#Golf Shoes in Dishwasher

[f1uckinghell]

What are the pack's irrational ickss? Here's what I've got so far— Charles: people who type only with their two pointer fingers Michael: when someone doesn't sweat while working out Pierre: people with peanut allergies Carlos: when someone pronounces the Z in "ibiZa" (it's i-bi-tha", he'll say) Lando: people that wear water shoes Max: golf clothes (causes a lot of debate in the pack) Daniel: people that pet dogs using their bare feet

Anon you are so fucking funny for this hahaha

Charles absolutely bullying Max for how he types; Michael being pissed because „WHO DOESN’T SWEAT, DANIEL, IT’S UNNATURAL!“; Pierre just thinks whoever has peanut allergies is weak; Carlos, the spanish elitist; Lando, who’s husband has a foot fetish (yes I stand by this) which has given him elitist thoughts about feet; Max in this AU thinking polo shirts look like shit; and Daniel who thinks it’s weird that ppl rub their foot sweat all over a living being.

Let me add some more!

Max: people who chew too loudly; however, HE decides what too loud is on a case to case basis

Michael: cargo shorts

Daniel: someone watching him while he tries to park his truck

Charles: people who overpronounce french words when they don’t speak french, e.g. Cwoiss-awnt

Lando: shaving noises

Carlos: people stacking the dishwasher incorrectly

Pierre: americans pronouncing his name

[truelistmarketing]

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[roolsilver]

Some things that help me in a multiple-ADHD home

1. Share tasks- you put the laundry in the washer, I switch it, whoever's clothes it is hang it

SPEAKING OF HANG IT

2. Open closet upgrade- hang everything except socks and underwear. Replace your dresser with another hanging rack

3. Claim a cabinet. We have a pantry for regular food, cabinets for certain things, and a cabinet for only my nerd shit. Nobody touches my cabinet- instant noodles, snacks, ingredients for things only I cook. It doesn't matter if WE have it, 'I' have it.

4. Collective grocery list group text is LIFE-CHANGING

5. Thou Shalt Not buy any dish that doesn't go in the dishwasher

5.5. The dishwasher doesn't have to be full to run it. You can run it twice if dishes aren't clean. Not to advocate wasting water, but there are hundreds of golf courses and estates and automated sprinklers, you're not going to doom the environment by running the dishwasher again.

6. Scarf and hat hangers. I get them at Dollar Tree and hang hats on a belt hangers. Also there is a shoe organizer full of gloves/dog leashes/etc nailed to my wall by the door.

7. Lost and found box on the dryer for pens/cash/keys found in clothes or machines.

8. Emergency pods in car/laptop/purse with $20, a wall plug, and C-type and micro cords for charging phones/accessories. I put them in a headphones case from dollar tree.

I think the best part of 2022 for me after getting ADHD diagnosis is probably discovering home optimisation tricks aka how to have adhd-friendly house.

here’s some of the list I could think on top of my head now :

1. The concept of open wardrobe, cabinet, and closet to help object impermanence.

2. Sticker label at every corner of your house as reminder (turning off the switch, close the door, etc).

3. Hang dangling keychain at cabinet on top of your head so after you open it, as you see something dangling, it will catch your attention to close the cabinet door.

4. Hang every washed clean clothes after laundry using hanger instead of folding it.

5. Have a basket system for dirty laundry and clean laundry.

6. Changing tatami bed style (the one where the bed is on the floor) to loft bed, because being on the floor can be bad for ADHD productivity AND having higher bed introduces some challenges to make rest better.

7. The 5 minutes rule : if you can get it done in 5 minutes, then you have to do it immediately. Example, hanging your outside clothes after coming back home only take less than 5 minutes, so you do it immediately so that you don’t just pile them on the floor or on the sofa.

Anything else that I miss?

Share yours here.

I might update this post whenever I found new cool ways of optimizing my home.

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IV

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.6k

Warning: a big helping of abandonment/daddy issues, lots of feelings, explicit sexual content A/N: y’all are gonna be so soft and then so mad lmao. 

The plan was to go to Mike's house then back to campus. You said you didn't have anything to do at your mom's, that a long phone call would suffice, which is why Mike is confused when you ask him if you can stop by before going back. It's an hour out of the way, but it's not like he has anything better to do, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about your humble beginnings. 

 The house is in a decent-looking neighborhood, small, nearly identical one-story homes surrounded by cracked sidewalks. He has to be careful not to trip as you make your way to the front porch, pots of dead or dying plants along the edges of it. You shove your key into the lock, twist and open, then motion for Mike to follow. 

 The den is dimly lit, ceiling fan above with only one working bulb. A crime show is playing on the TV but there's no one watching. There is, however, another light pouring from a back room, and as soon as you drop your bag on the couch, a head pokes out from the doorway. 

 "Baby girl!" A shrill voice cries, and Mike sees you grimace. "I thought you weren't coming by!" 

 A woman walks into the den wearing long, cotton shorts and an old tie-dye shirt then pulls you into a hug so tight that it makes you cough. 

 "Mom," you take a deep breath as if to refill your lungs with all the air that was pushed from them. "This is Mike."

 He holds out a hand and smiles, but all your mother does is stare with round eyes and blurt, "Oh, he's a big boy." 

 "My fucking god." You don't yell or whine, just pinch the bridge of your nose and mumble, "Just shake his hand please." 

 "Sorry, I'm sorry, just was not expecting… You didn't tell me how tall he was."

 "'Cause it doesn't matter. Why would I—nevermind," you cut yourself off, face falling flat just like your voice. 

 Mike isn't sure if he should be flattered or offended or embarrassed, so he just ignores the comment entirely and says, "Nice to meet you." 

 You make your escape to the back, dragging Mike with you before shutting your bedroom door and leaning against it. 

 "Mom is a little weird, but you'll always know where you stand with her," you tell him. "Also, sorry about the house. She’s a teacher, so she’s usually pretty beat at the end of the day. Not enough energy to do a lotta cleaning."

 "Didn't even notice," he reassures you. 

 Mike unpacks his bag next to you, and you gather the dirty clothes from both yours and his, balling them up and taking them with you out to the garage to throw into the washing machine. Mike should have done it at his parents', but as you were packing up that morning, his mother got all teary eyed and his dad just kept shaking your tiny hands and telling you to come back, so it just didn’t happen. 

 Back in the living room, your mom is sitting in an old rocking chair, and Mike thinks you'll take a seat on the adjacent couch, but instead you ask, "You need help with anything? Dishes or vacuuming or somethin'?"

 She looks up at you, fly-away hairs sticking out around her temples and forehead and responds, "It'd be nice if you could do the dishes. I just haven't gotten around to it."

 "Can do," you nod and walk into the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and making a displeased noise at the dirty plates and bowls inside. There's room for a few more, but once it's full and running, you just clean what's left in the sink by hand. Mike finds a towel, stands next to you, and holds his hand out for every scrubbed dish, drying it and placing it in the rack to hopefully be put up later. 

 "You hungry?" You ask when you're done and drying your hands. "It's almost one."

 "Uh, yeah. I could eat." 

 Truthfully, he's starving having only had a small breakfast at his parents'. He doesn't want to say that, though, doesn't want you making a big meal for him or apologizing for anything. 

 "Sandwiches okay?" 

 Something in your tone has him on edge. Your voice is too quiet, deflecting downward as if you're forcing each word from your mouth. 

 "Yeah," he nods. "If you get the stuff, I can make 'em." Mostly so that you can relax but also because there's no way he's gonna let you make him a fucking sandwich. 

 You shrug your shoulders, grab bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and condiments, then say, "You can make ours. I'll make mom's."

 He knows he's missing something, but he doesn't know what, and right now he's too afraid to ask. 

 He eats next to you on the couch, you and your mom watching TV as Mike tries to subtly glance around. Mounted shelves are decorated with dusty, mismatched figurines, cracks opening at the corners where the walls meet the roof. The brick fireplace is stacked high with plastic tubs and books, probably from your mother’s classroom, and the carpet has seen better days. 

 Mike isn't judging—not in the least—but he has a feeling he knows why being here puts you in a sour mood. The house feels lived in, cluttered and cozy and worn around the edges, but it's still empty somehow. 

 After the three of you are finished eating, you take the paper plates and dispose of them, then tell your mom that you'll be in your room. She gives you a soft smile that you struggle to return.

 It's a little more you in the bedroom, blue walls covered in old posters and collages, a quilt similar to the one in your dorm folded at the bottom of your bed. Your pillow cases are faded and covered in an old flower design that matches your sheets, and there's a small nightstand next to the headboard that's bare on top with wrinkled papers poking out of the bottom drawer. 

 "It's not much, but if you wanna snoop around like I always do, feel free." 

 Mike doesn't really want to, especially since you already seem so uncomfortable in what should be a safe space for you. The only thing he feels okay investigating is the old bookshelf next to your closet—mostly YA novels, some poetry books, an old set of The Lord of the Rings series, a textbook over rocks and minerals and another over volcanoes. Tucked away in the bottom shelf is a tiny booklet that looks like a photo album, and Mike has to fight the urge to pull it from its place and flip through the plastic pages. Anything to get to know you better. 

 You lay in bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, and Mike doesn't know what to do. There's a very small TV sitting on your dresser, an old DVD player next to it, so he figures he'll save both you and himself from talking by picking out a movie. 

 He fingers through them, not that there's a lot, just skims the spines until he pulls out a copy of Space Jam. You only glance at the screen when the intro starts, and Mike immediately zeroes in on the way your jaw sets and your brows furrow. 

 "I can pick something else," he tells you quietly. 

 You take a deep breath and shake your head. Slowly but surely your features begin to soften. 

 "'S'fine."

 "Are you sure?" 

 "Yeah. My, uh…" You swallow loud enough from Mike to hear, neck bobbing with the motion. "My dad and I used to watch it all the time."

 He doesn't know what to make of it or how to respond. In the months he's known you, Mike has never heard you mention your father a single time, and he's never asked in fear of what your response might be. 

