PSA - PLEASE READ AND SPREAD HE WORD!!!
IF YOU SEE THIS PLANT AT ALL, DO NOT TOUCH IT!!!
Giant hogweed (Heracleum mantegazzianum) is an invasive herb in the carrot family which was originally brought to North America from Asia and has since become established in the New England, Mid-Atlantic, and Northwest regions of the United States. Giant hogweed grows along streams and rivers and in fields, forests, yards and roadsides, and a giant hogweed plant can reach 14 feet or more in height with compound leaves up to 5 feet in width.Giant Hogweed sap contains toxic chemicals known as Furanocoumarins. When these chemicals come into contact with the skin and are exposed to sunlight, they cause a condition called Phytophotodermatitis, a reddening of the skin often followed by severe blistering and burns. These injuries can last for several months, and even after they have subsided the affected areas of skin can remain sensitive to light for years. Furanocoumarins are also carcinogenic and teratogenic, meaning they can cause cancer and birth defects. The sap can also cause temporary (or even permanent) blindness if introduced into the eyes.
If someone comes into physical contact with Giant Hogweed, the following steps should be taken:
If a reaction occurs, the early application of topical steroids may lessen the severity of the reaction and ease the discomfort. The affected area of skin may remain sensitive to sunlight for a few years, so applying sun block and keeping the affected area shielded from the sun whenever possible are sensible precautions
- Wash the affected area thoroughly with soap and COLD water as soon as possible.
- Keep the exposed area away from sunlight for 48 hours.
- If Hogweed sap gets into the eyes, rinse them with water and wear sunglasses.
- See a doctor if any sign of reaction sets in.PLEASE, DO NOT JUST READ AND SCROLL! THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT AND POTENTIALLY LIFE-SAVING INFORMATION!!!
Extra note: if you live in Oregon, New Jersey, Michigan or New York and see one of these, call your state’s department of agriculture to report it, and trained professionals will come kill it before it can produce seeds and spread.
Frankly, if you see one in general, probably call your DOA and see if there’s a program in place.
Do not burn it, because the smoke will give you the same reaction.
If for some ungodly reason there isn’t a professional who can handle it for you (and please, please use a professional), the DOA of New York has [this guide] for how to deal with it yourself.
OH MY FUCK I HAVE THESE IN MY BACKYARD.
Fucking invasives. Signal boost.
Re-reblogging because I checked Snopes, and not only is this shit true, but the text on this is pretty much the same as it is there! Stay safe, kiddos.
According to the US Department of Agriculture, these are currently the states and provinces in North America where Giant Hogweed is present. Even if your state/province is “clear” that doesn’t mean that it is not there. If you see Giant Hogweed in your yard or anywhere please call your DOA! This stuff is mad deadly!
Also here is a human for size reference. Since they are huge it should be easy enough to see and spot when fully grown.
The burns can also be very bad, far worse than any poison ivy. Just Google ‘Giant Hogweed Burns’ and you’ll see. It can cause bad blistering, red painful rashes, and more. Please be careful of this plant!
I haven’t seen this stuff in years, luckily. My mother had us terrified of this shit.
This stuff is BAD.
A co-worker closed the door to the staff room behind him.
It locked automatically
and I started planning what I could use as a weapon:
smash the glass beside the fridge into his eye.
pick up the fork next to me and sink it into his leg.
claw him across the face if I couldn’t get to anything in time.
As I calculated how hard it would be to shove his body weight off of me,
he finished making his lunch, said, “Sup,” and left,
the door automatically locking behind him.
I expect if I told him I was prepared to stab him with the corner of my staff ID if I had to,
he would say what I’ve heard too often, the one we all know
but are getting wearily suspicious of:
Not all men are like That.
When I was eleven, all the girls in my class got sent to self-defence
because they assumed we’d need it one day.
When I was twelve, there was a prostitute’s body dumped in the river next to my house
because someone thought she was disposable.
When I was thirteen, it happened again and this time the man went to jail
and people stood outside the courtroom and held up signs that he did the right thing.
When I was fourteen, my friend showed up to a sleepover late, chest heaving from sobbing
and from running four blocks after getting chased by a man that followed her off the bus.
When I was fifteen, my mother accused me of being a Man Hater
and I said, “No, but god, would you blame me if I was?”
I got catcalled and then got laughed at when I flipped them off.
they pulled up beside me and I clutched my bag tighter,
my hand going in for my keys and my mind going over how their noses would look
if I smashed them in with my elbow.
