BoredomGalaxy

So I had reblogged a post and op, @beautyandherbeasts wanted me to not reblog it, and I wanted to say why it bothers me, even though I did delete it:

Tumblr is a void. You post something, and people can validate you and critique you. If you put something out there, just like in the real world, you have to be open to criticism. You cannot ask that people only validate you. You have to be open to people disagreeing with you and playing devils advocate, even if they agree with you, or generally agree with you, like @whimsical-housewife.

If we do not, life turns into a slippery slope of an echo chamber, like how our world is becoming. To be alive, and human, is to offend and criticize people. If you do not want criticism, keep your views to yourself, and put the post on private.

If we continue down this path, nobody will be able to say what is on their mind and make mistakes. We will be ruled by gut reactions. We will be ruled by what is offensive to a certain group, and what is not. Cereal is offensive to me, and I even have a phobia of it (in the literal definition of an irrational fear), but I don’t tell people that they must not reblog pictures of cereal and not sell it in stores or eat it. You cannot ask people to do something like that. You have to let them do what they feel is right, to their understanding of the world.

It’s also got a nifty story to boot:

When I was about 12, my family and I went on holiday to the Greek isles or something, and there’s this one island called Santorini which was placed lovingly at the top of some stupid high hill. You could either take the at least 400+ stairs to the top, or a rickety ass gondola to the top. we decided to not take the rickety ass gondola, but instead haul obese me up the stairs.

It was like nearly 40 degrees Celsius as we went up the stairs, it sucked. After about 45 minutes of trudging up these stairs and getting booted in the hip by some stupid fuckin’ donkeys, we finally made it to the top, and we were all fucking exhausted, but we wanted to find a cafe before we were going to actually rest.

On the way to the cafe, I saw this shop that sold “custom bracelets and necklaces” for like the equivalent of 5 pounds. Now 12 year old me was this unbearable gremlin of a furry. Y'know, the kind that will let you know within 30 seconds of meeting you that they are a furry, and wouldn’t shut up about anything furry-related ever, so I think you and I both know what kind of custom bracelet 12 year old me was going to buy. I walked into this shop with the biggest fucking shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen. Imagine a fat version of young Dylan Sprouse kicking down the door of this old woman’s corner shop and Chad striding towards the counter.

“Just 4 letters. These ones, please” I told the lady, clutching a Y, an I and two F’s in my hand. The poor lady didn’t know any better, she just placed the letter blocks on the string and asked for the money. I walked out of that shop as the most confident little fat blonde kid on the planet. I mean, I wasn’t going to walk up all those stairs and leave empty handed, was I?

I wore that bracelet with pride through the rest of the entire holiday, on the way home and even through the first week of school. But only the first week.

There were a small group of people in my Computing class that knew that I was a furry. Only 3. But they all endured my constant blabbering about nonsensical furry shit, and they were fine with it. Cut to about 5 days after I came back from the holiday, and I was sitting in my computing class, displaying in all glory a colourful bracelet bearing the word “YIFF”, engraved in 4 wooden blocks. People ignored it, my friends thought it was pretty funny and novelty, and so life just went on.

And then it happened.

“Yiff? What’s that?”

I snap around at mach 9, and there was my 40 year old computing teacher, towering over my arm to read the bracelet. The moment that word was uttered from his mouth, my 3 friends shot up and turned around like a pack of bleeding prairie dogs. They were eyes and ears on deck to this conversation. All of that childlike confidence I had gathered from this bracelet was just eviscerated right out of my head and replaced with the realization that I was just wearing a bracelet that just had the furry equivalent of the word “Porn” written on it.

“Uhhhh.. It’s, um… An inside joke.” I muttered desperately, giving death glares to my friends who were on the verge of exploding. The teacher just kinda shrugged his shoulders and moved on with the lesson, but that 10 seconds was fucking petrifying. After the lesson had ended, and we were packing our bags and leaving to go to lunch, I noticed the teacher switch off the projector, and kinda swivel his PC monitor away from the class. Tk. Tk. Tk. Tk. Four key presses from his keyboard and I knew exactly what the fuck was going on. I increased my pace, and darted towards the exit of the classroom.

The last thing I saw before I left was his face. It’s hard to describe, but imagine the face of somebody being confronted by the four horses of the apocalypse, and seeing cutie marks.

wal-mart: pedestrian, boring, you can do better. 2/10

target: a slightly better crying experience than wal-mart. the scent is strangely comforting, the lights however are too bright and make for a slightly unpleasant cry. there is however oftentimes a starbucks and a mini pizza hut inside for you to drown your sorrows in. 6/10, points for optimal post-cry atmosphere

an apple store: absolutely not. people cry in the apple store all the time because they cant afford the latest rose gold bullshit apple’s put out. overdone and cliche. 1/10

publix: points lost for the sterile and inhospitable environment but if you cry in a publix a gator WILL smell your tears and come to eat you. being eaten by a gator is in fact slightly preferable to crying in a publix. 6/10 for the gator