thebeigecurtain - Tumblr blog

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I haven't seen dancing pumpkin guy ONCE this year, are you guys okay?

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we do need to revisit the wording of "you can't have your cake and eat it too" because i don't think it clearly enough conveys that it's more that you can't simultaneously retain a cake and also get to consume it (which would render you cakeless). for years i was like But why not....it's my cake....?

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Botanical Garden, Bucharest, Romania, summer 2024

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Cicada shell

Watercolor + colored pencil + digital

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It's my 11 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

Yikes

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the whole “i used to be a teen who hated authority only to grow up to become the authority that hates teens” is a bad bad thing that practically every other generation has fallen into and we all need to make an extremely conscious effort not to repeat the fucking pattern

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The apples are in the fridge. Lee was over the other day and I dug through the clasped orange mailer I keep your letters in. We decided neither of us had officially made the filling for the pies, you always did it before we got there. All you'd tell us was that drying on a "piller" case in the sun was the best way. I find loose instructions scrawled at the top of some notebook paper noting dried apples are best. Lots of sugar. Needs to be cold to make pies. Okay, I've dried them. The apples are in the fridge.

The last ones you made tasted of moth balls. I spit a mouthful into the trash, twisting the corners of my lips into a frown. The nurse aide who helped you with your baths and your dishes and things mostly a mystery to me, asked you to show her to make them. Your daughter in law, my momma, placed the mothballs. Presumably, in every corner of your single-wide. You thought they'd keep snakes away; but a quick google search tells me that's not true and the smell hit me like a wall each time I opened the screen door.

Watching you get weaker tasted like the last pies you made.

Once you moved down to momma's house I sat with you a lot. You chuckled remembering my ability to walk barefoot across the gravel to your trailer and told me, ever so truthfully, that you couldn't remember what your house looked like. You said it was there, but "real....faint". We held hands. I dug through the closet in the room where your bed was on two occasions because you'd been staring at the door, wondering what was behind it. Old home videos, VHS tapes, a hat from Halloween, some Dr Seuss books. I told you Mr Brown Can Moo was one of my favorites and you thumbed through it. You showed me the pattern on your pajama pants - "in't that perty?" - talked so highly of my mother - poked, grinning at my smallest niece who insisted you sip water from the straw she placed at your lips - appeased her with nibbles from the Hershey's bars she brought you.

It was 2:16 am when you stopped breathing. Your breastbone rose and fell under the gaze of your son, Momma, and I. Your hand was held and we were there. Momma lit a cigarette at 2:24. My dad wiped the sleep from his eyes. I smoothed your hair.

Four months later I'm still struggling to string together the words I want to use. There's something about an Oldsmobile with small pots of Carmex in the compartments by the door handle. Cats on the porch, pringles and RC cans, and you, squatting on an overturned bucket in the garden. Splitting peas and picking strawberries and the screwdriver you used to hold the gate shut. Westerns and crosswords and your letters in my mailbox. Butter pecan ice cream and pretending to hear what someone had said. Always being able to hear my mom. Mini cokes and grocery lists she'd take to town; an index card, print in all caps. Gallon jugs of cheese balls and the type of candy grannies keep for grandchildren. The way you started saying "I love you" after you turned 95. And apples you'd pulled from the fridge. Fit for making pies with.

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Lego Swimming Pool Layout

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2018 Grinch has no edge. He’s got no bite. He’s not even that much of an asshole. He’s just a sassy gay furry with unusually nice teeth despite his famous theme song declaring otherwise.

1966 Grinch? Now that was a mean, scary bastard. He was a crusty old fuck who hated society so much that he only came off his shitty frozen mountain to commit crimes and terrorism out of spite.

Bennyhoo Cumberland Grinch comes down from his mountain to buy groceries.

You can round the edges off a character to make them more “relatable” or whatever, but you also run the risk of losing what defined them in the first place. The end result is bland and generic.

2018 Grinch is a reflection of modern society’s rejection of real character flaws in the interest of being “unproblematic” and in this essay i will

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i hate PENDING payments.. just take that shit & go

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lets have phone sex over walkie talkies

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So a free tool called GLAZE has been developed that allows artists to cloak their artwork so it can't be mimicked by AI art tools.

AI art bros are big mad about it.

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when two musicians sing into the same microphone and lean in very close to each other… like omg are you guys gonna kiss now to relieve the homoerotic tension?😳