Nicest people on the planet and their books displays/tables are always on point.

Yo, darienlibrary, you got a big fan over here!