nostalgictoast.bsky.social
𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘵 | 𝘌𝘹-𝘊𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘎𝘶𝘺 | 𝘖𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘔𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦-𝘈𝘨𝘦𝘥
ℕ𝕠𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕘𝕚𝕔𝕊𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕤 https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:r4bnjpwfvhltkwnxtqt5v7zk/feed/aaadd2wf6xv7i
1,136 posts
290 followers
291 following
Active Commenter
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And at the United Nations to boot! How gauche.
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God I wish. I love an alternative chick with bangs.
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That would be County Road 750 W.
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Very cool, Stever! The movie that got me back on two wheels in my early 20s. Need to get back out there in my late 30s again.
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Ah yes, from the Johnson Collection, by West Elm.
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It’s been at least seven hours since I’ve spotted a butthole in the wild.
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Legs are so much bigger than a face. I’d be so exhausted. Good for you. Keep it up. 👍🏼
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I can’t believe I wasted over three decades before becoming a daily Metamucil user. My name’s Matt, and I’m a guy who’s finally making the right movements in life. With Metamucil I’m focused on my future. I choose to go forward because I’m never looking back.
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FlopsOnFlopsOnFlops
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One thing I’m passionate about is the study of etymology. I must have collected an entire shelf of word origin books in the past year.
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My concerns would often be written off as dramatics or as the result of my unserious approach to life. They figured I was just yapping and chose not to take me seriously as an emotionally sensitive individual who felt a lot of stuff and was often times deeply moved by a random thought or experience.
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I was fairly insufferable then, causing my parents a great deal of stress which probably cut the odd year or two off their lives. They never wanted to kill my magic, I was openly encouraged to follow my dreams. But for the most part they were just incapable of empathizing with my experiences.
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I’ve been trying to understand what even all the terms mean. I am a novice novice and I don’t know how to code. Is there some sort of program or interface for iPhone that is configured and designed with a complete bonehead like me in mind?
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So my active collections are antique and vintage radios, 1970s and earlier, novelty salt and pepper shaker sets, Life Magazine, mostly from the 30s to the 60s, paper ephemera of all kinds with a focus on historically significant newspapers that mention notable events, and lastly postcards.
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Yeah I never missed an episode of The Frugal Gourmet. I loved Jeff Smith. I was devastated when his allegations surfaced, like my childhood was officially over. I believe he was exonerated in the criminal case but held liable in a civil trial. It can be hard to handle when your idols fall from grace
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In my latter teens I had a bit of a lost Summer seeking out any way possible to alter my consciousness so I was 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 by my parents to spend 48 hours at the local crisis hospital to “grow up”. Those kids reminded me a lot of the wackos in my theatre guild, was comforting and made enough sense.
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Well we have more than a few things in common because as a creature of habit, part of my routine is stopping at the two local Goodwill’s for literally only biography, autobiography, or essay collections. I certainly prefer non-fiction and enjoy a history book about any topic.
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Of course. Why would you ever open yourself up to emotional vulnerability? 😏
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I’m sorry it wasn’t a memorable time, Willow. That’s a real shame. The 80s strike me as a sort of anything-goes apex period of unbridled cruelty for the most vulnerable. I caught the tail end but I was still watching Zoobilee Zoo, and The Frugal Gourmet in short pants and a race car shirt.
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I read it too, about five years ago. Gosh, the way she talked about George Cukor. I think she may have been in love with him.
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Well that’s a good way to make sure you’re never picked to be featured on Antiques Roadshow. That’s a regular Greek tragedy. I don’t know if I mentioned but I’m an antique collector.
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No way, what position did you play!? Someone should’ve shown her a picture of Katherine Hepburn so she could get wise about the previous sixty years of dames wearing slacks, ya know?
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That looks rad. Isn’t he buried in a crypt there as well? I could be wrong on that. I do recall seeing his pieces at the Institute back when I was still at Columbia but it’s been a while. I’m way overdue for a marathon weekend trip hitting the Institute, MCA, and the Tiffany Glass walking tour.
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I don’t have the right slacks to play croquet, but it seems altogether like something the British would be totally wild about.
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You’ve got a sharp memory, lady. Perhaps you will also recall the way the entire roof fabric just sagged there and nobody was even concerned.
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The raccoons came back the next night and everyone was armed with fly swatters and bug spray for some reason and managed to discourage them and they left.
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Condiments splattered everywhere, burger patties strewn about, even the Goober Grape had been violated. They even defecated on my mother’s blue and white checkered country living dish rag from Home Interiors. It was chaos and everyone was hungover and unfocused.
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It’s unclear at what point it happened and to to this day it is still vehemently denied by all parties. But someone got up for a drunken midnight snack and forgot to zip the screen house back up. The next morning the screen house and food chest resembled a raccoon-style Salvador Dali painting.
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I don’t even have a member how it started but my parents and the other two couples were around the picnic table in the zipped screen house playing euchre and drinking Little Kings. And one by one these rather large raccoons began approaching the enclosure. They laughed it off and took photos.
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Alright so my dad is not the kind of guy who is ever unprepared for anything. He’s a raconteur, a do it yourself handyman, and a gardener. He is a retired UPS diesel mechanic and his body work is legendary. A details man. A routine man. Not the kind of man who forgets to lock up the food before bed.
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Raccoon Lake is in Rockville, Pokagon is over by Angola, and Potato Creek is in Liberty.
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Basically Northeastern and Central Eastern Indiana. Two or three hour drives in a packed to the hilt blue Buick Century station wagon with barely any air conditioning. But we were living the dream and we didn’t even know it.
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Camping was a blast. There was always good music (70s, 80s, 90s), outrageous food (Lobster Tails, WHAT?), Fishing twice a day, biking the trails, and of course the great raccoon caper event of 1993. Who could forget that.
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Sorry I’m late, does this thread still have vacancy?
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On our site, the name of a game was jarts. They were flying darts about a foot long with a sharp metal tip. Then you throw them twenty-five feet while your opponent stands next to the ring you’re aiming for. They played for money, into the darkness of night, by way of lanterns. Feelings were hurt.
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Big fan of horehound. Are they the state that does poutine?
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We did our fair share of camping throughout the 90s. Mostly Pokagon, Reccoon Lake, and Potato Creek. I didn’t know it at the time but looking back my parents and their friends were really hammered by the standards of the day. Someone was always cutting themselves or burning themselves on a lantern.
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So should I check out Wisconsin? They have something there called 𝘋𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴.
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Epic vibes on that one, Willow.
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I beg your pardon for passing out. Twas a long night, yes.
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No parallel in my life allows me to empathize with a tragedy on that level, the shock of such a quick departure compounded by the throes of adolescence must have been a heavy burden. Even so, here you stand, years later, refusing to quit. Perhaps survival is the purest example of resilience we have.
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And sometimes the shit gets so bad that it’s no longer a home, but merely a house.
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You know, somehow I’ve never had cause or reason to visit Wisconsin. Maybe it’s because of all the Packers fans.
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My goodness, that’s terrifying. She must be an especially resilient person to avoid panic and remain in fight mode.
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Yes! You hit all the big ticket items. The Coal Shaft, Main Street USA to catch a minute or two of the silent movie, the Hall of Echoes, the train set, the U-Boat. Essential childhood experiences.