“You’re an interesting species. An interesting mix. You’re capable of such beautiful dreams, and such horrible nightmares. You feel so lost, so cut off, so alone, only you’re not. See, in all our searching, the only thing we’ve found that makes the emptiness bearable, is each other.”—Carl Sagan (via -lunyu)
putting shit in brownies that does not fucking belong there. Seriously, Mom, they’re brownies. You cannot fuck that shit up. And yet you do. Every time.
cookies and cream flavored fudge. I know what you’re thinking. But Bri, that sounds delicio- well it’s fucking not. It’s not.
mint every fucking thing. This woman puts mint everywhere. Cookies. Brownies. Cake. Potato salad. Coffee. Stir-fry. It’s not even the fresh mint from my garden. Fucking cancer-causing artificial mint extract. Disgusting, man.
juices with way too many fucking flavors. Do you want to know the kind of juice she’s got in the refrigerator right now? White Grape Peach Pomegranate. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN TASTE LIKE. I NEED TO KNOW. Pretty sure I saw her slip some mint extract in there earlier, too.
Seeing feather hair extensions and earrings selling for hundreds of dollars is killing me. Really? Fashion is weird. Sure, I like feathers, but I’m not going to spend hundreds of dollars on that shit. I’ve got a drawer of pheasant and chicken feathers at home. Give me your money.
We have a nursing room for mothers. I think that’s really cool and progressive.
Really great hours. I know I never have to work past 5:30 which is an issue because I take the bus and downtown gets sketchy after dark.
No male-female bathrooms. We only have family restrooms and toddler restrooms. It makes me so happy to see that any trans* or genderqueer person who comes to our museum won’t feel uncomfortable using the facilities.
We have a fucking pirate ship. Inside the museum. It has a working cannon.
Tons of wheelchair access, even though it’s a pretty old building.
The kids are really great and the parents are even better.
The tree house room is awesome. If Cole and I end up closing together one night, we are totally having a picnic in the tree.
Things I don’t like:
We sell a chintzy multicoloured “Indian War Bonnet” in the gift shop. I just saw it today. Bluhhhh.
“He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would be only half alive; and he said mine would be drunk. I said I should fall asleep in his; and he said he could not breathe in mine.”—Emily Brontë (via troubled)
I have been listening to Andrew Simple’s EP I Got Your Back nonstop. I can’t. It’s perfect. I’m considering uploading it, but I can’t seem to find any other downloads for it online and as lax as my morals are about digital piracy, I can’t quite bring myself to be the first to send it out into the evil, cruel, though sometimes beautiful world of the internet. I will say that there are ways that you could download the songs for yourself if you like what you hear. And considering iTunes only has his single I Got Your Back for sale, I feel a little better about it. I guess.
Anyway, give it a listen. Very summery and folky and sweet.