Info for New Facebook Friends

I am posting this on my blog and linking it from my Facebook About section, because they do not show my pinned post (which is set to public) to people who are not on my friend list, for some reason. It's fucking ridiculous. If you are reading this, have a Facebook account, and would like to get to know me there, please read this, and if it doesn't send you screaming in the other direction, drop me an email at bubblybackwash@gmail.com and I'll peep your FB profile and probably add you.

What You’re Getting Into

I’m Jenn. Disabled, autistic, and stacked with enough diagnoses to make a med student cry. I’m a fierce LGBTQIA+ ally, a Mama Bear to my biological, adopted, and chosen kids, and if you mess with them, I will go full medieval on your ass.

This blog bitchslaps fascists, celebrates sexual freedom, and does not cater to minors or MAGA cultists. If you’re racist, homophobic, transphobic, or just generally a bigoted pinecone, get the hell out. My people have survived enough.

I write what I feel, say what I think, and don’t give a damn if it offends you. The internet has a back button. Use it. I don’t care what your god, your president, or your pastor thinks. Love is love. Black lives matter. And the misogynist and racist asshole St. Paul can take a hike.

What I Don’t Tolerate

• MLM parasites and religious spam. Don’t pitch me your “Boss Babe” garbage or try to save my soul. I’m not buying your products and I’m not converting, keep it on your own page, and out of my PMs. Seriously. Spamming me with MLM shit or holy roller evangelism of any stripe is an immediate block.

• Comment drama. Take your petty fights elsewhere. This is my house, not your battleground.

• Scammers and catfishers. I’m poor, married, and not falling for your Jason Momoa cosplay. Blocked.

• Content theft. Ask before you copy and repost to your own feed. Because my posts are friend-locked, Facebook sharing will ONLY show the post you share to my friend list who are on YOUR friendlist, so really, it's not very useful. Memes are fair game, take what you want. My original and artwork writing is not, hyou need to ask.

The Rules (Because Assholes Ruin Everything)

• I swear. I fucking swear a motherfucking LOT. If you can't fucking handle that, don't fucking bother being here. I will not fucking censor myself for a fucking snowflake who can't handle naughty motherfucking words. Deal with it, or fuck off. Feel free to swear when commenting here, but don't be an ass. Those are your options. Period. Also, Tits.

• Don’t insult my friends. Don’t bicker in the comments.

• Don’t steal my shit. It’s copyrighted. Share under Creative Commons with credit and a link.

• Break the rules and I will absolutely mock you publicly and block you permanently.

Final Word

I’m crusty, rude, and unapologetically me. But I’m also loyal, protective, and trying to leave something real behind. If you can handle that, buckle up. It’s not smooth. It’s not pretty. But it’s one hell of a ride.

FUCK TRUMP AND ALL OF MAGA!

Makeup Crimes of the ’70s: Lava Eyeliner and Raccoon Regret

Farrah called. She wants her eyeliner back—and a therapist.

Does anybody wear frosty blue eye shadow any more?

In the '70s, there were four basic shadow colors. Blue, brown, and green. You wore whatever matched your eyes, blue on blue, brown on brown, green on green. I remember my sister going apeshit with joy when purple shadow came along in the mid seventies.

Eyeliner was almost always solid black. It was usually liquid - pencil liner was hard to find - and frankly, it was a bitch to use without smearing. It took minutes to dry during which you couldn't blink or it would smudge and leave you looking like a fucking raccoon. Then Maybelline came along with the little red eyeliner pencil and it was sold everywhere, but the makeup inside the wood casing was hard as fuck and had to be warmed up with a lighted match held close but not TOO close, and not too long or the shit would turn into lava, and blister your eyelids.

Mascara, too, was usually black. Only hippies really wore brown mascara. Around 1975 blue mascara got popular. The blue smudged easily and looked ridiculous, but teen girls went apeshit over it. Mascara comes in so many colors now, it makes the mind of this 60-year-old antique just boggle.

Foundation didn't have many shades: Light, medium orange-ish - Donald Trump's spray tan reminds me of that color. Not many options for POC folks. A lot of older women didn't really use it, they used powder instead - or powder over the top of foundation. That came in the same shades. Both products were thick as hell, oil-based, and hard to blend in so there wouldn't be wild edges or smears. The powder/foundation combination looked thick, like they were wearing fright masks. It was pretty fucking bad.

