Peep all the cool shiz I find on the interwebs. For a good time follow me on the Twitter @foxybeeyotch

 

boniverotica:

A cold snap hit a few days back, and Bon Iver and I are doing our best to stay warm. We made a nest of blankets in front of the fireplace and we haven’t moved except to grab the occasional bowl of soup. But Bon Iver can’t stay still for too long. ‘I’m going out. I have a very important errand to run,’ he says, throwing off the blankets and clumsily bundling himself in every layer he can find, including my scarf with the pom poms and my fuzzy earmuffs. He knows he looks ridiculous, which he acknowledges with a little jig on his way out the door.
An hour later he’s back with a bundle of groceries. ‘Don’t move!’ he yells as he begins furiously chopping and dicing. Before I know it, there’s a bowl of fresh guacamole in front of me and a plate of warm tortilla chips. ‘Let’s pretend we’re in Mexico and we don’t even know the meaning of cold!’ He pulls the tequila off the shelf, takes a big swig straight from the bottle, throws a Gipsy Kings record on the turntable and starts dancing around the cabin. ‘Olé!’ he says with a flourish, and I laugh until I can barely breathe.

Yes.

boniverotica:

A cold snap hit a few days back, and Bon Iver and I are doing our best to stay warm. We made a nest of blankets in front of the fireplace and we haven’t moved except to grab the occasional bowl of soup. But Bon Iver can’t stay still for too long. ‘I’m going out. I have a very important errand to run,’ he says, throwing off the blankets and clumsily bundling himself in every layer he can find, including my scarf with the pom poms and my fuzzy earmuffs. He knows he looks ridiculous, which he acknowledges with a little jig on his way out the door.

An hour later he’s back with a bundle of groceries. ‘Don’t move!’ he yells as he begins furiously chopping and dicing. Before I know it, there’s a bowl of fresh guacamole in front of me and a plate of warm tortilla chips. ‘Let’s pretend we’re in Mexico and we don’t even know the meaning of cold!’ He pulls the tequila off the shelf, takes a big swig straight from the bottle, throws a Gipsy Kings record on the turntable and starts dancing around the cabin. ‘Olé!’ he says with a flourish, and I laugh until I can barely breathe.

Yes.

archiemcphee:

DeviantARTist E-The-Zombie and her sister Fezhead11 tempted fate by creating this awesome Dalek snowman. It looks so great that we’re wondering if one of the tools they used was a sonic screwdriver. Here’s hoping their creation behaves and the Whovian sisters make it through winter without anyone being exterminated.

[via Nerd Approved]

boniverotica:

'Sweet pickle and giblet gravy it's cold outside!' Bon Iver howls as he plucks the icicles from his beard.

boniverotica:

'Sweet pickle and giblet gravy it's cold outside!' Bon Iver howls as he plucks the icicles from his beard.

archiemcphee:

Scottish sculptor and public artist Andy Scott is in the final stages of constructing this awesome pair of sculptures located in Falkirk, Scotland. These stupendous horse heads are called The Kelpies. They’re made of structural steel with a stainless steel cladding stand 30 meters (99 feet) tall, towering over the Forth & Clyde canal. They’re a stunning monument to Scotland’s horse-powered heritage.

Kelpies are supernatural water horses from Celtic folklore that are believed to haunt the rivers and lochs of Scotland and Ireland.
Here’s more info from Wikipedia:

The Kelpies name reflected the mythological transforming beasts possessing the strength and endurance of 10 horses; a quality that is analogous with the transformational change and endurance of Scotland’s inland waterways. The Kelpies represent the lineage of the heavy horse of Scottish industry and economy, pulling the wagons, ploughs, barges and coalships that shaped the geographical layout of the Falkirk area.

Once Andy Scott’s Kelpies have been completed, visitors will be able to stand inside of them. Currently they’re scheduled to be open to the public in April 2014.

Photos by Kit Downey, Tracey Russell, Barry Ferguson, and Trixta Photography respectively.

Visit Colossal to view more.

boniverotica:

Bon Iver is lying on his side with his ear to the ground. ‘I’m listening to the earthworms,’ he explains. ‘I think they know the secret to good root vegetable husbandry.’ He turns to face the soil and whispers, ‘Tell me more about turnips.’

boniverotica:

Bon Iver is lying on his side with his ear to the ground. ‘I’m listening to the earthworms,’ he explains. ‘I think they know the secret to good root vegetable husbandry.’ He turns to face the soil and whispers, ‘Tell me more about turnips.’

You Meet The Most Interesting People Kicking Open Random Bathroom Stalls

"And if after several kicks I still can’t get in, I always carry a small extendable mirror to slide underneath the door so I can introduce myself that way."

boniverotica:

Bon Iver’s cinnamon buns are the talk of the Foliage Festival!

boniverotica:

Bon Iver’s cinnamon buns are the talk of the Foliage Festival!

boniverotica:

Bon Iver is reading a book about edible conifers, adding pencil notes in the margins. I prefer fiction, and the pages fly.  
A little cornflower-blue bowl of raspberries sits between us. 
He puts the pencil behind his ear and takes my hand, absentmindedly stroking the garden trowel calluses and raspberry bramble scratches, and feeling the pulse on my wrist.
Hours pass. The only sounds are grasses nuzzling one another and whispering. 
After an infinite amount of time–who knows? half an afternoon? a hundred years?–Bon Iver closes his book. He looks me in the eye, and with an interrogative tone says, ‘Who wants ice cream?’

boniverotica:

Bon Iver is reading a book about edible conifers, adding pencil notes in the margins. I prefer fiction, and the pages fly.  

A little cornflower-blue bowl of raspberries sits between us. 

He puts the pencil behind his ear and takes my hand, absentmindedly stroking the garden trowel calluses and raspberry bramble scratches, and feeling the pulse on my wrist.

Hours pass. The only sounds are grasses nuzzling one another and whispering. 

After an infinite amount of time–who knows? half an afternoon? a hundred years?–Bon Iver closes his book. He looks me in the eye, and with an interrogative tone says, ‘Who wants ice cream?’