 He moves your quilt to sit on the very edge of the bed, a little too tense as he heavily contemplates ignoring what you'd said and still switching movies. 

 "You can lay down, you know," you mumble. "I'm not gonna bite you."

 "You have before," he tries to act casual, but it comes out too stiffly.

 You laugh through your nose— "Suit yourself—" then get more comfortable on the mattress. 

 Michael Jordan gets pulled into a golf hole and the Loony Toons journey to retrieve his shoes from the real world. Mike is barely paying attention, more focused on the way your breathing evens out until it becomes slow and deep. 

 That's good. You could use a nap. 

 He watches you for a while, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and your lips part. You're all curled up on yourself, hands tucked under your chin, knees to your stomach, and Mike wants to slip behind you so badly, to pull you to his chest and lay with you until his heartbeat syncs with yours. 

 But first. 

 As carefully as he can, Mike stands from the bed and glides to the bookcase. He lowers himself in front of it, quickly finding what he's looking for and pulls it from the shelf. 

 It's a small little album, full of polaroids and old pictures cut in half. The first page sets the tone for the rest of the booklet, a photo of a very small you outside eating a popsicle next to a man that is most definitely your dad. You've got a similar facial structure as well as his coloring. Not to mention the expression he's wearing is one Mike has seen you make many times before. 

 The next picture is the two of you dressed up for an event. He's in a striped Polo and slacks while you're in a little checkered dress, a rose corsage on your tiny wrist. Some kind of father-daughter dance, Mike guesses. 

 Sitting on his lap at a fair, a chubby little boy a few years older than you standing close with a stuffed snake around his neck. A party where you're posed with an honestly frightening costume character. You in a bright, mesh jersey standing back to back with your dad, arms crossed, looking at the camera with your chins tilted upward. 

 They all look like good memories. The little boy in the fair picture appears several more times, and as he loses his baby fat, Mike sees the resemblance he shares with you and your father. It's too close to be a cousin—your eyes and mouths shaped the same—so he must be your brother. 

 Mike doesn't know how to feel about that because again, you've never uttered a word. As far as he knew, you were an only child, so why…

 He gets lost in the pages, watching you grow and pose mostly next to your dad. Smiles and laughs and silly faces with your tongues sticking out. Your mom is in some, brother in others, and then, you're in a cap and gown, grinning widely next to your dad who's beginning to gray at the temples. His own smile is barely there now, a ghost of what was seen in the previous photos. It's forced, it's sad, and it's the last picture in the book. 

 Mike's chest hurts. He wonders what happened, when exactly you'd lost him. Was it a quick goodbye, or had it been drawn out and painful? Had he been sick for a long time? He'd looked perfectly healthy in all the shots. Maybe a car accident that took both him and your brother…

 He flips to check for one last photo on the back of the page, but it's empty. However, tucked in a tiny, paper pocket is a folded up note that Mike stares at for a few solid minutes, debating the pros and cons of reading it. He knows he's already violated your privacy by looking through the album, and fuck, he's only been in your house for a couple hours at most—how has he already managed to tumble down such a humongous rabbit hole? 

 Your tiny snores reach his ears, and Mike gently pulls the note out, biting his lip as he unfolds it as quietly as possible. It's soft, like it's been read too many times, and the letters scribbled in all caps are beginning to fade, but the words are still legible. 

 It starts with your name, and then it's all apologies—sorry I can't stay, I have to leave, you don't understand how much this hurts me and so on. 

 Mike's eyebrows pull together the further he reads, blood pounding against the walls of his arteries, pulse picking up because he understands now.

 Your father wasn't in any sort of accident; he just left. 

 The letter ends with a gut-wrenching, You'll always be my little girl, and Mike nearly crumples the paper up to throw away. He resists somehow, simply folds it with shaky hands and slips it back into the pocket at the back of the album. 

 He's never been so mad at a stranger in his life. This must be it. This must be why you are—

 "Should've known you'd go straight for the photo album." 

 Your voice makes Mike's body jolt, his face heating as he turns to look at you with wide eyes. 

 "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

 You wave him off and prop yourself up on an elbow. "It's whatever."

 But, it's not. It's this huge part of you that still affects you to this day. Mike is no psychologist, but he has a pretty good feeling this is the main reason you hold everyone at arm's length. 

 "Why didn't you ever tell me?" 

 "What's there to tell?" 

 Sitting up fully, your gaze moves to the screen just in time to see Michael Jordan step off of the spaceship and onto the baseball field. I Believe I Can Fly is playing, and you're gritting your teeth. 

 "It's not anything that comes up in normal conversation anyway. I wasn't just gonna hit you with it outta nowhere. Also," you look back to Mike, eyes still sleepy, lips pulling downward in a frown. "I'm not the only one who hid stuff about my family."

 Mike sighs and quietly tells you, "That's different," as he closes the album and slides it back into the row of books. 

 "Is it, though? Is it really?" 

 "I..." 

 Mike shuts his mouth and actually thinks on it. He wasn't trying to lie to you about his home life or his heritage. He's only half Greek on his mom's side, after all, and he's only been to the country to visit family a couple of times—once when he was a child and once right before college. The culture is a little different over there, but it all seems so natural to him, especially after being raised to speak the language. 

 Honestly, he didn't ever tell you because he didn't think to, but Mike can understand the shock of walking into his childhood home and getting thrown through that loop. It must have been jarring for you. 

 It's a positive aspect of his life, though. It's not something that's damaged him or made him cold toward others. And, he hates describing you in such a way, but it's true.

 At least it makes sense now. 

 "I guess not," he shrugs. He's not about to fight you on it. 

 You stare at him for a while, waking up a bit more as you rub your eyes and stretch. 

 Then, you flop back down on your pillows. 

 "So. Any questions, Zacharias?" 

 He's surprised that you're asking, and though he doesn't want to twist the metaphorical knife in your gut, he still replies honestly: "Too many."

 A long exhale through your nose, and then you're patting the mattress next to you and grumbling, "Fine, I'll do my best, but you gotta come up here."

 "Why? You gonna need to cuddle afterward?" He can't help but tease. 

 "Fuckin' maybe, dude! We're about to get into my god damn trauma so—"

 Mike is up on his feet and flying toward the bed. He isn't about to sabotage the one fucking moment you're opening yourself up. 

 "Alright, what first?" You ask, trying to look bored, but Mike can clearly see that you're nervous. 

 "He left." 

 "Yeah."

 And then he gets the full story. 

 Your dad was pretty perfect during your younger years—a bit of a workaholic but still good. He took you to dances like the one you'd both dressed for in the photograph. You'd spend days at amusement parks where he'd carry you on his shoulders. He coached the basketball team you'd played on as a child.

 "Not saying he played favorites, but I was definitely closer to him than my brother was."

 The brother who developed a drug problem at fourteen, who was always either out with his little addict friends or at home where he would just scream at you and your mom. 

 "He went to rehab a couple times, but it didn't stick." 

 He left home at seventeen and hasn't gotten in touch with you or your parents since. 

 "I keep thinking one day we'll get a call from the police saying they found his wallet on a fucking corpse, but who knows. Maybe he got clean. Maybe he started a family somewhere else. He'd be twenty-five now."

 "Were you ever close with him?"

 You shrug. "We spent a lot of time together when we were really little, but even back then he was kinda a mean kid."

 It very quickly circles back to your father. Mike still doesn't feel like he has all the answers, so he asks through the skin of his lip, "Why'd he leave?"

 At this point, you've got your head in his lap as he sits against the wall. He smooths your hair back from your face every once in a while, something his mom used to do to him when he was very young that always soothed him. 

 He hopes it's having the same effect on you, thinks it might be considering you've had your eyes closed for a while now, humming now and then as you talk. 

 "Honestly, I don't really know. I don't think he and my mom were ever in love. Like, they just kinda settled for each other," you sigh. "They didn't have a lot in common. They had different upbringings. But, they didn't fight or anything—not in front of us. They were good at hiding the hard times from me and my brother. They just didn't… click."

 Mike bites his tongue, wonders if that was hard to watch or if you'd been too naive to notice. 

 Then, there's his second train of thought that's really just the voice in his head screaming, we click, though! You and I work! But he keeps it to himself. This isn't about you and him. 

 "I think maybe dad had, like, a 'stay together for the kids' mentality 'cause as soon as I graduated, he was fuckin' gone. And, I mean gone. We went to a graduation party the next weekend that lasted a few hours—just me and mom—and when we got back his truck wasn't in the driveway and his drawers were empty. He left that note you read on my desk."

 Mike breathes. Just breathes. He tries to make sense of it, how someone could just do that without a real reason. There hadn't been any explanation in the letter, only apologies. 

 "Have you seen him since?" 

 You open your eyes and reply, "Nope," popping the 'p'. "I don't know where he is, and he hasn't reached out. Mom made the drive to my grandma's—his mom—but she said she didn't know where he was either. Pretty sure she was covering for him, though. She was always kind of a bitch. You know, save for the whole paying for my college and all."

 Mike snorts at this, not that there's anything funny about the situation. It's just his first reaction. 

 You ignore it, moving on with an, "Anyway."

 "Anyway," he mimics. 

 "I don't know if you've noticed in the short time you've been here, but my mom is a little… off. Not super good at taking care of herself."

 "Is this why?" 

 "Clever boy," you show a bitter smile. "I didn't really understand since they weren't, like, in love or whatever, but… I think it was the betrayal more than anything. Like, it came outta nowhere, a big ol' slap in the face."

 "Plus, he left you behind," Mike adds, as if you don't already know. 

 Looking up at him, you raise your eyebrows and smirk. "And, now you know about my abandonment issues." The last part comes out in high-pitched, melodic syllables, a little song that would be funny if Mike didn't know it was a coping mechanism. It most definitely is, though. He can tell that you're the type to mask every issue with humor and sarcasm. It's how you've been dealing with him for the last several months. 

 "So, that's my story," you conclude on an exhale. "Now you know all my dirty secrets."