“What’s the big deal,” the guy at the steering wheel asked. “We’re just complimenting you. We’re not like That.”
Sorry, but I’m not going to trust you in case I end up on a poster labelled ‘MISSING.’
Even if you seem like the nicest guy, I’ll still have one hand holding my keys
as the only knife I’m allowed, because I don’t know how far you’re going to take it:
if you won’t back off when I tell you I don’t want to date you
if you’ll shout BITCH at me when I don’t respond well to your catcall
if you’ll expect my body as a reward for treating me like a human being
if you’ll try to take what you think you’re owed by being a man
if you’ll turn me into another statistic that people shudder away from.
I have been trained to assume that it’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing
or face the consequences.
I don’t know if you’ll nod when I reject you
or pump me full of bullets.
Every single woman I’ve talked to has a story where they haven’t felt safe in their own body
because of what a man said or did.
Not all men are like That, but god, it’s enough.
Last night a man asked me for a dollar as I left the subway on my way home. I gave him one.
He then proceeded to start talking to me and followed me for ten minutes as I tried to walk home. He ignored my repeated attempts to part ways and made comments about my body, his body and allude to us having sex. He asked personal questions about my life. He asked if I was married. I told him that I had a boyfriend, not because I owed him any answer, but my past experience has shown that these type of men, when hearing you are ‘taken’ often will leave you alone out of respect, not for you of course, but for the man who already ‘has’ you.
He walked all the way to the block I lived, talking away, moving closer to my side while I clutched my keys, splayed out between my fingers in one pocket and my cell phone in the other, mind frantically going over my options to get out of this situation. How to get away from this man without angering him. How to get into my apartment without him seeing where I lived.
When I turned the corner of my block I saw that the bodega was open. I told him I had to go to the store and said, again, good night. He followed me into the store, where with witnesses and the store owner who knows my face I had to courage to tell him to stop following me. That I didn’t want him to know where I lived. To go away.
He called me a bitch.
The store owner made him stay in the store long enough for me to dart across the street, duck into my apartment, and lock the door behind me.
I’ve spent most of today going over in my head what I did wrong to get into this situation.
I was stupid to give him a dollar. To speak to him after. To let him walk with me so far. To be so concerned with being polite.
But what that really boils down to is that I, my entire life, have been told that being a woman in public is asking for attention, and once received it is my fault in some way.
I don’t owe anybody conversation, my number, my time. It’s not a complement.
The truly insidious thing about harassment is that in the moment, the potential violence, quiet, persistent and vague threat combine with a world of people telling you that if something bad happens to you it’s YOUR fault. The conditioning women receive to be ‘nice’, be polite, smile for goodness sake (lest, horrors of all horrors we become that horrendous monster, a bitch). All this is why we accept being uncomfortable, being afraid, why we consider how our keys could be used as a weapon.
The man called me a bitch, and my biggest regret today is that I wasn’t a bigger one.
Think about this shit.
This is the third time the bill has failed, following defeats in 2010 and 2012.
The Paycheck Fairness Act would require employers to disclose payment and demographic information and prevent them from punishing workers who discuss their salaries. It would also allow civil pay discrimination lawsuits to be filed against employers.
Republicans opposed the bill, arguing it would encourage “frivolous” lawsuits and deprive women of workplace flexibility.
This says a lot about what the GOP is about, and the fact they’re deep in the pocket of Big Corporations. So deep they cannot dig their way out, even if they wanted to.
Ouch. Wish politicians weren’t just faces for corporations and then we could get the government on the side of people and justice.
I feel like I’m at a point in my life where I know I need to advance the main quest, but instead I faff about doing side quests because the main quest is intimidating and I don’t feel like I’ve leveled up enough to be able to handle it.
She is literally singing about riding dick. Not just any dick, but the dick that is standing right next to her. He’s not in the audience or backstage and she’s not being coy under the male gaze. She is singing about having sexual agency as a woman in an assertive fashion. Then at the end, she puts her hands on his hips and stands in a version of the wonder woman pose. If you don’t think Beyonce is the baddest womanist icon at the moment, then I’m going to ask you to reevaluate your life and get the fuck out of mine.
Amy died on Monday at Tucson Medical Center. A blood infection brought on by ongoing dialysis had weakened her heart to the point that she required surgery.
She was 40.
Less than 24 hours later, Derrick committed suicide in the home the couple shared.
He was 39.
Crying over this. Actually crying. I didn’t know them or anything, but their story is just so damn sad. Maybe not their story, but definitely how it ended. A couple like this deserves to grow old together.