sigh

came back to a message in my etsy inbox.
"what's your phone number, i'm writing on behalf of my mother, she has no interest in and will not use the internet."

I can't take phone orders. No self-respecting credit card processor is going to accept anything done over the phone anymore. I am quite certain this order will literally not be worth dealing with.
but I don't feel like I can just write back "keep Googling, then, honey, until you find someone who offers this service and has a website with a phone number, because I can't do it."

(If this was my personal Etsy shop, I absolutely would write back with just that.)

(Except. Here's the thing, our phone number *is* listed, if you literally click through and look at our profile, which would be one more click once you find the listing that you sent the message from. it's not that hard to find. So this is not only a person who's disinterested in doing business the way we do with thousands of other customers annually, she also can't be bothered to do minimal research. Absolutely no fucking thanks.)

(I cannot tell them that, I am certain my supervisor will insist I try to work with this person. I literally could not want to do so any less than I do.)

(Also. Like. So your mom won't use the Internet. You clearly can use the Internet, because you're doing it right now. You can find my order form, but you can't fill it out and help your mom place the order? Why is this where you draw the line? Listen, the old woman's not my fucking problem. If you want this done, then do it. Don't offload her sundowner-senile ass onto me.)

foxpost-generator: everythingfoxes: it fucken WIMDY

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foxpost-generator:

everythingfoxes:

it fucken WIMDY

today’s big mood

[image description: a red fox with its ears flattened and eyes squinted standing in a snowy field in apparent high wind]

mondays

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i’m wearing accidentally too low-cut a dress to work today, and i had a shirt on with it and it looked ok at home but it’s hot in here so uhhh tits out for monday, i guess. hi! 

[image description: what-was-i-thinking.jpg: the author, a white woman, sitting in a desk chair in a cluttered room looking slightly down into the webcam with an unimpressed expression, cut off at the forehead, and the central focus of the photo is how her cleavage is framed by the very cute but far too low sweetheart neckline of her royal blue dress, which a large ornate costume necklace does really nothing at all to fill in.] (bonus: whenever I move, my bra pokes out on the sides there and is glaringly non-matchy. whoops.)

It was really hot yesterday, unrelentingly so, which was hard for me because last week at the farm it never got above 70 and it was so cold at nights I was bundled up and had a wood fire going, so it’s like, seasonal whiplash. I did manage to have ice cream for dinner, though, down by the Niagara River, and we ate it while looking at the sunset, so that was nice and I think an apt celebration of the solstice. Errr, equinox. Whatever it was. 

Then it was unrelentingly windy all night, which doesn’t really make for fantastic sleep. Going to be thunderstormy today, which has the nice bonus of making me not feel bad about not walking to work. I haven’t been, because my fucking foot has been fine if I don’t use it and cranky as fuck if I do. I keep thinking I should try again, now that I have better insoles, but there’s nothing worse than being a mile from home and half a mile from work and realizing I fucked up and should get off this foot, and there’s nothing I can do, and if i limp to try to spare the foot, I’m going to fuck up my hip again, and then I get to work and it sucks and I can take ibuprofen but then you know I’m going to have to walk home again. It’s the concrete, I think; I can walk miles in a day at the farm, but that’s on dirt and there’s climbing and walking and pausing. A long monotonous unchanging walk on concrete is a different animal.

I should just start riding a bike, but I suck at bikes and am a little scared of them, and I really really don’t want to ride a bike in traffic but would definitely have to, at least a little. I should do it, and I don’t even need a bike lock I can just cram it next to the closet up here and nobody’d care, but. Ughhhhh. I don’t like bikes! Something’s wrong with me and I don’t like bikes. (And rollerskating is out of the question, the pavement’s too cracked in too many places.)

ANYHOW I did can literally an entire flat of tomatoes yesterday, sweating over that dang stove– ok, I didn’t can them, I cooked 1/3 of them down into tomato soup, and the other 2/3 I cooked down and froze in quart bags and a couple of old Tupperwares. So I’ve got tomatoes now for winter. I saved out four (4) tomatoes to cook half a chicken in a bed of vegetables with the tomatoes for liquid, and we’ll see how that goes– we accidentally parboiled a chicken during packaging, and I nabbed it and cut it in half and froze the two halves separately, and so I’m going to make it for dinner for I hope two nights this week. (A whole chicken is like, four dinners, so I figure a half is two? Fair enough? And maybe the stock for risotto for a third? I have these fantastic golden beets for the risotto, and their greens, so…) 

Dude had to go to the grocery store, and he went to two different stores for a total of six items, what even is our life. (ironically our food co-op does not have good granola bars, so he had to go to wegmans to get, of all things, granola bars. weird.)

I brainstormed my next upcycled garment but did not cut anything out. I’m taking apart an old silk Hawaiian shirt of Dude’s that’s somewhat damaged, and making it into the silk lining of a wool vest I’m going to make. It plus a damaged silk scarf. We’ll see.