Bottlecaps can help with skinpicking/dermatillomania!
Carry a few in your pocket at all times. When you feel the urge to pick, pull one out and start picking at the vinyl liner inside the cap. It has the same sort of tactile feeling to your fingers as skinpicking, and when you manage to remove the liner from the cap, you have the same feeling of satisfaction or weird accomplishment—but no holes in your skin, torn nails, picked scabs, etc.
You can buy a bazillion of them at a time from places like Etsy or eBay. Make sure they have the vinyl liners in them—craft supply places tend to sell them without.
I’ve suffered from compulsive skinpicking/dermatillomania literally since I was born. It’s a constant battle. I’ve followed all sorts of advice, from “draw patterns on your skin with your fingertips instead!” to the ever-unhelpful “mind over matter!” but the bottlecaps have been the only thing to reallyhelp me a lot.
holy shit why did I never think of this? I always heard and was told “wear a hairbow on your wrist” but it never helped really. This is..thank you.
Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark Film On the Way
This is some news I wasn’t expecting at all. The 80’s/90’s horror book, Scary Stories To Tell in the Dark, will be converted into film soon. CBS Films has accepted a pitch by Patrick Melton and Marcus Dunstan, the two writers responsible for Saw.
No word on who will direct, which of the stories will be included in the film, or really anything else right now, but this is exciting news, nonetheless.
(via Huffington Post)
finally all those ritual blood sacrifices i made came through
broadway antique market
i bought this telegram, because it’s probably the best thing i’ve ever seen. i’m framing it. it cost $1.
I’m guessing the brassy dame in question here is named “Mavis”, or “Ethel”, or something else deliciously old-timey.
Can you imagine being the operator?
[…] Early in my freshman year, my dad asked me if there were lots of Latinos at school. I wanted to say, “Pa, I’m one of the only Latinos in most of my classes. The other brown faces I see mostly are the landscapers’. I think of you when I see them sweating in the morning sun. I remember you were a landscaper when you first came to Illinois in the 1950s. And look, Pa! Now I’m in college!”
But I didn’t.
I just said, “No, Pa. There’s a few Latinos, mostly Puerto Rican, few Mexicans. But all the landscapers are Mexican.”
My dad responded, “¡Salúdelos, m’ijo!”
So when I walked by the Mexican men landscaping each morning, I said, “Buenos días.”
Recently, I realized what my dad really meant. I remembered learning the Mexican, or Latin American, tradition of greeting people when one enters a room. In my Mexican family, my parents taught me to be “bien educado” by greeting people who were in a room already when I entered. The tradition puts the responsibility of the person who arrives to greet those already there. If I didn’t follow the rule as a kid, my parents admonished me with a back handed slap on my back and the not-so-subtle hint: “¡Saluda!”
I caught myself tapping my 8-year-old son’s back the other day when he didn’t greet one of our friends: “Adrian! ¡Saluda!”
However, many of my white colleagues over the years followed a different tradition of ignorance. “Maleducados,” ol’ school Mexican grandmothers would call them.
But this Mexican tradition is not about the greeting—it’s about the acknowledgment. Greeting people when you enter a room is about acknowledging other people’s presence and showing them that you don’t consider yourself superior to them.
When I thought back to the conversation between my dad and me in 1990, I realized that my dad was not ordering me to greet the Mexican landscapers with a “Good morning.”
Instead, my father wanted me to acknowledge them, to always acknowledge people who work with their hands like he had done as a farm worker, a landscaper, a mechanic. My father with a 3rd grade education wanted me to work with my mind but never wanted me to think myself superior because I earned a college degree and others didn’t.
Saluden Muchachxs, saluden.