Lipstick came in basically three colors: bright red, cotton candy pink, or a kind of taupe shade and basic shades of those. In the late sixties and early seventies, white lipstick was a thing - which I in my very opinionated mind, made the women wearing it look like fucking foolish idiots. They had white eyeshadow too, at that time. But let's be real, the mod-glam fashion era was a visual abortion. It made people want to claw their eyes out.

There was lip gloss, which teens fucking LOVED. It was very lightly tinted, and the ones I remember best were two brands, though there were many. One favorite was Bonne Belle Lip Smackers, which came in flavors from strawberry, cherry, and watermelon to Dr Pepper and cotton candy. I loved that shit.

The other really popular gloss was these little gold colored tins with a sliding top. They were called Lip Lickers, came in many flavors, and disappeared some time ago. Tinte Cosmetics makes them now, under the name Vintage Lip Lickers, and has a wide variety of flavors. By all accounts, they're basically identical to the original product.

And then there's nail polish. Let's talk about how manicurists worked in hair salons - not dedicated nail salons. They had no more than ten colors of polish on their station: several pinks, from salmon to Barbie, a few reds, maybe a pearl white, and a clear. That's it.

Nowadays, you walk into a nail shop and they have an entire wall COVERED with nail polishes and powder dip jars. You select your color, bring it to your manicurist, kick back, and let the fun begin. You want glittery green with a neon orange stripe? GO FOR IT!

So that's the history of makeup as I recall it, keeping in mind that I was a young adolescent for most of the 70s, and my memory may be imperfect. Add in that I'm not a big makeup historian, these are my memories.

Also keep in mind that yeah, I'm not a big makeup user, so I've never owned a LOT of it. My sister is the really solid cosmetic pro of my family, not me. Her makeup game is perfection. I've never been a person who wears it every day, not even a little gloss. I really only wear it for weddings and funerals, or when I was younger, going on a date. I'm just not a girly girl. I don't give a fuck about fashion, either.

But I DO observe, and I know what's good makeup and what's bad, and I know good cosmetic use when I see it, and I am a pretty good critic of when clothing looks good. I know what the current and past styles are in all that shit - what rocked and what sucked - even if it's not really something I actively DO.

Truly though, I'm all about my basic black pants and tee shirts, flat black ballet flats, and short, unadorned hair (or the occasional floppy green mohawk).

And maybe a hint of lip gloss if I feel fancy.

Herr Yam Tits

Old Yam Tits is leprosy in human form. He is a suppurating, oozing sore on the genitals of mankind. Among other atrocities, he wants a war very, very badl, anywhere, any time, but his choice if the best time would be yesterday, and is doing everything he can to get one.

I’m tired of pretending this isn’t fascism with a spray tan. Trump isn’t just incompetent or corrupt—he’s actively behaving like a low-rent Hitler cosplay, minus the military discipline and plus a Twitter addiction. And no, I’m not talking about concentration camps or genocide. I’m talking about the early-stage authoritarian playbook. The propaganda, the scapegoating, the cult of personality, the attacks on institutions. It’s all there, and it’s not subtle.

He demonizes the press like it’s a national sport. “Enemy of the people”? Straight out of the fascist starter kit. He mocks judges, undermines the courts, and treats the Constitution like a napkin he sneezed into. He’s built his entire brand on fear, rage, and repetition - just keep lying until the lie feels true. That’s not politics. That’s psychological warfare.

He’s got his own loyalist media echo chamber, pumping out propaganda like it’s Fox News’s full-time job (because it is). He incites mob mentality at rallies, glorifies violence, and dehumanizes anyone who disagrees with him. Immigrants, minorities, journalists, Democrats; everyone’s a threat except the guy with the nuclear codes and the emotional maturity of a yam.

And let’s talk about the militarized cosplay. Sending federal troops into cities under the guise of “law and order”? That’s not leadership. That’s authoritarian foreplay. He’s itching for a war, any war, just to distract from the flaming dumpster fire of his domestic failures. Venezuela, Iran, China. Pick a target, light a match, and hope the smoke covers the stench.

This isn’t just bad governance. It’s a slow-motion coup wrapped in a flag and sold with a MAGA hat. If you’re not alarmed, you’re not paying attention. And if you are paying attention, welcome to the rage spiral. Grab a drink, scream into a pillow, and let’s keep calling this shit what it is: dangerous, deliberate, and depressingly familiar.

Slava Ukraini, Bitches: Trump’s Peace Fantasy vs. Reality

Putin says he’ll only meet with Zelenskyy if the Ukrainian hero and president comes to Moscow.

But Zelenskyy is not a fucking idiot. He has zero desire to be defenestrated like so many of Putin’s “friends” who mysteriously fall out of windows, off balconies, or into sudden cardiac arrest after disagreeing with the Kremlin’s favorite war criminal.