 "For some reason I don't think that's all of them," Mike pets your hair again. "But, probably the important ones."

 "Mm. I guess."

 The rest of the day is really just spent killing time. You cook an easy dinner that you refuse to let Mike help with, then sit in the den with your mom just like you did at lunch. A medical show is playing. Then a reality show. Then a game show. None of you say much of anything, and it's painfully awkward for Mike now that he knows what happened, but he can power through a few days of this if it makes you feel better. 

 Hours pass until you can retreat, and moonlight shines through your bedroom window, not that Mike needs it. He's memorized your body at this point, knows where to touch without even seeing. He makes sure to be gentle, to suckle and blow on your pebbled nipples as you card fingers through his hair and breathe faster and faster. 

 Leaving love bites down your chest and stomach, he sucks on your skin, gently grazing his teeth over every bruise. Mike wants you to see them all the next day—not a staked claim, just something you can't ignore when you look in the mirror, evidence of his feelings in every mark. 

 When you're finally nice and relaxed, he spreads your legs and licks into you, trying not to be too rough with his beard, but a few swipes of it over your clit leave you shaking in his grasp. You whisper his name, the common one that everyone knows him by, but then, rolling off your tongue like a prayer, you call him, "Miche," and he can't help the rumble that rises in his chest. 

 It should be strange. That's the name only his family uses, the one he was born with. He only simplified it so that kids in school wouldn't ask questions or make fun of him, and after that, it just sort of stuck. But, here and now, falling from your lips, it's so soft. So intimate. 

 You whimper when he sucks on your folds, making them swell, making them sensitive. And then, he's pushing his tongue inside of you and humming happily at the taste. His nose is bumping against your clit, and Christ, you even smell good to him—that ripe, tangy aroma that has Mike going a little crazy. He has to make sure he doesn't get too carried away. You can't make very much noise even with the rattling of the air conditioner, but as he slowly slides a finger into your pussy, he hears you moan around the fist you're holding to your mouth. 

 He stretches you just enough to get you ready, then he holds himself over you and pushes into your wet cunt. Your eyes are open, locked with Mike's as your brow raises and your jaw drops. It's erotic, something you've never done with him before. You typically either gaze somewhere other than his face or keep your eyes squeezed shut. 

 Tonight, though, you've been vulnerable and apparently want to stay that way for a little while longer. 

 He bends to catch you in a kiss, lips and tongues moving just as slowly as his hips, and when you reach to tug at Mike's hair, he pants into your mouth. 

 Those words are there again, stuck in his throat but slowly crawling upward until they're just there, pouring from his tongue, "I lo—"

 Until you cut him off with a sharp, "Don't."

 He makes a noise of frustration, wants to protest because he's so deep inside of you, and you're holding onto him like you want him—truly want him, but you mutter once more against his lips, "Don't say it, Miche."

 So, he doesn't. He bottles the confession up and keeps it locked away, hoping like hell that one day you'll let him tell you. 

 After you climax and coat his cock in slick and cream, he gives a few more thrusts and comes inside of you, filling you with himself and wondering why you're so willing to accept him in that way but not in any other. 

 He's hurting again, like he did at his parents' as you walked around like you belonged there. Except it's worse now. 

 If you don't want him to say it, that means you don't want to say it back. 

 He stays with you for a few more minutes before pulling out. You leave to clean up, and while you're gone, Mike sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he tries to get it all out of his system, whispering it out loud to himself: 

 I love you. I love you, I love you.  

 You still let him hold you as you fall asleep, gripping his hand until you can't anymore, and as Mike drifts off behind you, he has one last thought—Just let me.

* There’s only three weeks left of the semester when you head back to campus, and you intend to make the most of every passing day. 

 You pay better attention in class. You study harder in the library to prepare for final exams. You go to a few more Pi Alpha Kappa parties, making sure not to burn yourself out. And, you let Mike fuck your brains out every few days. Sometimes it’s late at night after those parties. Sometimes you're too tired after the nights of drinking and end up just going to bed only to wake up in the morning and have slow, sleepy sex. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the afternoon when you both have breaks between classes.

 Neither of you bring up anything that happened over the break—meeting families, details about your childhoods, how much you learned about one another in general.

 Most importantly, neither of you address that first night at your mom’s, the way Mike had basically worshiped your body, how he’d come so close to uttering the three words you least want to hear. 

 Thinking about it still makes your chest tighten, your heart beat faster. Sometimes when you’re sharing his bed with him, back pressed to his chest, large arm slung over your waist, you think about why it is you’re so vehemently against it. The two of you already act like a couple most of the time. You walk with each other to class when you can. You stick to each other’s sides at parties. You fuck like rabbits and don’t care who knows about it. 

 And, though you’re hesitant to admit it even to yourself, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. Mike is your best friend at this point. He’s insanely hot. He’s goofy. He’s kind. Yeah, the frat boy persona he puts on around his friends is annoying, but you understand it a little better now. Plus, he always takes off the mask when he’s alone with you, giving both you and himself a break from it.

 You know your time with him is quickly coming to an end—for about two months, at least—and whenever you think too hard about it, it makes you pout and huff. You’re not looking forward to your summer classes without him, but he promises on several occasions that you can call him while he’s at his parents’ if you ever need help with the material.

 It’s impressive, the way he’s able to act like nothing happened. You know it must be troubling him, but it’s not like you can do anything to soothe him. If he was really upset with you, he would have stopped spending time with you, but he hasn’t. He just bottles it up, keeps smiling at you all crookedly, and keeps satisfying you in the bedroom (more than satisfying honestly. There’s really not a word to describe what he does).

 He’s back to getting along with everyone in the Pike house, everyone being Erwin. It’s a relief just because you don’t have to put up with the tension between them, but it’s also awkward. And, a little frightening. 

 The brothers have Smash Brothers tournaments and movie nights, a few date parties here and there, and it never fails that at some point during the evenings, you find your neck prickling as it always does when you feel someone staring at you. You always hope it’s Mike. Fuck, you wish it was him. But, when you glance up and around, it’s Erwin. Every time. His deep blue eyes are trained on you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward on one side. It doesn’t matter if he’s alone or if he’s got Maddie or some other girl sitting in his lap. He's fucking shameless, and it makes your stomach hurt.

 You keep your mouth shut for the sake of the friendship but also for the sake of Erwin’s pretty face. If he and Mike ever got into an actual fight, Erwin would probably be able to get a good few punches in, but you’re nearly positive Mike would end up destroying him in the long run. That could get him kicked out of school. That could get him thrown in jail. 

 Finals roll around, and you manage to pass all of them without issue, even getting grades above the class average. You feel fantastic, like your long term goals might actually be attainable. You have a long road ahead of you, but your GPA at the end of the year is more than enough to raise your confidence. 

 Mike asks you to come back to his house for the couple weeks between the end of the semester and the start of your summer courses, but you turn him down, too scared of what might happen while you’re there. Acting like a couple in front of his parents will only exacerbate his feelings as well as yours, and you’d like to avoid that as best you can. 

 Even now as you’re standing outside by the Jeep, he tries to persuade you one last time, almost pleading, “Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”

 “Miche, I’m sure,” you tell him, trying to stay stern, but it’s hard when his sea glass eyes light up at the sound of his real name. It’s a habit you’ve gotten into, a bad one considering how much he likes it. How much you like it. “I already told you I wanna spend the free time I have at mom’s. I need to check up on her and… Probably clean, honestly.”

 He lets out a little grunt of disappointment, then nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

 “You saw what she’s like,” you remind him. “Someone needs to drop in every once in a while to make sure she isn’t, like, wasting away or something.”

 “Makes sense. I’ll be bummed, though.”

 “Be bummed all you want,” you smile. “I’ll probably still bother you over break. A lot.”

 He sounds terribly sincere when he mumbles, “You never bother me.” It makes your stomach flip in the way you do not enjoy.

 Mike sighs, taking in one of those deep breaths that makes his broad chest rise then fall, calling attention to it and making you bite your bottom lip. 

 “Alright, I should get going,” he concedes, bending down to kiss you too deeply for simple friends with benefits. It doesn’t stop you from humming into his mouth and smiling against him. You hold him by the back of his neck as he pulls your body close to his, his voice muffled when he tells you mischievously, “Don’t forget to send pictures.”

 It makes you laugh, and you lean back to swipe your tongue over his lips so that he groans and chases after you. 

 “I promise I will. Perv.” The beating sun is nothing in comparison to the way your body heats at the thought. You’ve sent him nudes before, but the idea of him looking at them from hours away, fisting his cock as he admires your body through his phone… It makes seeing him off even harder.

 After a couple more softer kisses, Mike swings into the Wrangler and pulls out of the lot. You stand in his parking space and watch him until he’s out of sight, then walk back to your dorm, dragging your feet the whole way. 

 You only stay at your mom’s house for a week, and just like you predicted, you spend most of it cleaning. She thanks you the whole time but makes excuses in between. You just reassure her that you don’t mind even though you do. She really should see a therapist and sort out the depression she’s been stuck in for a few years now, but telling someone they need professional help is easier said than done. 

 Sleeping in your old bed is much harder this time around. You're all too aware of the weight that isn't behind you, and most nights you lay awake for at least a couple of hours trying to imagine it. 

 Like you’d promised, you send him a few pictures, some of them just lewd selfies with your tits pouring out of the cups of your bra, but others are of your naked body in the bathtub, sometimes a shot of you with your hand between your legs. It feels wrong to touch yourself in your childhood home, but it’s necessary, especially when Mike sends you a few pictures of his own—one with his torso on display, defined abs absolutely mouthwatering and the V of his hips suggestively leading into mesh shorts. Another is of him in the gray joggers he wears all the time, the ones that always show off his cock. 

 He’s so fucking hot it atually hurts, makes your pussy throb as you crave his touch. It’s an awful feeling honestly, but even worse than that is the way you miss him. You aren’t supposed to miss him. You’re just supposed to be friends who have sex. Nothing more than that.

