This whole “trust Tumblr blindly” thing is eventually going to kill someone, as I became pointedly aware of on one occasion I was making fun of how poorly a particular bleach-based drain declogger was working on my sink and got a chorus of really dangerously misinformed people telling me to pour vinegar in after it because all cute little cool kid diy home care blogs they’re following talk about vinegar like it it’s the big secret the cleaning companies don’t want you to know.
And I cringed knowing that someday, some Well Actually expert who read a blog article once is going to give that advice to someone who unfortunately didn’t take high school chemistry and isn’t aware that MIXING VINEGAR AND BLEACH MAKES CHLORINE GAS.
holy fucking jesus tits reblog to save a life
See also: Mixing ammonia and bleach
Trufax: I once dated a plumber, so I knew this little factoid. Still – yeah, signal boost for important chemistry FACTS.
I don’t know what high school chemistry you were taking, but they NEVER taught me this in school. Not even a home ec class. Like, i learned about this from “The Boy Called It” and this literal post.
And if you don’t know, chlorine gas was used as a chemical weapon during WWI, and its effects were so terrible that it’s banned under the Geneva Protocol.
Just a reminder Les Mis Rare Pairs week is starting in one week on Sunday June 26th!
For a ship to be classified as a rare pair for this week, it has to have under a hundred fics on AO3 (here’s a cheat sheet). If you want to write a platonic relationship, go for it! Just use common sense, Grantaire and Eponine are paired up all the time in fandom but when was the last time you saw Feuilly and Joly doing something together?
Anything, art, fic, photosets, headcanons, cosplay, mixes, etc, is welcome!!
Tag your work with #lesmisrarepairs and/or #lesmisrarepairsweek
When I was twenty-one, I had my tonsils removed. I was one of those people who got strep throat every few minutes, and my doctor finally decided that I needed to have my tonsils taken out. For the entire week afterward, swallowing hurt so much that I could barely open my mouth for a straw. I had a prescription for painkillers, though, and when they ran out but the pain hadn’t, I called the nurse and said that she would really need to send another prescription over, and maybe a little mixed grill of drugs because I was also feeling somewhat anxious. But she wouldn’t. I asked to speak to her supervisor. She told me her supervisor was at lunch and that I needed to buy some gum, of all things, and to chew it vigorously—the thought of which made me clutch at my throat. She explained that when we have a wound in our body, the nearby muscles cramp around it to protect it from any more violation and from infection, and that I would need to use these muscles if I wanted them to relax again. So finally my best friend Pammy went out and bought me some gum, and I began to chew it, with great hostility and skepticism. The first bites caused a ripping sensation in the back of my throat, but within minutes all the pain was gone, permanently. I think that something similar happens with our psychic muscles. They cramp around our wounds—the pain from our childhood, the losses and disappointments of adulthood, the humiliations suffered in both—to keep us from getting hurt in the same place again, to keep foreign substances out. So those wounds never have a chance to heal. Perfectionism is one way our muscles cramp. In some cases we don’t even know that the wounds and the cramping are there, but both limit us. They keep us moving and writing in tight, worried ways. They keep us standing back or backing away from life, keep us from experiencing life in a naked and immediate way.