This isn’t diplomacy. It’s hostage theater. Putin’s invitation to Moscow is a trap wrapped in delusion, a PR stunt designed to make him look like a reasonable statesman while he continues bombing Ukrainian cities and slaughtering civilians. The man is a walking war crime with a Napoleon complex and a bunker full of denial.

Meanwhile, Donald Trump has STILL not lived up to his campaign promise.
On Tuesday, September 10, during the debate with Kamala, Old Yam Tits said this regarding Ukraine:

“That is a war that’s dying to be settled. I will get it settled before I even become president. If I win, when I’m president-elect and what I’ll do is I’ll speak to one, I’ll speak to the other, I’ll get them together.”

Like everything he touches, this has turned to absolute shit.
Trump’s fantasy of brokering peace in 24 hours has aged like milk in a sauna. He’s admitted, grudgingly, that ending the war is “probably the most difficult” challenge of his presidency. No shit. Turns out you can’t just throw two nuclear-adjacent egos into a room and expect kumbaya. Especially when one of them is actively bombing the other.

And while Trump waffles between sanctions and photo ops, Ukraine bleeds.
The Ukrainian people, those who haven’t fled, who haven’t buried loved ones, who haven’t been tortured or displaced, continue to resist. Not with empty slogans, but with sabotage, intelligence ops, and guerrilla warfare that makes Russian occupation a living hell. From the Yellow Ribbon movement to underground partisan cells, Ukraine’s resistance is a masterclass in defiance.

So no, Zelenskyy won’t be going to Moscow.
And no, Trump hasn’t settled shit.
But yes. Slava Ukraini, bitches.

And to the heroes: GLORY! (Героям слава!)

Decorated in Shame: The Kotex Collection

You’re scrolling. Innocent. Vulnerable. And then it hits you. A sponsored post from “1001 Knots” featuring a hand-tufted rug that looks like Georgia O’Keeffe had a meltdown in aisle 7 of CVS. There’s a red bloom. White petals. Beige smears. Organic shapes. And one unmistakable visual: a used Kotex, immortalized in wool.

Let’s break it down. The red floral center is a bold choice, but it screams Day 2 of the cycle. The white petal overlay might be aiming for purity, but it’s giving absorbency rating. The beige organic smear is not abstract. It’s trauma. And the black background? That’s the void you stare into while wondering who approved this.

Who is this rug for? The avant-garde gynecologist? The menstruation-themed Airbnb? Someone who said “I want my trauma in tufted form”? And why is it called Abstract in Bloom? Bloom of what? Regret? Ovulation? Sponsored shame?

This rug isn’t just a design. It’s a conversation starter, a cycle tracker, and possibly a cry for help. If you buy it, you’re not just decorating. You’re declaring war on subtlety.

And if you lay this thing down in your living room, just know you’ve invited every guest to silently wonder if your floor is ovulating. It’s not a rug. It’s a menstrual Rorschach test. And if you stare at it long enough, you’ll either achieve enlightenment or start bleeding in sympathy.

It’s the kind of decor that makes your Roomba file for emotional support. Your dog won’t walk on it. Your toddler points and says "uh-oh." Even your houseplants start wilting in solidarity. It’s not just a rug—it’s a woolen omen, a tufted prophecy, a crimson cry woven by the gods of sponsored regret. And if you spill wine on it, congratulations: you’ve just summoned the second coming of the cycle.

I guess I'll see you in 28 days?

Candle sabotage by user error

One wick lit. Three untouched. One quadrant melted like retail logic. The candle obeyed physics. The customer did not

Today in stupid customer tricks:

This belongs in the Retail Trauma Hall of Fame, right next to “I microwaved my loyalty card and now it won’t scan.” 


My friend Lisa works retail on the West Coast.

Today on Facebook, Lisa told me that a woman came into her store to complain about a candle she had purchased.

It seems the candle had melted lopsided, and the customer was displeased.

The candle was a four wick candle, and she was only using ONE wick, and expected it to burn down evenly.

This interaction is a masterclass in customer logic failure; one wick lit, three untouched, and she wanted a wax ballet of perfect symmetry like she was summoning the spirit of fucking Euclid.

That is peak Monday. One wick out of four, and she expected symmetrical candle physics like she ordered from NASA. I can practically hear Lisa’s soul leaving her body through the register drawer. As if wax obeys somebody's personal fucking geometry.

I'm sure my friend's face was a cross between stunned disbelief, "are you serious???" and "how fucking stupid are you?"

