Only Birds Can Fly

First yuri Hollanov art that not only has both with proper hockey muscles, looks like the actors (GOD THANK YOU FOR KEEPING HUDSONS BEAUTIFUL FACE) but also acknowledges that SHANE WOULD NOT, IN ANY UNIVERSE, HAVE A HAIR ROUTINE.

Jane or Shane, that fucker uses the most expensive shampoo on the market, thinks “my hair is short, it doesn’t need conditioner.” And just goes to the barber every time “something looks wrong.”

Not only is it correct character wise, but also this Autistic little girl SCREAMED every time Yuna brushed her hair, and you know Yuna was doing her Damndest to be gentle on that tender head.

Yuna and Davis take her to a barber at age 5 (cause lets be for real, Jane HATED having her hair tugged and cut and WET at a salon so the parentals switched gears)

That girl. Got to point at a picture. The barber took 3 minutes, never got her hair wet, and didn’t put the cape too tight on her neck.

I was driving through Vermont with a friend, and we pulled over at a tiny shop offering Maple Items. We were on the state highway, not the interstate, so "pulling over" meant "squeezing my tiny car into a parking bay the size of a broad highway shoulder."

As we got out of the car, an older woman emerged from behind the building where she had been pruning her roses. She introduced herself as Tammy.

Her shop offered the promised variety of Maple, but also a number of small antiques and a plethora of dog figurines, plaques, and clearly-hand-stitched garden flags.

A huge purple ribbon hung on the wall behind the register, along with many pictures of small dogs. This was no county fair ribbon. It was the size of my torso. The material had the soft sheen of actual silk.

As I placed my purchases on the counter, I asked, "Do you... Breed dogs?"

Yes. She does. She has bred Yorkies for the last 40 years. Her mother bred Yorkies before her. The purple ribbon was from her national championship winning Yorkie.

You may be expecting that the infodump was going to be about Yorkies.

It was not.

It was about 40 years of drama in the Yorkie breeding community. Where – you must understand – the judging at shows is often about who you're in with, not about the dogs. This is especially true when Tammy's opponents win anything.

And Tammy's mother! Well. Phyllis has been on the Yorkie scene since Yorkies were invented. Because of this, many women of equally venerable age hold deep grudges against Phyllis. The sort of grudges that result in episodes of Midsommar Murders.

This led to deep injustices against Phyllis on the part of judges and prevented her dogs from winning so often she retired from the scene. Judging is all about who you're friends with, after all.

After 20 years in hiding, Phyllis – the One True Queen of Yorkie Breeding – hatched a plot. She may have been out of the show circuit, but she was still breeding dogs. She entered an absolutely perfect bitch in the national competition, but sent her with a handler rather than go in person.

None of the usurpers knew who this dog belonged to, and in dog-breeding circles this Does Not Happen. This could have resulted in further injustices, but Phyllis was crafty. She knew this tournament was being judged by a man from the UK, who knew naught of the drama in the US Yorkie Empire.

With these advantages – and being the best dog there – Phyllis's bitch won the highest honor at the show.

Incensed by this insult to their ill-gotten supremacy, the other owners descended on the handler after the show, demanding to know for whom he was working.

"Phyllis," said he.

The name of the overthrown queen evoked horror in the usurpers.

"PHYLLIS!? She's still ALIVE!???"

Yes, Phyllis yet lived, and this bitch – the dog, not the woman – went on to mother Tammy's current dogs. One of whom, Lucy-Fur, is the reincarnation of Tammy's sister (also Lucy). This is certain for two reasons.

Firstly, Sister Lucy absolutely went straight to Hell upon her death, and Lucy-Fur the dog is positively as evil as Sister Lucy was.

Because my adhd and depression make me 30% disabled I have this, like, government assistant who comes by every other week to help me with self management stuff.

After being out of commission for the last 4 months due to a broken ankle, she was finally well enough to continue our sessions this last Friday, so a lot of our scheduled meeting was spent just catching up with each other.

For one reason or another, she learned that I used to dye my hair when I was younger and that I eventually stopped doing that and haven't even been to a hairdresser in like 2 years - and she just casually offered that we could dye my hair together some time if I wanted to, or we could just set up a hair dresser appointment together.

And like... Something about how she said it, the way it was so sure and casual - it kind of uprooted something in my brain, because the concept of doing that has never been more than a fleeting wish that simply felt unattainable. It didn't even occur to me as something I can ask for help with, that hair maintenance is, in fact, also a very normal, human need and not just a luxury I can go without.

And it made me think....

Why did I stop taking care of my hair? My body? My teeth? When did I settle on only doing the bare sub-par survival minimum of personal grooming? One of my biggest sources of self hatred is how unkempt and filthy I feel in my own body sometimes, even though that's so fixable, why does that feel impossible to tackle?

And then it hit me like a fucking truck:

My brain was still operating in power saving mode.

At the height of my depression I often had so little mental energy and so much fatigue that investing it into anything that wasn't strictly survival necessities and escapism for sanity was basically impossible. Just getting out of bed was a struggle sometimes.

But like... I'm medicated now. I have palpably more energy to spare - I have the capacity to spend some of it on more than the essentials. I just... Hadn't fully realized it's actually an option again, until that conversation.

...And it's like a switch flipped in my brain. I haven't felt so suddenly inspired to actually tackle personal change like that in YEARS!

The day after our meeting - Saturday - I went grocery shopping and actually got myself some mouth wash and a bottle of proper face wash too.

For the first time in ages I brushed my teeth every morning and evening without it feeling like a draining hassle - in fact I hadn't realized how much I missed how nice it is to go to bed or out of the house in the morning feeling refreshed and clean like that.

I showered on time, I cleaned my desk without having to psyche myself up for it because the disorder on it finally actually bothered me.

I need to ask her if we can go clothes shopping some time bc I'm ngl a lot of mine are slowly falling apart with moth holes, loosened elastics or sudden tears...

I'm trying to take this in baby steps so it doesn't crash and burn me with overwhelm, but I feel like I'm finally on an actually sustainable path away from my internalized self hatred, and it starts with taking proper, mindful care of my body again.

It feels nice to have found a starting point at the very least.

-Cut, establishing shot of Jerry’s apartment, bass riff.-

GEORGE: He/him, Jerry!

JERRY: No, they just him’d you?

GEORGE: HE. HIM! I gave them a BUFFET, and they went for plain white bread. Genders as far as the eye could see! Something with an X in it!

JERRY: No pronouns?

GEORGE: No pronouns.

JERRY: No-nouns?

GEORGE: No-nouns.

JERRY: Alright, well, if that’s what you want…

GEORGE: Oh, it is! I’m living the pronoun-free life, starting now. The buffet is CLOSED, Jerry. From here on out I am George and only George!

-George storms out of the apartment and into the hallway. Enter Elaine, baffled and unaware of the conversation that just took place.-

ELAINE: What’s his problem?