< a collection of memorabilia from my DC trip with cyrus
**vaguely inspired by a website from 2018-i-think called gopher
gripes where anyone could submit
gripes to the hosts of reply
all, my then-favorite podcast**
***reply all no longer
exists and neither does gopher
gripes. --audrey***
**no sensitive info or TOS-breaking stuff please...we do not clean the well, only supply it**
(displayed here, usually)
((try writing something, don't be shy))
i had to dish out 5 shillings for discord to function--but it's all in the name of love.--audrey
my period cramps are killing me as i style this section holy baller--audrey
stupid washington dc transit app stole 22 bucks from me and didn't give me a card --audrey
stupid washington dc transit app wont send me a confirmation email and was also coded by a moron - cyrus
citibikers will never not annoy me --audrey
i bought a board game online and they accidentally sent me two copies. got an email two days later asking me to package and send it back...a small hassle that left a bad taste in my mouth --audrey
**every gripe submitted in the
month of august 2025 !~only~! can be read via the LINK BELOW
WHOAAA!**
***why discord? because neocities only allows static sites
and this whole section only works because i made a scrappy
workaround.***
****why only august 2025? because neocities recently updated their
policies so actually my workaround doesn't work anymore either unless u pay
money. so i paid just for this month out of equal parts passion and frustration (see "our gripes").****
people watching --audrey
taryn and i are eating veggie and meatballs in ikea next to the windows that look down into the parking lot below. a man is trying to push a box as tall as himself into the trunk of a jeep. it sticks out the back a foot, so he turns it diagonally and pushes the driver's seat forward. but now the driver's seat is too forward, so he tries the other diagonal, from the back left up into the passenger's seat.
the passenger herself appears pushing a cart of at least four more boxes, plus a mirror taller than her husband. we watch as the couple struggles, trying a box here, taking that one out, moving this one around. we think they should give up and pay for delivery. we think that they think, they're too deep in to give up now. i am rooting for them, taryn is not sure. twenty minutes pass and we scrape our plates. i leave for the bathroom. when i come back, all of their purchases, except for one crate, one box and the full length mirror, have been stuffed into the car.
neither of us believe in the couple anymore. they have wasted half an hour tethered to their vanity. until from a small black crate the man pulls out: a yellow bungee cord. and three more. the woman climbs up onto one side of the jeep, receiving the heavy box that her husband hoists up from the other. it sits on the jeep perfectly. the mirror lays on top.
by now our cups are dry, and the man is walking halfway into the street with his phone trying to get all of the car and his partner, swinging her arm out in victory, in frame. as they drive away, we think about how the boxes are covering all the back windows.
two months before this, cyrus and i see a jock with a blonde buzzcut manspreading across two seats on a crowded F train. "asshole," we whisper to each other, and again as a senior passes us trying to find a seat with no luck. an arm's length away from buzz is a sort of androgynous, lanky guy wearing head-to-toe designer with his head drooped into his lap -- i mean, like really drooped, like he looks totally exhausted. i wonder if he could be sick -- maybe that's why buzz is keeping his distance.
nine stops pass, and buzz is still spreading his masculinity all over the seat. just before our stop, the lanky guy wakes up. he looks to his right, then looks to his left, at this absolute jock of a man. we have to suppress our surprise as he leans over and rests his head on buzz's shoulder.
the train reaches 14th street and we both get off. i wonder when i'd gotten so judgemental.
california plants
i'm back in my hometown and more appreciative of the nature here than
ever
--audrey
i went with taryn to shoreline and we sat on a picnic blanket and painted the hills and plants and stuff. i really love the scenery in my hometown, there's really nothing like it. i tried something new by soaking the paper with water before i started, which i think gives it a really soft dreamy effect...i think i'll try it again sometime. excuse the poor (overexposed...) scan job, i'll take a proper photo of it sometime. the purple blobs at the bottom are supposed to be our shadows --audrey
Slug Story
Chapter 1
One
day mister slug was on his way to work. Slugs generally get up on the
later end of the morning around 11am..
He
passed over his usual damp tree trunk. The ground was at a good humidity
– looked like Fogcast Radio’s nervous weatherman had made a correct
prediction.
Mister
Slug– (professionally Doctor Slo) – sure footedly adjusted his slime
levels as he went.
Slo
was a high ranking associate within the monotonous Department for the
Preventing of Water Drop Damage (DPWDD), handling technical cases in
need of sensitive architectural oversight. He straightened his tie,
thinking about some drafts for a particularly troublesome piping fix. He
was ready for another boring day.
Outside
Dr Slo’s foresight, large changes were coming to the office.
Approximately 20 minutes away from Doctor Slo’s morning commute, a janky
radio, which had been left on all night, was spilling muted chatter from
a narrow open window. Spinner Salad blearily swung an arm up to snooze
his alarm clock.
His
arm slowly slid down, until his fingertip brushed a certain grey pile on
the floor.
“crap.”
His weird grey tracksuit, that’s what he’d come in contact with. Why his
employers required this particular uniform was yet unknown. It was the
only place that had responded out of 67 other things Spinner’d sent his
mid resume to.
He
propped himself up on his elbows, swinging his legs down to pull himself
together. Chilly. Having tripped whilst yanking on the pants, Spin
ungracefully yanked the window shut.Not having time to smoke, he jammed
his hands in his pockets and left.
He
proceeded to have an awful time on the bus ride, crammed next to a
stupid girl who must have been on drugs with the way she was flirting
with her boyfriend, which was slightly worse than the two girls who sat
across from him right when he got on, who kept eyeing him in what might
have been a flirty way while he tried (unsuccessfully) to write down an
idea for a thing to send to his buddy.
The
girl’s boyfriend was taking a beating and the bus said it was stanyan,
and spin stood up in a distinctly confrontational way and grumbled his
way out, coming to a stop before a sign that read “Historic Trail”.
(to be continued)
the cat train is on its way. please stay back from the platform
heart chat
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bottom of the well