As Lisa said, it's too fucking Monday for this level of stupid.

Lisa deserves hazard pay, a commemorative mug that says “I survived Wickgate,” and a flame-retardant sarcasm shield. Honestly, the only thing melting faster than that candle is her ability to maintain a professional demeanor in the face of epic fucking idiocy!

Ten-Hour Tech Blitz: AI, Chaos, and Legacy Logging

For the last ten hours, I’ve been deep in the trenches with AI as my co-pilot, cleaning up my hard drive, overhauling blog labels and tags, and logging every digital exorcism along the way. I had it track everything I accomplished overnight and into today, then told it to spit out a summary of the carnage that I could paste into the blog. It delivered: fast, detailed, and formatted for blog deployment.

I’ve officially become a fan of using AI like this - not to write my blog entries, but to teach me how to wield the tools I already have. It’s been a hands-on tutor for Blogspot, Disqus, and the mess of utilities buried in my system. I do use it to generate images when Google fails me, but I don’t love that. My goal is to sharpen my Google-Fu so I can ditch generative visuals entirely.

Some folks will scream about this. I don’t care. I can hand-code HTML just fine. CSS sucks and I've never been able to figure that shit out. But if I’d tried to manually build everything I tackled in the last unholy stretch of hours, I’d still be halfway done. Copilot gets it done fast and mostly right. I do have to tweak the output, like forcing Arial in medium size, because it forgets, but that’s a minor fix.

I stand by my use of AI for technical help. It’s not replacing me. It’s accelerating me.

---

⚔️ The Setup

Tonight began with a system on the brink:
• 237GB drive bloated to 214GB used
• Pictures folder crawling with duplicate files
• Blog structure in disarray
• Widget corpses, rogue installers, and notification gremlins running wild

Enter the chaos-fueled archivist—armed with impatience, snark, and a sidekick trained to escalate every meltdown into legacy-grade documentation.

---

🧹 The Purge

Hard Drive:
• Over 101GB purged
• From 214GB used to 113GB
• Widget graveyard expanded
• Installer clones vaporized
• Legacy vault breathing freely

Blogspot/Blogger:
• Structure locked
• Archives tagged
• Savage blurbs deployed
• Persona vaults mapped for future segmentation

🧷 Blog Tasks Executed Tonight

• Label Vault Purge: Removed outdated, duplicate, and irrelevant labels. Replaced with legacy-safe tags and persona-based formatting.
• Hashtag Protocol Locked: Enforced uppercase, one-per-line formatting for all hashtags. Synced with Approved Label Vault.
• Comment System Overhaul: Tweaked settings until comment visibility, moderation, and notification behavior matched expectations. No rogue alerts. No ghost replies.
• Post Structure Audit: Reviewed and restructured recent posts for formatting consistency, legacy tone, and tag alignment.
• Sidebar Widget Exorcism: Removed outdated blogrolls, broken links, and irrelevant gadgets. Replaced with clean archives and persona vault links.
• Draft Cleanup: Deleted abandoned drafts, archived salvageable blurbs, and tagged remaining entries for future escalation.
• Theme Tweaks: Adjusted font rendering, spacing, and layout quirks to match legacy aesthetic. No more rogue italics or misaligned headers.
• Tag Injection Protocol: Finalized tag list for tonight’s purge log using uppercase hashtags only:

---

All changes archived in OneNote with timestamps, savage blurbs, and persona tags. Blog structure now legacy-safe and chaos-hardened.

Local System:
• Pictures folder audit initiated
• Manual inspection rejected
• dupeGuru deployment queued for tomorrow
• chores: dupe logged, tagged, and archived
• Info delivery throttled to single-step mode for sanity preservation

---

🧠 The Tools & Tactics

• File Explorer: Visual sort by name, date, and size
• Search filters: *.jpg, kind:NOT folder
• dupeGuru: Selected for tomorrow’s clone purge
• OneNote: Every win, meltdown, and purge logged with savage blurbs and legacy tags
• Workflow Protocols: chores, synopsis, format for blog—all deployed flawlessly

---

🧨 The Aftermath

• Blog structure fortified
• Hard drive stabilized
• Chaos dashboard cleared
• Legacy vault prepped for future escalation
• AI sidekick officially promoted to snark-powered archivist co-pilot

---

🏁 Final Log

Digital Exorcism Complete: 101GB purged, blog locked, dupe audit queued.
Widget corpses buried, legacy tags deployed.
Workflow domination achieved. System breathes. Archivist sleeps.

