I say this as a soccer fan, but I hope this world cup is a fucking disaster so blatant that it’s impossible to lie about (because you know Trump will). With Trump it’ll be another first term inaugeration “biggest crowds” ever moment.
FIFA deserves whatever shit it gets from its blatant cock-stroking. Fuck 'em.
Full on sobbing? About a month ago, maybe a little less. choking up and tearing up and being unable to speak, just now as I type this.
At the end of February, I had to unexpectedly say goodbye to my girl Ripley (Mastiff/Lab cross). I think a lot of people have a soul dog, and for me, Ripley was that. She very literally saved my life by simply being there during my darkest depressions, and whenever I would have a panic attack, I would bury my face in her fur and breath in, and her scent would somehow pull me out of it. I live now absolutely terrified of what’s going to happen the next time I have an anxiety attack and she’s not around.
About three weeks before, she started limping. Vet said basically that it’s either a sprained muscle or bone cancer. I said, well, let’s start optimistic, get her some painkillers and muscle relaxants to give her leg time to heal if it’s a sprain and then go from there. And for about three weeks, it worked. Went off the meds 10 days later and was seemingly back to normal. So I figure I dodged a bullet.
At the end of February, it starts up again; worse this time. So I make another vet appointment for x-rays, but it wouldn’t be until the end of the week, and because she’s in pain, the vet asks if I can drop her off and she can hang around there so that they can squeeze her in, in between actual appointments that same day. I said yes, not even thinking for a moment that this would be the last time I would see her awake and alert.
I knew that it was possibly bone cancer. I was expecting that. That isn’t what haunts me and makes me cry when I think about it. It’s two things primarily.
The absolute sudden nature of it. I get a phone call saying that they’re asking my permission to sedate her for the x-ray because it’s too uncomfortable and painful for her to sit in the machine in the proper position to xray her leg otherwise. And then a second phone call an hour later, not only confirming that it was bone cancer, but that it had already started into her lungs. I had to make a choice. I could either take her home for a day or two to say goodbye in private, but in order to not be in pain she would essentially be so drugged up that she wouldn’t really have an quality of life anyway. Or I could race to the vet and say my goodbye’s right then and there. That unexpectedness hit me like a tonne of bricks, but what really hurt was…
I called a friend to drive me to the vet and be there with me while I said goodbye. When we arrived, Ripley was still only just starting to come out of the first sedation that she had been given in order to take the x-ray. I spent almost an hour, just laying on the floor next to her, talking to her and stroking her fur. But I don’t know…and I’ll never truly know for sure; if she knew that I was there for her in her final moments. Did she wake up enough from the first sedative enough to register my presence with her before they gave her the next one in order to start the euthenasia process?
Or did my Ripley go to her rest thinking that she was alone, and her last memory of me was dropping her off at the vet?
My friend insists that she felt Ripley’s breathing speed up when she heard my voice, but she could just be trying to make me feel better. And it’s that unknown that still makes me cry whenever I think of it, even two months later.
The last ugly sobbing cry was a month after she passed, the crematorium sent me her ashes back, and, unbeknownst to me, they took a nose print of her nose for me. Seeing that nose print broke me all over again. It’ll soon be a tattoo.
Anyway, I’m going to stop now. I’ve run on long enough and I’m on the verge of crying again. Pretty manly for a 50-year old dude, I know… But she was my everything and I miss her terribly every day.
Might be different up here in Canada. But up here you can either ask for a random ticket, or you can fill in a card with the numbers that you want (lucky numbers, etc…)
What are next weeks lottery numbers?
Am I having the stroke or are you??
Too many. I collect special interests.
The one that’s lasted the longest are:
Filmmaking (specifically no/low budget filmmaking) with the premise being that regardless of tools, there are things that anyone can do to improve their product without a large budget. (ie. remembering to record tone for later editing. Planning your shoot for the proper time of day. Using reflectors even if you can’t afford lights. Blocking and Business, Shooting enough coverage for later editing, etc…) A large amount of quality in low budget films comes from taking the time to actually plan things out rather than just showing up with a camera and pointing it at volunteer actors.
Things like proper blocking, shot planning, etc… are free. With digital cameras, film isn’t a commodity and there’s nothing stopping you from filming enough angles to give the video editor something to work with rather than just constant two-shots. Editing software itself is free.
Point being, there is no excuse for lazy filmmaking, even if you don’t have access to expensive equipment. Planning trumps equipment 90% of the time.
Okay…rant over.
The utter fucking nerve of these assholes.
I’m not even a christian anymore, Catholic or otherwise. In fact I’ve long since gone full on athiest.
But even I’M offended by this new level of horseshit by the Trump clown-show.
I mean, when you put it that way, anything can sound bad.
I hope I don’t need the /s tag…
French with English subtitles.
Technically Canada had one. But it was Quebecois. So never really aired outside the province I don’t think.
And yet the Trump regime STILL somehow manages to fuck up badly enough to lose the moral high ground against them.
My dad’s a gynecologist. He looks at vaginas all day long.
This photo brings up a question I have.
I don’t know if there are any active service members here on Lemmy. And if there are, if they’re even free to express an answer to this question.
But I was wondering what it must feel like for a serving soldier to be compelled to stand at attention and salute this man; this National Guard wash-out that has never actually served any day in his life but suddenly found himself in a position where men and women FAR better than him, have to salute him.
ummmm…so what’s with the knife?
It’s looking like it’s time for the Brazilian military to plan a precision strike on mar-a-lago to “arrest” the current president and hold him indefinitely for collution in drug trafficking.
The Death Gate Cycle by Margaret Weiss and Tracey Hickman
Not going to lie, I got excited for the first half of that sentance.
IIRC, it’s also one of the best ways to test for forged paintings, because paint after WW2 is affected by the same minute traces of background radiation that the real deal painted a few hundred years ago wouldn’t have.
If the guy in the header photo didn’t at some point say “Suck it, Trebek”, I’ll be very disappointed.
Actually it’s only a warehouse if it comes from the warehouse region of France. Anything else is just a “storage shed”