 It's why you’re glad to go back to school. Your classes will distract you, keep you from thinking about him too much. The semester is shorter during the summer, so you have to work even harder than you do during fall and spring. You don’t really think it’ll be a problem since you’re trying to cram your brain full of anything other than Mike which is great motivation for studying. 

 Nothing is gonna get you off track, you tell yourself. Nothing will interfere with your studies. That’s the plan.

 Then, you meet Zeke Jaeger. 

* You're studying in the library. It seems like you spend most of your time here, nice and quiet and empty. The campus isn't nearly as busy in the summer as it is during the rest of the school year. No parties, no sporting events, just you alone with your books. 

 It's nice. Most of the time. A little boring but mostly nice. 

 Your eyes are getting tired, and when you check your phone, you realize why. It's almost eleven PM, meaning you've been studying for about six hours. You've had longer nights, usually spent on the phone getting quizzed on the information you're learning with a few breaks in between, but that wasn't the case tonight as Mike had to spend the day with family from out of town. 

 It's okay. You're supposed to be distancing yourself anyway. 

 Taking a deep breath, you pack up your books and slide your laptop into your bag, then stand and swing it over your shoulder. 

 The strap is too long. The bag swings too hard, and your heart sinks when you hear a little grunt followed by a, "Agh, hot!" 

 Turning with wide eyes, you immediately start apologizing, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, fuck, I'm so sorry!"

 A head of light blond hair looks up from the brown stain on his white t-shirt, icy blue eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses, but when he sees the mortification on your face, his own expression softens, and he chuckles. 

 "It's fine. You can calm down."

 You're still breathing heavily, guilt making your hands shake, but he really doesn't look angry. In fact, he's grinning now, eyebrows raised like he's amused. 

 The longer you stare at him, the more familiar he looks. You're pretty sure you've seen him before. Many times before, actually, and then it clicks that this guy is on the front page of the school website. You see him every fucking time you log in, looking much more stern than he does now. Baseball hat and jersey, mitt on one hand as he hides his other in it, and yeah, you know him. 

 "You're Zeke Jaeger."

 He makes a face, scrunching his nose up and squinting. "Yeeeeah, I guess I am."

 Best pitcher in the college league despite being a sophomore like you. He's beaten the records of some major league players. 

 You don't give a fuck about baseball, have never even been to any of the school's games, but you've been hearing about Zeke since the last season. You've learned to tune it out because, again, no shits given (and also you're much more partial to lacrosse now), but he's hard to ignore when he's staring you right in the face. 

 "Well, uh," you try to act casual. It's something you're pretty good at these days. "Cool."

 He snorts, picking his shirt off his chest to air it out like it'll help, then says, "I don't know your name, though."

 You run your tongue over your teeth, wondering why he cares, then introduce yourself. 

 "Oh, you're Zacharias' little girlfriend, aren't you?"

 Your stomach flips at the mention of him. 

 "We're not dating."

 Zeke cocks his head to the side. "No?"

 "No. Just friends."

 He hums but doesn't say anything, and your eyes are once again drawn to his chest as he fans over the stain. 

 "Okay, let me get you a new shirt or something," you try. 

 He laughs again. "I highly doubt you've got a men's shirt tucked in that bag of yours, sweetheart."

 "I—" you pout for a second, mumble, "Okay, yeah, fair point."

 "Another coffee, though," he muses out loud. "Wouldn't be the worst thing."

 You shoot him a finger gun and smack your lips. "On it. Where do you get coffee at eleven o'clock?"

 "I'll walk with you," he states more than offers. 

 Then, you're both leaving the library, leaving campus, and going to a little 24 hour cafe where you blow on lattes and cover the basics about each other—philosophy major, valedictorian of his high school class, playing baseball since age seven, etc. You should sleep. You should get ready for another long day of studying.  

 But it's hard to make good decisions when Zeke Jaeger is smirking at you from across the table like you're the most interesting thing he's ever seen. 

* Zeke gets your number that night. You're not exactly sure how, but he does. 

 Then he doesn’t text you for three days. It doesn’t bother you that much. You figure he has other things to focus on. He’s on campus to take a couple courses and practice for the upcoming season, so he’s probably just busy. If that night had just been a one-off, it’s fine with you. It was cool to talk to him, but your heart isn’t broken.

 These are all the thoughts and justifications running through your head when you’re in class on Tuesday and your phone lights up during the PowerPoint lecture. You glance down, expecting Mike or Hitch, but it’s an unknown number instead. Eyes flicking from the projection screen to your much tinier one, you slide to open the message and chew on your lip. 

 Hey, it’s Zeke. You have classes this afternoon?

 You do not. And, you are too quick to tell him that.

 He takes you to a little Mom and Pop restaurant, too far to walk so you end up riding in the black Bronco he drives, trying to convince yourself that it definitely does not make him any more attractive to you. Because you aren’t attracted to him in the first place. Right?

 You sit at a table for two eating paninis and fruit. Zeke asks how classes are going, you ask about practice, and as you talk, he gets that look in his eyes again, like you amuse him or interest him or something.

 It confuses you, and for a moment, you’re taken back to last fall at that first Pi Kappa Alpha party, the one you met Mike at when he tried to get you to shotgun a beer. God, he had been so obnoxious back then, always following you around and flirting and—

 “You listening, sweetheart?”

 Your eyes refocus on the man in front of you, his raised eyebrows and little smirk. “Looks like you’re a million miles away. Sorry if I’m boring you.”

 “No, no,” you try to defend. “I just zoned out for a second. Realized I, uh, got an answer wrong on the quiz I took today.”

 “That sucks,” he hums. “Anyway, I can stop talking about baseball.”

 “It’s okay. Just go over the last, like, ten seconds,” you say with a laugh, hoping your cheeks will stop burning sooner rather than later.

 Zeke chuckles and does just that, doesn’t seem irritated or put out. He tells you about how he has a new trainer this year to warm him up and make sure his throwing arm is in top shape. “I hope he’s as good as my last. Colt was always on it, knew exactly how hot to make the warm compresses and how cold to make the ice packs. Stuff like that. He learned my needs.”

 You both laugh, and if it was anyone else, you’d have an innuendo sliding off your tongue, but for some reason, you don’t think Zeke would want to hear it, like he’d be unimpressed with your vulgar humor. 

 Back at the college, he drives you to your dorm, explaining that he lives in the apartments on the other side of campus and wouldn’t want to make you walk that far. Then, as you slide out of the Bronco, he stops you with a smooth, “Hey,” that makes you look over your shoulder at him. “Make sure you save my number in your phone, okay? I’ll text you soon.”

 The way your stomach flips is worrisome, a feeling you’re only used to when you’re with…

 “Yeah, okay.”

 He grins widely and nods, then waits for you to get a good distance away from the car before driving off.

 No distractions, you’d said. It’ll be good for your focus, you’d said. 

 What a fucking joke. 

*

Mike has to help you with some homework that weekend. You can hear his smile through the phone, snort when he makes his little nerd jokes, then sigh when he gets to the actual subject and explains it to you without a problem. His brain is incredible, and when you think about it too hard, it makes you warm inside. 

 “You’re so fucking smart. Why don’t you let people know?”

 “Maybe I just want you to know,” he chuckles. “You think I wanna spend my days tutoring every idiot who needs help?”

 “Miche, did you just call me an idiot?”

 You hear another breathy laugh followed by a sigh. “I have many, many names for you, but ‘idiot’ isn’t one of them.”

 “Oh yeah?” You play. “And, what might those other names be?”

 He lists a few, all of them making your face flush and your body tingle, and before you know it, you’ve got your pants off and your fingers between your legs. You can hear Mike’s heavy breathing on the other end, the wet sound of his hand stroking his lubricated cock, and when you reach your climax, you moan out your usual, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Miche.” 

 He tumbles down right behind you, panting and telling you in a voice of disbelief, “Jesus, it just keeps coming.” It makes the pulses of your orgasm even stronger, remembrance of all the times he’s painted you in white, and God, you are so ready for him to get back to the school.

 Then, there’s the voice in the back of your head that makes you think maybe it’s better that he’s gone for now, that he might not be too pleased that you’re spending time with another guy. But, it’s not like things with Zeke are going anywhere. You wouldn’t even call him a friend. You text on and off, have brunch or lunch or coffee depending on the time of day. 

 And, yeah, he calls you pet names, tells you that you look nice even when you’re just in leggings and a t-shirt, talks about his family and…

 Okay, it could potentially lead to something more, but it’s only been a week, and considering his golden boy status, he could have anyone he wants, so why would he even be interested in you in any way, shape, or form?

 Naturally, your thoughts circle back to Mike and the way he could have any girl on his arm, but he still chooses to spend time with you. To fuck you. To nearly confess his feelings to you. You have to wonder if you’re emitting some kind of scent or beacon, if there’s a sign hanging above your head with an arrow pointing down. Sports gods, come get a piece. 

 If only you’d never gone to that party. If you had just kept your head down like you had freshman year. Your life would be so much easier now.

 But now you’re in Zeke’s apartment listening to him rant about some philosopher you’ve never even heard of. He’s gesturing with his hands, flipping curling, blond bangs from his face, and whenever he pauses to think, he scratches his beard. He’s very fond of the white t-shirts and jeans get-up, sometimes switches it up and wears a button down under a sweater vest. Both looks are becoming of him no matter how much you try to deny it, but when he drops down onto the couch next to you and peers into your god damn soul with those piercing, blue eyes, you have to choke back a dreamy sigh.

 What is happening to you?

 “So, what do you think about it?” He asks, looking hopeful that you might have some insight on this matter.

 But, you simply laugh and shake your head. “Zeke,” you start. “I’m gonna be real honest with you here. I didn’t understand a fucking thing you just said.”

 You assume he’ll be disappointed, maybe tire of you since you can’t be as intellectually stimulating as he’d like you to, but Zeke exhales in a lighthearted sort of way, shows one of those amused smiles, and tells you, “You’re cute.”