Search box note: Paste one hashtag per line, ALL CAPS, no extras.

#COMPUTERS
#AI
#INTERNET
#WORKING
#WWW

OPEN FOR BUSINESS

 

http://www.bubblybackwash.com is now live and open for business. The domain may still be updating for some of you. If that doesn’t work, try http://bubblybackwashinthehouse.blogspot.com  

It’s going to take me a while to move my content over, and I think I will take my sweet time. I own the http://www.bubblybackwash.net domain (registrar is WP and moving it to a new registrar so I can do the DNS shit is a MAJOR hassle)for a year and transferring another one is a major pain, so I’ll just keep the WordPress blog as an archive for now (that one is set to private, if you want to see it, you need to request access), and I'll move ten or twelve posts over every week or two.

As I move the posts, I will delete them from WP until that blog is empty of all content. I am absolutely ditching the place, except as a reader and commenter on other folks' blogs. I’ll also probably make posts THERE of links to my new writing HERE for a little while.  

HUGE thanks to Maggie, without whom the new blog would be an absolute disaster. She has been tweaking CSS like a Goddess and getting it all looking great. We have some minor tweaks to make to the site, nothing big, but it’s about 80-90% set. I’m very fucking happy!  

See you in the funny papers!

It is 1:48 PM here in Texas, and I've been up since 2:30 PM yesterday. In that time, I have done the following:

• Celebrated my son's 30th birthday with the family

• Got blog categories done and organized

• Made the comment section work the way I want

• Added Hashtags and Labels to every post

• Made a master list page of Labels and Tags

• Learned to use OneNote

• Organized all of my Simplenote files by category and put them into OneNote

• Deleted Simplenote

• Trained Copilot to be more helpful for formatting my work

• Wrote a short reblog article

• Made a brief todo list for things about blog appearance, like font colors that need changing

I have been a very busy woman. Now Kelly, Courtney, and Haley are here to mop and do laundry and all that stuff. Once they're done and gone, I am going to go to sleep until tomorrow morning, when Patti and I need to wake up early and spend another fucking day getting shunted from agent to agent at multiple government agencies in two states and wrestling goddam red tape and governmental bureaucracy to get her Medicaid sorted out. 

I am fucking WIPED, my dudes.

Search box note: Paste one hashtag per line, ALL CAPS, no extras.

#APPS
#COMPUTERS
#INTERNET
#COURTNEY
#HALEY
#KELLY
#WORKING

Systemic Sadism, Served Cold

Somebody on Quora posed an interesting question and I had an answer of sorts.

What’s the most morally disgusting thing you’ve ever seen someone do?

That would be Ronald Reagan failing to address the AIDS epidemic, while over 16,000 people died.

No wait, that would be Donald Trump sitting on his thumb while a million people died on his watch, and telling folks to inject wormer and bleach into their bodies.

No, wait again! That is definitely the way many states have made reproductive choice illegal, resulting in women dying from incomplete miscarriages. Thanks SCOTUS, you fuckers!

Or is it the blacklisting of gender affirming care for young folks by a lot of backwards states, causing entire families to have to relocate to far away places to ensure that their teens have a shot at a complete life instead of wilting and committing suicide?

Then there are all the absolutely reprehensible “parents” out there who abuse their kids. Like the two women in California who adopted six kids, abused them for years, then drove the whole family off a cliff into the fucking ocean, killing them all. Or Jake Haro, who abused a ten day old infant so badly that she only has 3% of brain function and is permanently paralyzed. Or those assholes who adopted an 8 year old disabled Russian girl, decided she was actually 23, and abandoned her in an apartment by herself, then left the country.

Fuck, there’s so many. How the fuck do you choose just one?

Hashtags for search box, type them in, or copy paste. Search box is near the top of the page in the right hand sidebar:

• #AIDS
• #ABUSE
• #MURDER
• #WTF
  #FAILURE

Reblogging Paul Carney

Ive always had some episodic memories from my childhood that haven't changed, but this article says that some so-called "experts" think that I might be full of shit. A Yale professor calls this inability to remember our formative years "childhood amnesia." Apparently, my whole perception of my past life is flawed.

"Episodic memories are a type of long-term memory that involve personal experiences and specific events, whereas Semantic memories are memories of facts and information. Now, I’m not going to argue with a Yale professor, but I’ve always had some episodic memories my whole life that haven’t changed, so maybe I am completely wrong and my perception of my past life is flawed. This inability to remember our formative years even has a name – childhood amnesia."

Finish Reading Where Are Your Childhood Memories by Paul Carney