Finally! I already got a couple of Kangaskhan out of the 7km eggs, but I was starting to wonder if Tauros was really in there.

Of course, I haven’t been able to rack up nearly as much hatching distance as I would like, even using the super incubators. So, I was even gladder when a Tauros finally did pop out.

(Chronic illness style play: When you’re actually sorry the bus you’re on isn’t crawling through traffic at 10 km/h or less 🙄)

Unfortunately reminded again of when my grandmother couldn’t keep it in her head that my mom had terminal cancer–and kept complimenting her on the weight loss. 😨

No matter how terrible she was looking in reality, because extremely ill and weak enough to barely stay on her feet. As you can maybe imagine.

I knew the lady was pretty screwed up in that department, but it still startled me. I mean, she managed to land herself in the hospital with I think kidney failure among other consequences of starvation when my mom was a kid–and never really acknowledged that she had any problems there, even after that. Her take? “I looked the best I ever have in my life, but I felt terrible!” Nah… 😑

That reaction to the results of her daughter’s Cancer Diet still startled me, though, after listening to her usual for 30+ years. Besides the basic short term memory problems aggravating that particular example, I guess it was another example of dementia disinhibition helping bring out the worst. I still have some hard feelings, though.

It couldn’t be easy, living your own life like that. (95 years of it, next month.) That sounds terrible. But, also laying it on the people close to you at every opportunity? There’s really not much excuse for that. At all.

At any rate, no damned wonder I was the fourth generation that I know of on that side of the family to end up with the Family OCD partly coming out through a pretty serious ED.

My Mamaw got it from her mother at least as bad as what she’s handed out herself, but there’s still no excuse. I know how hard that shit can be to deal with, and refuse to pass it on. But, I am also the only one so far to acknowledge the problem and try to stop hurting myself with it 😩 Overwhelming to think about.

ETA: Not to mention the number of people who wouldn’t have any issue with most of it, as long as nobody outright said “eating disorder”.









I had a friend who became bulimic and she was purging so much she was getting sick and having all kinds of complications. When other people found out that’s why she had lost so much weight they said “well…at least she’s lost weight. She looks good” and that was when I realized that no one cares about your health. They just need you to look fuckable

I’m skinny and I’m tryna gain weight and people always look at me crazy when I mention it. It never fails. It’s so odd

I mean … thin folks do suffer from body image issues but I don’t think this particular post was the best place to mention how thin you are (the thinner you are, the better, in this society) and how you struggle to gain weight (when the OP is talking about how fatness is considered so unattractive that, even if you’re sick and close to your deathbed, nobody cares about your health because you’re not fat anymore)

I don’t wanna speak for @problematic-hoe, but I construed their comment as further solidifying the “fatphobia does not equate concerns for health” by conveying the other side. Even if your health is dependent on you gaining weight, people refuse to comprehend it as a crucial health decision because of their innate reflex to assume that it’s okay to be unhealthy as long as you’re not fat.

Yeah that’s what I was getting at… should’ve phrased it better my bad

The Swan



It’s time for another Installment of Family Lore from my wierd-ass childhood!

Story contains: poor childhood decisions, profanity, extremely poor animal handling practices, and a semi-graphic description of an injury.  Mind the content warnings, your health comes first. As usual, all names have been changed to protect everyone’s privacy.  rest of the story under the cut to avoid a five-mile post.


This is the story of the first time I said the word “Fuck” In front of my mother.

When I was a kid, my parents would drive to Ohio from California every other summer of so to visit my Mom’s family, who never figured out that they can escape. Four days is a long ass time to be a small child in the back of an unairconditioned van with a bunch of rotting bananas but it was worth it for being able to more or less run wild through the Ohio woods.

My mother’s family consisted of my grandparents Polly and Bobby, and her younger brother, Bobby.  Bobby has a saint of a wife named Stephanie, and three children.  My sister was very fond of cousins Samantha and Amanda.  

Due to a combination of Ye Olde Misogyny and post-delivery drugs, for about five generations there, the men had been naming all the children, so literally every AMAB person born into the family was named “Robert” and immediately shortened to “Bobby”.  Uncle Bobby very nearly did this to his firstborn, wich would have brought the total number of Bobbies to 8 between the miscellaneous cousins and uncles, when Stephanie put her foot down and named him Jonathan Jackson the second she found out what sex he was.

Cousin JonJack is still my favorite cousin- he has a heart big enough to house every creeping and crawling thing on this planet, and a quiet determination to make things right with the world, even if that means doing something completely batshit insane.

We were camping at a place near West Branch State Park, at what is advertised as a “Luxury Campground next to a Private Lake” but is really an RV collection next to a glorified sump.  It has the extremely redeeming feature of being smack in the middle of Northeast Ohio’s dense hardwood forest, and since we had parents that grew up in the area and had passed a reasonable amount of scouting knowledge onto us, we were turned lose after breakfast and told to return by dark or if anyone got hurt.  This was splendid, as the woods were full of interesting things like nests of day-old rabbits, their hearts visible as they beat against their delicate rib cages, shimmering black rat snakes longer than we were tall, hives of wild bees, intricate in their geometric structure and remarkably patient as long as you didn’t poke them.

The Sump was even better- it had dozens of baby snapping turtles for the catch-and-releasing, catfish twice the size of any cat, a plethora of bugs and worms and crawdads and families of duck and best of all, Arthur, The Swan.

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Oh, the poor baby!