 Anyone else and you would have snapped back, something along the lines of, don’t fucking patronize me, but with Zeke, all you can do is stare at him and let your lips part, silently asking for something you won’t speak out loud.

 His gaze moves to your mouth for a split second. That soft smile turns into one of his famous smirks. Then, he’s back on his feet and asking, “You wanna go to dinner?”

 You are more than relieved at the shift in atmosphere, but your heart is still beating too hard as you follow him downstairs and to his car. 

* Summer is passing quickly. Too quickly. The eleven week classes are kicking your ass, or are close to kicking your ass. Lucky for you, you have your own private tutor just a call or text away. Mike helps you, and you laugh and goof around, shoot off innuendo after innuendo, but the phone sex slows to a halt eventually. You tell him that you’re tired, and you are. It isn’t a lie. But, it also isn’t the full truth.

 Between classes when you could be resting, you’re eating out with Zeke. Or, watching him and the rest of the baseball team practice for the upcoming season. Or, sitting in his apartment, watching movies and chatting about all manner of things. Nothing important, of course—there’s no diving deep into your life story like you had done with Mike over Spring Break, but Zeke still learns the little things about you. Why you’re majoring in geosciences and how you became good friends with some of the Pike guys. You don’t give him the full details on that one—that you got blackout drunk and fucked Mike and just couldn’t stop. You don’t think Zeke would be interested in hearing about it anyway.

 You learn a bit about his dad and stepmom, the latter of whom he isn’t very fond of. He also has a little brother who’ll be attending the college starting this fall, and he’s interested in the Greek life. Naturally, you build PKA up. Even if there are some… Problematic people in the house, there are also a lot of really good guys. 

 “I’ll make sure to pass it along to him,” Zeke tells you one evening as you’re both sprawled on the couch, backs against the armrests as you face each other. It’s how he seems to prefer to sit when the TV isn’t on. When you asked him why, he had told you, “Just like looking at you,” and you didn’t know how to respond. You still don’t know how to respond.

 “Eren thinkin’ about joining any sports?” You ask now. “Does baseball run in the family or anything?”

 Zeke snorts. “Kid couldn’t hit a baseball even if it was on one of the t-ball stands.”

 “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

 “I would say he’s more academically inclined, but,” Zeke sighs. “That would be a lie.”

 You can never tell if he actually likes his brother. Most of the time he complains about him, but every once in a while he’ll bring up something cute Eren did as a little boy, and you see a fond glimmer in his light eyes. 

 “Anyway,” Zeke waves off the subject and transitions to a new one—one that makes your stomach drop. “Are you gonna tell Zacharias about us?”

 You choke on your own spit, leaning forward to cough a couple times, then challenge him with a nervous laugh, “I wasn’t aware there was anything to tell him.”

 Zeke tilts his head, mouth pulling up as he raises his eyebrows. “Come on,” he chuckles.

 “Come on, what?” You frown. If you were with Mike, you both would have died at that. Come on my face, you can hear him say, and you have to fight a smile because there’s absolutely no way you could explain that to the man in front of you.

 “You don’t have to play coy, sweetheart. We both know there’s something going on between us.” He says it with such confidence that even if he wasn’t right you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. The assumption should annoy you, should make you scoff and leave, but instead you sit there staring, caught up in his gaze and cocky grin.

 “I—”

 “It’s okay, you know. Not like you’re alone in this.”

 Those questions swim through your mind again, all the insecurities that you’ve been sorting through with Mike, but now that voice is louder because that sense of trust hasn’t formed yet. You’ve only connected with Zeke over meals and movies. It sounds domestic, but despite your apparently obvious attraction to him, you still don’t feel like you really know him. 

 But, he draws you in, like a moth to a flame. You can’t help it. There’s just something about him that makes you want him to like you, like you want to impress him, like you want to be good for him. You’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but they’re much harder to fight now that you’re sitting in front of him, taking in his wavy hair and pale blue eyes, that ever present smirk on his face, the curve of his neck that disappears into his shirt.

 He could just want sex. He could just want a fling. Wait for everyone to get back on campus and drop you for another girl. You tell yourself you wouldn’t care; you’re good at keeping things casual.

 Wouldn’t it be fun to be his arm candy for a while, though? Let people look at you and whisper louder than they did when they’d see you and Mike together? You don’t care about status, about being in the spotlight. It’s more for the experience, dating someone who could teach you things.

 Mike teaches you things, that voice pops up again. He’s been helping you with your work for almost a year now. You can’t just overlook that. 

 “What, are you weighing the pros and cons over there or something?”

 You snort. “Maybe. We still don’t really know each other all that well, Zeke.”

 “Might I remind you that we’ve been hanging out all summer? Did you honestly think it wouldn’t lead to anything more?”

 “Honestly,” you mimic, “I never thought you’d be interested.”

 “Why wouldn’t I be?” His brow furrows like he’s genuinely confused. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cute.” 

 God, you can’t even count how many times he’s called you ‘cute’, how many times it’s made you blush over the last several weeks, just like it does now.

 Then, he pushes, “Do you not find me at—”

 “Of course I do,” you cut him off. “I don’t know who doesn’t, which is exactly why I don’t know where this is coming from.”

 Zeke sighs like he’s annoyed, then turns the hand on his thigh palm up and beckons you with two fingers. “Come here.”

 “What?”

 “Come here.”

 Your blood pressure spikes, breaths coming in little puffs that have no way of getting to your brain. It’s probably why you obey, rolling to your knees and clumsily crawling over to him. You stop short, right between his bent knees, but Zeke sits up, straightens his legs, and pulls you into his lap.

 More of that precious air leaves your lungs as you exhale too sharply, staring at him with huge eyes. You don’t know what’s happening, can’t believe it’s happening. It doesn’t feel real even as you rest your hands on his shoulders, even when he holds your hips and pulls you so that your full weight is on him, but fuck, you can’t say anything. You can’t make a sound. All you can do is wait for him to make his next move.

 “Why do you look scared?” His voice is just above a whisper, but at this proximity you can hear him without a problem. 

 “I don’t have a lot of experience sitting in men’s laps,” you manage, trying to keep your usual careless tone, but you doubt it works.

 “For some reason I don’t believe that.”

 You rear back, actually offended. “Excuse m—”

 That ire, however, melts away as quickly as it arose. Zeke slides fingers up your waist, all the way to the back of your neck to bring your face to his—your lips to his. 

 He feels different, not at all what you’re used to. His kiss is more demanding, hungry, and God, you still can’t breathe, can’t think straight because his tongue is moving past your lips, and you’re letting it, letting him taste you as your fingertips dig into the flesh of his shoulders. You lift yourself from him just a little only for Zeke to pull you back down with the hand still gripping your hip. He makes sure you feel him when he grinds up into you, the zipper of his jeans rubbing you through your little shorts so that you gasp into his mouth. 

 You both stay like that for what feels like a fucking eternity, biting and sucking on lips, stroking over each others’ tongues until you absolutely have to break apart. You’re panting now, body still tense on top of his, and Zeke stares at you with half-lidded eyes and shows the ghost of a smile.

 “Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

 The statement sets you on fire, so much so that all you can do is whimper quietly and lean in for more. 

  And, as you get lost in Zeke Jaeger, you decide for yourself.

I need to tell Mike

[ next ]

[sexandthesuburbs]

I need a running list of things I appreciate, I’m bumming myself out!

Appreciation List

My kid asking for “the bear in the sesame” when he wants to hear The Bare Necessities from The Jungle Book

I get to listen to all my favorite Disney songs again!

A really clear October afternoon

Being able to get away to go for a run in the afternoon.

Being able to run again.

Ted Lasso

Testing negative for covid

Running a meeting and finishing 1 minute early

Friday afternoons before a 3 day weekend

Having a work friend

Flipping through a catalog and imagining buying anything that catches my eye.

Trader Joe’s

Tacos for dinner

Having food to eat

Having a home to live in

People who make the world a better place

Each new day

Sending and receiving cards in the mail 💌

My kid also requests to hear “Singing in the Rain”

A perfectly ripe avocado

Public libraries

Marching bands

Clean water to drink

Taking a nap

Making chores more fun by listening to podcasts.

Chocolate

That my kid says “Oh phooey”

Pumpkins

Church rummage sales

Finally understanding what inner knowing feels like (in this one particular instance).

Blueberries

Legos

Books!

Abblasen

Kinetic sand

Puppies and kittens

Love

A perfectly ripe pear

Postsecret

Mini golf

Scalding hot showers

Hiking

A New York bagel with butter

Pizza

Local governments that invest in amenities that benefit all people.

Household appliances like washers and dryers and dishwashers that are small miracles

The way Billy Crudup’s character looks at Reese Witherspoon’s character in The Morning Show

Nurses

The way lilac leaves turn a red-purple from the edges in.

White chocolate

Wool blazers

Black watch tartan

Dresses

Well-made shoes

The way back machine

Fresh sheets

The combination of words, “leaf peeping”

Sunny days in the low 70s

Perfectly matched toddler outfits

Barbecue with South Carolina mustard bbq sauce

Tea in the evenings

School photos

Nude high heels

The Great British Bake Off

[pbandjesse]

Today was a day where I just wanted to sleep. I did sleep that much. But like. I just couldn't get it together. It just felt like. Whats the point. My dad is having surgery again in the morning. I just feel so numb over it. I appreciate that he keeps texting me, because I am very scared for him.

I tried to just have a nice day regardless of my inner stress. I was cold. And getting up was hard. James had gone biking before I woke up. They would play a game of video golf with a friend while I did some styling. Then we packed up all our save the dates to mail tomorrow. Had some laughs when the tape would get messed up when I tried to rip it to fast, or when the whole pile fell off the couch onto the floor. It made me feel a little lighter inside.

We cleaned the apartment a bit. There is always more to do but we vacuumed and dusted and I wiped down the kitchen while James scrubbed the bathtub. I cleaned the fishtanks a little more, which are looking alright even if I cannot find the new snails. I worry that the water is just a little to cold? So they have buried themselves? No idea. But I will keep trying to make the water nicer. I may take the plants out of the fishtank tomorrow because a lot of them are gross. We will see.

