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oh we definitely need more of saint matthew saying profanities
Especially when it’s a music playlist
there is no greater mystery than What Was That Deleted Video In My Youtube Playlist
sometimes thinking abt all the gaming youre gonna do later is what gets you through the workday and then you get home and do no gaming. not even a little bit of gaming
Mine is like
*wakes up* oh that was a good sleep, what a nice morning-
*goofy murderous silly laught*
Oh ok hi fliqpy i see you are awake too-
[For like 7-8 months straight, basically the whole year]
he's laugthing in the back of my mind specially when something makes me anxious/stressed or if i see something that he likes like something sharp or dangerous but yeah sometimes it can be that random specially when im in a silly mood and im laughting at something and i can hear his laught at the same time
Do any other nonhumans w/ multiple kintypes feel like their diff kintypes on diff days?
Like, one day I'm feelin like a cat
And another day I'm feelin like a doll
And them today I'm feelin like toodles from dw
can't believe it's been TWO years since Ariana released her best work
When you come up with a plot point that fits the story way better but is way more devastating
The Least Intimidating bakery in the village has closed for good so now I’ve got to go to the Intimidating Bakery, it’s awful. If you don’t have a PhD in being French I don’t recommend going to that bakery, here’s the humiliating account of the 3 times I’ve visited it so far:
the first time I went in there I pointed at one of those extra-skinny baguettes and said “a flute, please” feeling pretty sure of myself, and the baker said “… that’s a ficelle” (you idiot) (was implied) “a flute is twice as large as a baguette.”
That’s insane, first of all, a flute is a skinny instrument. Call your fat baguette a bassoon, lady—I made some timid remark about how it would make more sense for a flute to be a skinny bread and the baker said, “In Paris it is. I thought you were from the South?”
oh, that hurt
I guess I’m from the part of the South that’s so close to Italy the bread’s waist size matters less than whether it’s got olives in it, but I left the bakery having an existential crisis over whether living in Paris had made me forget my roots
the Least Intimidating Bakery just had normal baguettes vs. seedy baguettes vs. horny baguettes (easy mode, some have seeds, some have horns), while the new bakery has breads that are only different on a molecular level—there’s a good old loaf and then another, identical loaf called a bastard? google told me a bastard is “halfway between a baguette and a bread” but denouncing them like “those are not regulation-sized bastards” would get me banned from the bakery for life
on my 2nd visit (while I stood in line discreetly googling baguette terminology) there was an English tourist who asked for a baguette while pointing at what was either a rustique or a sesame and I felt a bit worried for them, but the baker just clarified “this one?” to waive any responsibility if they found out later it wasn’t a classic baguette, then handed them the bread without educating them in a judgmental tone and I felt envious
I know it’s because she thinks the English are beyond saving but still it made me want to come back with a fake moustache and an English accent so I wouldn’t be expected to play bakery on expert mode just because I’m French. I asked for a pastry this time and the baker asked “no bread with that?” which felt cruel, like she wanted me to sprinkle myself with ashes and admit out loud that my level of bread proficiency isn’t as advanced as I once believed it was
The third time I went, I had lost all self-confidence and I hesitantly pointed at a bread and said “I’d like this, uh—what is it called?” and the baker looked at me in disbelief and said “That’s a baguette.”
God.
for the record, if that stupid bread had been flanked by a skinny bread (ficelle) and a fat one (flute) then yeah of course I would have known to call it a baguette, but in the absence of reference points I now felt lost and scared of being called a Parisian again
it’s hard to express the depth of my suffering so I’ll just let the facts speak for themselves: this morning a French person (me) stood in a French bakery in France surrounded by French people and pointed at a baguette and said “what is this called”
genuinely the only scene that matters in aosth fuck everything else
writing really is just googling synonyms. that's it. just a constant carousel of "I used this word two paragraphs ago, what is another word for this word"