James went out to get me a bagel because they love me. And I played animal crossing, This is when I found out dad is having surgery again. They texted me and told me I should make a workshop in animal crossing for them. I was already starting a build of a house with cardboard for a silly bear with big eyebrows. So I pivoted and made that into a tool shed with an outdoor space. It didn't take very long but I was really proud of how it turned out.

I would play for a little longer. But I was very unsettled. I tried eating more lunch. Wandering around the apartment. I didn't want to go anywhere. I didn't really want to do anything. I would eventually just go lay in bed and watch tiktoks.

As the sun was going down James ordered us pizza. They walked to get that. And I got out plates and stuff for us for when they got back. We had dinner. I watched them play a video game for a bit. But soon they were heading out to go to a football game with their dad and Paul. I am still here alone.

But I didn't want to just lay in bed. I was cold and needed to warm up. So I stated cleaning up my studio. Putting things away. Finally fixing the shoes I have had on my desk for a week. I also fixed my old star poster that I have hung in every apartment and is absolutely falling apart. I took some things down off our bedroom wall. Rearranged the frames and hung a few new pieces. I framed the railroad money I got for James. And I framed on of the extra save the dates. It made me happy.

I painted my nails. And sorted all my purses. I went through my gifts a little more. I checked the mail but nothing came. I know its sunday but sometimes we still get packages. Maybe tomorrow.

I took a bath but it just messed up my nails and I was to cold so I wasn't in there to long. I got out and put on the new rode I got. Which still smells like perfume even though we washed it. I painted my nails again. It seems to have dried better this time.

I cleaned out the fridge. And I think I will go back sure the dishwasher isn't waiting to be ran. James will be home in a few hours. I am going to watch scary videos and scare myself. But mostly I am going to hang out in bed. I hope you all have a nice night. Hug your family if you can. Goodnight everyone

[modernmythos-hq-blog]

Possible occupations

9-1-1 dispatcher

Abortion clinic worker

Actor

Aeronautical engineer brother (once tested fighter jet windshields by shooting dead turkeys at them which had to be sanctioned by PETA)

Airplane mechanic

Amusement park worker

Answering service employee

Apartment maintenance. (And it's kind of a cool job cause people leave things behind all the time when they move.)

App developer

Appliance store sales clerk

Architect

Architectural lighting designer

Army criminal investigator

Art professor

Artist

Attorney

Auto parts clerk

B&B owner

Bakery worker

Ballet dancer

Banker,

Barrista

Bartender

Bead store clerk/stocker

Bee Keeper

Bicycle shop employee

Biofeedback therapist

Biogas plant builder

Biomedical engineer (Interesting side note, you can kill an entire surgical suite of medical professionals with a faulty anesthesia machine. Quite the murder weapon.)

Black Jack dealer

Blackhawk pilot

Boat canvases maker

Book collator (assembling books page by page)

Bookstore clerk

Border patrol

Bridge painter

Bus driver

Business/Financial News network reporter/producer/anchor

College baseball director of operations

Cabinet maker

Cake decorator

Cannery worker

Car wash attendant

Carpenter

Carpet layer

Cartoonist

Caterer’s assistant

Cello maker

CEO of a high tech company

Chain restaurant pre-employment/set-up team (they travel from town to town to help 'set-up', stock and hire the employees that will ultimately work there. After a month of two, they go onto the next franchisee location and get THAT restaurant set-up, etc.)

Charter/private airline flight attendant.

Chef

Chemical engineer (does research on paper recycling, bioenergy, and fungi that digest wood)

Chemical scientist

Childcare worker

Chimney sweep

Chinook Helicopter Mechanic US Army

Chiropractor

Christmas Around the World sales person

Civil/structural engineer.

Clerk at candy store

Closet organizer

Coat check girl

College admissions counselor

College professor

Computer guy for a wine company

Computer programmer

Computer repair person

Consumer columnist.

Contract analyst

Cook

Copywriter

Counselor in the Juvenile Detention Center

Couture cat collar maker sold through Internet boutique

Crab shaker/crab cooker

Custom hat embroidery business owner

Custom racing bicycles designer and airbrusher.

Cytogenetic technologist

Dairy farmer

Dam operator

Data analyst

Deli worker

Dental assistant

Dental office practice manager

Development work for an art and history museum

Dialysis technician

Dietary aide at a nursing home,

Director of study abroad program

Disc jockey

Dishwasher

DJ

DMV clerk

Dog breeder/trainer

Dog walker

Drafting work for architecture firms

Egg farm worker

EMT

ESL teacher

Event specialist (sets up events at hotels)

Excavator bulldozer & crane operator

Executive assistant

Exterminator

Extreme sports videographer

FAA tower controller.

Factory assembly line

Field biologist specializing in insectivores. (Shrews are insane.)

Financial advisor

Fire chaplain

Firefighter

Fish physiologist

Fisheries biologist

Flight attendant

Florist

Foreclosure/default analyst/investigator.

Freelance wedding/event/aerial photographer/videographer

Funeral director

Game creator

Geek squad

General contractor

General counsel for a phone company

Geologist

Geophysicist

Glass blower

Golf pro shop employee

Grant writer

Graphic designer

Graphic novelist

Green building consultant

Grocery store cashier

Groundskeeper at a major league ball park

Group home worker

Guard at an art museum

Guy who cleans out the vacuum tubes once a year at the bank/hospital/Costco.

Hair stylist

Handyman

Head Start Teacher.

Heath care aide

Herbarium archivist

High school history teacher

High school teacher at an alternative school for near-dropouts.

Highway flag person

Historical remodeler (carpenter)

Home help for families with special needs children. (help out around the house, help out with the kids, babysit when the parents need time to themselves.

Horse groomer (in the competitive horse world the equivalent of a golfer's caddy)

Horticulturist

Hostess at a café.

Hot tub sales person

Hotel employee

House inspector.

House painter

Housekeeper.

Human resources

Human resources for the research and marketing arm of a pet food company

Information (411) operator

Instructor at a college

Insurance adjuster

Insurance salesman

Interior designer

Investigate allegations of abuse and neglect of people with disabilities

IRS worker

Jail Commander

Jewelry design/repair

Journalist

Judo instructor

Juvenile Detention worker

Kindergarten teacher

Landscape architect

Lawn service/snowplow operator

Librarian

Life guard

Logger

Magazine editor

Mail carrier (mail carriers know A LOT about the people on their streets.)

Management consultant

Map editor/producer for a navigation systems company.

Marine biologist

Math professor

Mechanic

Mechanic

Mechanical designer

Mechanical engineer

Mediator

Medical examiner

Medical information sales

Medical records scanner

Medical social worker

Mental health therapist

Microbiologist

Mill worker

Model

Montessori teacher

Morgue attendant

Motel clerk

Movie critic

Nail technician

Nanny

Neon sign repair in the LED age

Night club worker "working door"

Nighttime office maintenance/property manager (which gives access to all kinds of offices!)

Nonprofit administrator

Nurse

Nursery owner

Nursing home worker

Occupational therapist

Office building cleaner

Office Manager/Bookkeeper

Oncology nurse

Organic farmer

Otter tech for the Department of Conservation

Pastor

Patient finances at hospital

Personal trainer business owner

Pet shop worker

Pet transport business (takes puppies to and from the vet or groomers, or gets rescue dogs to new families across the country.)

Pharmaceutical salesman (we affectionately say "drug dealer" haha),

Phone banker

Phone nurse

Photographer

Physicist

Pizza chef

Planer operator at a mill

Police Academy cadet trainer

Police dispatcher

Pool maintenance person

Preloader for long haul trucks

Preschool dance teacher

Preschool teacher

Printers

Prison guard

Professional genealogist

Proofreader

Psychiatric nurse

Psychic

Psychologist

Public radio producer

Quality control inspector for commercial construction

Ranch hand,

Real estate agenT

Real estate management.

Receptionist at a naturopathic (or any) clinic

Recycling equipment engineer.

Reporter

Research assistant

Retired radio on-air personality.

Road crew supervisor

Roofer

Sand pit owner/operator

Sandblaster

School secretary

Scientists that work on lab animals

Seamstress

Security officer

Senior Theatre materials publisher

Shelving assembler (assembling and disassembling shelves in a warehouse as stock changed)

Shoe store employee

Sides of beef and other freezer meat seller

Singer in small clubs

Ski lift repair tech

Social worker

Software analyst

Software engineer

Soldier

Songwriter

Spanish teacher

Speech language pathologist

Spider researcher (extracts venom from deadly spiders)

State safety radio network monitor

Stock market trader

Stock photographer

Storage facility owner

Submarine engineer

Substitute teacher

Summer camp counselor

Surgeon

Systems programmer

Tattoo artist

Tea shop owner

Teach art to very senior citizens at a residential retirement home. (fascinating mix of humor and pathos)

Teach teachers how to use technology in their classrooms

Tech writer

Teflon coater

Telephony installer

Therapist

Tie-dye artist.

Tile setter

Time share seller

Tour director

Toy inventor

Translator

Trouble shooter for a college

Truck driver

TV weatherman

Urban planner

Usher for the Opera

Varsity soccer coach

Veterinarian assistant,

Volunteer reader for SMART

Warehouse worker

Warehouse worker (forklift operator)

Water therapy swimming for injured dogs.

Waterfront engineer who also does wind power

Web designer

Weight Watchers Weigher

Welder in residential home construction (does design work, like railings and structural pieces for houses built into rocks on a mountain.)

Wildlife photographer

Window trimmer (designed windows for shoe stores)

Women’s clothes sales person

Wood worker

Yoga instructor

[dxn-bolton]

BIO & FACTS

&. BASICS

Full name: Daniel Alexander Bolton Nickname(s): Dan, Danny, Danny Boy, Good Boy Dan, Uncle D. Age: Thirty-three.   Gender identity: Cis-male.   Pronouns: He/him. Sexual orientation: Heterosexual, and has been in bisexual encounters, so he’s still figuring that out.

-Physiology Height in feet: 6′2 (1.87 m)   Eye color: Blue.   Hair color: Blonde.   Build: Muscular Scars: Several from the sports he likes to practice (surfing, skateboarding, snowboarding, Climb, etc.) Tattoos: 9 Piercings: Had one on his eyebrow, but not anymore. Right or left-handed: right but is goofy (lefty in surf).   Style in fashion: He is all about comfort, he wears eco, vegan clothing, and most of the time is just T-shirts and sporty shoes. Medical history: 3 broken bones. Allergies: Dust mites.   Chronic illnesses: None. Mental disorders: Depression.

-Family Father: Jack Bolton - Alive Mother: Evelyn Bolton - Alive Sibling(s): Cassidy, Grayson, Willow, Windsor Birth order: First. Marital status: unmarried and single.   Significant other: had one Adriana, but none at this moment. Children: none, (Have a miscarriage with Adriana, nobody knows) Other relatives: They are a big family Pets: One, Arya, an American English coonhound dog Language(s): English, Spanish, understands Portuguese. Hometown: Deerhaven, Tennessee. Superstitions: Always knocks on wood. He was born a warlock and most of his beliefs are focused to it. Diction, accent etc.: Soft southern accent, during his trip his accent washed and got mixed with others.

-Work / Home Education: High school, Fire Academy. Occupation: Firefighter, Derry’s pub manager. Place of work: Derry’s pub and fire station. Employment history: Truth be told, Dan wanted to be an Adventure blogger and photographer, but he had to return home and is following in his father’s same steps. During his trip he worked on every job he could get, from janitor, dishwasher, and English teacher, anything he could do to win money, he would do it. Workspace: has an office at the pub. Status & money: lower-middle class.   Living arrangements: own a house in sycamore heights, he has been fixing it little by little.   Roommates: none.

-Psychology Fears: losing his family, being trapped. IQ: average.   Sleeping habits: Sleeps a lot, but he knows that’s part of his depression so forces himself to not stay in bed for more than the recommended hours. Eating habits: Needs to eat at least two meals or else he will be in a bad mood. Groups or alone: depends on the moment Leader or follow: Depends on who and on what. Pet peeves: People who judge or are not emphatic Drinks, Smokes, & Drugs: Drinks, smokes weed, has done LSD, mushrooms, peyote, and ayahuasca.

-Astrology Birth date: January 23th. Time of birth: Morning, 9:25 am. Sun: Aquarius. Moon: Leo. Rising: Piscis. Mercury: Aquarius Venus: Capricorn Mars: Taurus

-Personality Mbti: ENFP-T Enneagram: type 7. Four temperaments: Phlegmatic Moral alignment: Chaotic Good. Archetype: The Joker. Likes: Action movies, traveling, photography, sports almost all of them (except golf and cricket even if his father loves it), nature, bikes and fast cars, loves all kinds of music, hiking, and yoga. Dislikes: Reading, cause he’s not good at it, small spaces, people who think are better than others, people that hate others for race, heritage, sexuality, or gender, also not a big fan of guns. Bad Habits: Smokes too much weed, swears a lot, checks his phone obsessively, and loves gossip (xoxo). Secret Talent: Sewing. Hobbies: Skateboarding, Surfing, making music playlists, addicted to food porn, loves watching movies and tv shows, photographing landscapes, even though adventure and animal photography is his best skill, and exercising. Four Positive Traits: Adventurous, Loyal, Optimistic, Relaxed Four Negative Traits: Impulsive, Possessive, Forgetful, Disobedient Other Mentionable Details: Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder and is dyslexic

&. BIOGRAPHY

The day that Daniel was born, his mother told him that it has probably everything to do with how he was, with how much energy and adrenaline he had on him. His Father was on call, due to a terrible storm, he and his mother weren’t expecting their first son until almost a month, but Daniel was ready to come and like most of his life, his birth was full of fast-driving, adrenaline, and rush.

He was a very hyper kid always getting in trouble, he was not a bad kid, but that didn’t excuse him in his father’s eyes for how creative he got with his adventures. The school wasn’t the happiest time for him, he had been given many skills, but scholarly skills weren’t one of those.

He started to get bullied for being a slow reader, that’s where he learned how to fight, he wasn’t the smartest of the pond, but he sure as hell was bigger, stronger, and more physically skillful than most. It wasn’t that he enjoyed fighting, but he was good at it, and other kids started to respect him a little more and it did come in handy to his siblings too.

With ADHD, and dyslexia, he felt extremely trapped at school, he used to skip classes. It was a reason he had such a complex relationship with his father, most of the time after a fight he ended up going to his grandpa’s house, the member of his family he admired the most, he taught him how to drive, ride a bike, climb and almost everything about nature, gave him his first camera and it was him that put the idea of traveling around the world.

Daniel was extremely protective of his family, he was there for everyone, but his relationship with Jack, his father, and him got harder each day, so when his grandfather died and left him his old truck Daniel didn’t think twice and drove to California with the excuse to spread his ashes there as he wished, he followed his trip across the border from Mexico to Argentina, stopping in as many countries as he could on his way down.

In Costa Rica, he fell hard for a Latin foreign woman who told him how to speak the language, how to cook, and how to dance, she was probably his one true love. Their love was strong, passionate, and fierce. It was a perfect match, with the only difference that she was a shifter and he was a warlock, but after months together they receive the news of an unplanned pregnancy, at first Daniel panicked, thinking things would change, but more and more he got excited at the idea of having a family of his own, after all, he was deeply in love with the woman and was already thinking about marrying her, sadly they lost the baby and even when his love for her didn’t stop, things got awkward and they both agreed to continue their life apart to heal, so he continued his trip with a broken heart, and a missing child, one that he might not have gotten to know but that he was starting to love and was ready to have.

Once he got to Argentina and spent a few months there, he was ready to move to Europe to visit his younger brother, but he received an urgent call from his mother, asking him to come back, asap. He didn’t know just how broken things were at home until he came back to his home. His dad had to retire from work and his beloved bar due to a heart condition that almost killed him, his brother suffered from bad drug addiction, and their mom had to deal with everything almost alone. Daniel felt guilty for leaving his house, and just not being there for them, so he forgot about every dream he had, rolled into the Fire Academy like his dad always wanted, took his father’s position as the bar owner, and just did what he thought it would make his parents live a little better and relaxing.

He started to live a lie, becoming the exact man his father always wanted him to be, to be almost a copy of him. Hiding any internal suffering he had, and hasn’t fully healed or dealt with. His mental health started to be more affected, he was angrier and depressed, and he started to fight in clandestine rings, quietly suffering, during one fight he was turned into a werewolf, but he lied to everyone and said it had been during an attack. Causing one more struggle within the shadows coming from a magic family. During a call where his brother, Gray was involved, he accidentally turned him, just making him feel more responsible and guilty it, not only did he lead to his own turn, he turned his brother for not taking care of his own condition. Slowly his demons seemed to be quietly eating him up, but he keeps hiding from everyone, to not disturb the temporary peace his family is having.

[hurricanehenry]

Here are some of the ways petroleum is used in our every day lives. All plastic is made from petroleum and plastic is used almost everywhere: in cars, houses, toys, computers and clothing. Asphalt used in road construction is a petroleum product as is the synthetic rubber in the tires. Paraffin wax comes from petroleum, as do fertilizer, pesticides, herbicides, detergents, phonograph records, photographic film, furniture, packaging materials, surfboards, paints, and artificial fibers used in clothing, upholstery, and carpet backing. Solvents Diesel Motor Oil Bearing Grease Ink Floor Wax Ballpoint Pens Football Cleats Upholstery Sweaters Boats Insecticides Bicycle Tires Sports Car Bodies Nail Polish Fishing lures Dresses Tires Golf Bags Perfumes Cassettes Dishwasher Tool Boxes Shoe Polish Motorcycle Helmet Caulking Petroleum Jelly Transparent Tape CD Player Faucet Washers Antiseptics Clothesline Curtains Food Preservatives Basketballs Soap Vitamin Capsules Antihistamines Purses Shoes Dashboards Cortisone Deodorant Footballs Putty Dyes Panty Hose Refrigerant Percolators Life Jackets Rubbing Alcohol Linings Skis TV Cabinets Shag Rugs Electrician's Tape Tool Racks Car Battery Cases Epoxy Paint Mops Slacks Insect Repellent Oil Filters Umbrellas Yarn Fertilizers Hair Coloring Roofing Toilet Seats Fishing Rods Lipstick Denture Adhesive Linoleum Ice Cube Trays Synthetic Rubber Speakers Plastic Wood Electric Blankets Glycerin Tennis Rackets Rubber Cement Fishing Boots Dice Nylon Rope Candles Trash Bags House Paint Water Pipes Hand Lotion Roller Skates Surf Boards Shampoo Wheels Paint Rollers Shower Curtains Guitar Strings Luggage Aspirin Safety Glasses Antifreeze Football Helmets Awnings Eyeglasses Clothes Toothbrushes Ice Chests Footballs Combs CD's Paint Brushes Detergents Vaporizers Balloons Sun Glasses Tents Heart Valves Crayons Parachutes Telephones Enamel Pillows Dishes Cameras Anesthetics Artificial Turf Artificial limbs Bandages Dentures Model Cars Folding Doors Hair Curlers Cold cream Movie film Soft Contact lenses Drinking Cups Fan Belts Car Enamel Shaving Cream Ammonia Refrigerators Golf Balls Toothpaste Gasoline Ink Dishwashing liquids Paint brushes Telephone https://www.instagram.com/p/CUOajceNM7i/?utm_medium=tumblr

[primortravel]

New Post has been published on https://primortravel.com/tuscany-new-deals-solo-travel-pricing-tracker/

Tuscany-New Deals-Solo Travel Pricing Tracker

Tuscany-New Deals-Solo Travel Pricing Tracker: 2021-2022 is the right time to fall in love with Italy all over again. Tuscany is one of the most sought after tourist spots in the world.

Tuscany-New Deals-Solo Travel Pricing Tracker: Things to Do and See in the Tuscan Countryside:

While Florence is the most sought after destination in Tuscany, the unspoiled countryside is filled with budget-friendly lodging plus lots to do and see.

·    Stroll through an endless array of museums covering topics from art and archaeology to wine.

·    Visit Siena, the regional capital dating to the Middle Ages.

·    Go on a self-guided art history tour of the region’s medieval local churches, such as the Church of Santa Croce.

·    Take a winetasting tour.

·    Explore the local UNESCO World Heritage site.

·    See the towers of San Gimignano, an ancient “skyscraper” of sorts.

·    Go hiking.

·    Rent a bike.

·    Spend a day horseback riding.

·    Play a few rounds on a nearby golf course.

·    Try out the hot springs.

  Solo Travel Destinations Tuscany Festivals in the Italian Countryside:

One Festival to Consider:

Although Italy is popular year-round, October and November are even better times with off-season pricing. A festival to enjoy: Sagra del Tordo:

1. The festival occurs the last Sunday in October in Montalcino, near Siena.

2. Technically, it is an archery festival which may not sound like everyone’s cup of tea. However, its location in the heart of Tuscany provides a step back in history with medieval costumes, local cuisine, a parade, falconers, folk dancing, feasts and an ancient castle.

3. There are lots of things to see in Montalcino, well-preserved since the 16th-century with old city walls and even a 14th-century fortress. Perched on a hilltop, it has an impressive piazza (main town square), a classic clock tower, city hall and at least 3 ancient churches to visit. It is close to Florence, Siena and San Gimignano and has a centuries’ old fortress. Perched on a hilltop, it has an impressive piazza (main town square), a classic clock tower, city hall and at least three ancient churches to visit.

Tuscany Off the Beaten Path:

For the top solo travel deals for single travelers set out below in Tuscany, please go to our free search tool, the Solo Travel Pricing Tracker and follow these easy steps:

Choose the Location drop down menu, and click Italy.

Look for the names of each of the properties we pre-selected below.

Follow their links to connect directly to see the availability and daily pricing.

Then go ahead and book to grab top deals!

Gatto Bianco Tizzauli

Nestled in the Tuscan countryside, surrounded by olive trees, gardens and a full-size outdoor pool, check it out while this well-priced property is still available in late Aug. Each guest’s apartment has its own private entrance, a patio and a full kitchen with washing machine and dishwasher. Guests will also have free Wi-Fi access, plus satellite TV and tea and coffee-making facilities.

Montalcino: Otello Guest House

Montalcino, as noted above, is very famous for its October festival, the Sagra del Tordo. However, all year long wine tours are popular as well. This small boutique lodging is ideal for solo travelers. Each apartment has one bedroom, a flat-screen TV, and a kitchen with a fridge.

Pienza: Agriturismo Castello La Grancia di Spedaletto

For a royal holiday on a small or even shoe string budget, the Tuscan countryside gives solo travelers many options from which to choose. Set in the wine producing and olive oil region, this restored castle hotel dates back to the twelfth century. However, it offers twenty-first century updates like free Wi-Fi.  It also has an outdoor swimming pool.  Each guest room includes a TV, and an en suite private bathroom with free toiletries. It has wood-beamed ceilings and elegant country-style furnishings.

Siena: L’Aia Country Holidays

Siena, the regional capital of Tuscany, is outshone by its more famous sister city, Florence. However, Siena’s history dates back to the Middle Ages and is very much a top destination and UNESCO World Heritage site. L’Aia Country Holidays rooms are large with rustic décor. Each guest room comes with a furnished garden area as well as a fully-equipped kitchenette. Rooms have a shared living room area in the main building where guests can chat or relax with a drink.

Chianti, Residenza Del Sogno

Surrounded by vineyards, this boutique hotel, is top rated by solo travelers,. It is well located as it is about  equally distant between Florence and Siena. The Hotel offers modern amenities, including Wi-Fi and an outdoor swimming pool. The Hotel Residenzia Del Sogno  has all the comforts of home starting with free Wi-Fi. Air conditioned guest rooms reflect the country decor. They also offer a private en suite bath with hairdryer and satellite TV.

Antica Fonte Residenza

Previously a farmhouse, this charming country house is only a short distance from Siena’s historic walls. The garden includes a Jacuzzi where you can watch the sun set over the hills! Each guest room is decorated in a typical Tuscan style. It has a kitchenette, living area, and some also include a hydro-massage bathtub. Be sure to ask how to get your own “spa”!

  Tuscany-New Deals-Solo Travel Pricing Tracker: Italy Made Easy!

With COVID-19 restrictions, summer vacation has been off to a rocky start. There is huge pent-up demand for a travel restart at home and abroad. What is the big challenge? Local and national governments keep changing the rules. As a result, travel plans are in flux.

Our recommendations are the following:

Grab unheard of solo travel deals with no single supplement.

Look for solo packages with flexibility.

Be sure to have travel insurance that includes “Cancel for Any Reason”. While these travel insurance policies are high, you can save in the long run.

Check to see what sights are closed or require reservations or tickets.

Pack light, but save room for “treasures” you can find in outdoor markets.

For Solo Travel Packages, follow this link. For an easy search, use our free tool, the SoloTravelPricingTracker. By going there, you will find there more than one thousand tour providers and cruise operators offering deals with no (or low) single supplements covering 20,000+ trips plus solo-priced lodging and other top value deals.

Take the stress out of travel: Grab your free copy of our “SoloTravel Made Easy: 2020-2021 Update: 194 Practical Tips” by registering at http://SoloTravelPricingTracker.net.

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#Backpacking #SoloTravel #SoloTraveling #Solotrekker #Travel #Traveling

[jimmydemaret]

adidas Men's Superlite Linear Super No Show Socks (6-Pack)

adidas Men’s Superlite Linear Super No Show Socks (6-Pack)

From Amazon Sick Golf Shoes. adidas Men’s Superlite Linear Super No Show Socks (6-Pack).

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[raresomething]

Pick your destination. Think carefully about what you really want. Look at your shoes.

Your first step: Get new shoes.

You will not have to map your route to your destination. You will be guided. All of the people you work with from now on will be your guide to the destination you have chosen. If you are clear about what you want, are truthful when people ask you what you want, and make yourself humble and available to guidance, you will reach that destination. If you chose Local Sports Bar Owner, you will be guided there. If you chose Celebrity Bartender On A Reality Show, you will be guided there.

Some of your guides will explicitly help you and say, “Your next step is to put this glass in this spot.” Some will be less obvious and say, “I’m not sure this is a great fit.” Some will shrug and their disinterest will help you. Some guides will be outright warning signs. All of them are guides, and none of them know how to get to where you want to go. Your destination is yours alone. They may have some idea of how they themselves can get where you’d like to go, but their path and yours are not the same thing.

Your first job is to observe. Watch the way the other kid in the black shirt puts away the glassware. Watch the way she puts away the beer. Watch the way your boss looks at the beer when she’s done. Turn on all of your sensors. Observe with all of your senses. Watch the way the bartender holds his hands when nothing is going on. Watch the way he dries his hands. Watch the way his boss looks at him when he’s working. Notice how you feel when you observe that.

Your second job is to do. Jump in. Ask questions. Get your feet wet. Get your hands dirty. No matter what you are told, do it. When you have to do it a second time, do it faster. When you have to do it a third time, do it faster and cleaner. Get on your belly and clean something. Find a ladder, get up there, and clean that. Faster. Catch your boss watching you. Notice how you feel.

Your third job is to get watched. All the time. Feel the eyes of your peers upon you. Sometimes you will feel their envy. Sometimes they will cringe. Sometimes they will look awed. Sometimes they will laugh. Ask for feedback. Ask how they would do it if they were you. Feel the eyes of guests on you. Begin to notice that you are on a stage. Try moving more artfully, knowing that you are being watched.

Fourth: Expose yourself. Go places. Taste things. See the outside. Look inside. Notice. Notice. Notice. Remark. Take risks. Enter contests. Develop a menu of drinks you love (and make those Cosmos). Make a menu that sells itself and notice how you feel. Pour your soul into a project and feel the boots trample on it. Get up. Pour your soul into a project and feel rewarded.

Develop a character that speaks for your projects. Develop a voice.

Speak. Recite. Write. Repeat. In a mirror/on a tablet/in a text/on your grocery list/in your pillow/to your friends/to your mother/to a stranger. Say, write, repeat: Every single drink recipe you ever see. Every single drink recipe you ever hear. Every single drink recipe period.

Spend a paycheck. Get the booze. Have a party. Make, say, make again, over and over. When you catch yourself reaching for the bottles before you remember what’s in the drink, then you are starting to get it.

Speak up. Ask. Ask if you can help. Ask if you can run the drinks for a busy server. Ask if you can show the new kid how to juice. Ask if you can pull the tickets off of a colleague’s printer. Ask if you can make a few tickets. Ask if you can taste their contest entry. Ask them to taste yours. Ask if you can do the money. Ask if they will check your work. Ask if you can do inventory. Ask to look at the invoices when the fruit comes in. Ask to look at the liquor invoices. Ask if you can close for a sick colleague. Ask if you can close for a burnt out manager.

Look over the bar top. Look at the women ordering. What do their faces do when they drink what you made? Do their eyebrows go up and away or down and together? Look at the men. They are better trained not to react. Look back at the women. Look at the entire bar from six paces. Go straighten your bottles. Wipe the sticky ones. Watch the fingers of the man on a first date. Offer food if his hands are too frantic.

Listen. Listen to the bartender ask an older man how he likes his martini. Listen to the hungover barback polish with a cloth that is too dry and isn’t working. Listen to the dishwasher, and learn what a broken glass sounds like.

Our senses are sight, sound, smell, touch, taste, intuition.

Get a nice apartment. (Nice for sleeping.) Get a place where you can sit outside within a ten minute walk. Just a bench where you can sit and wonder what’s next.

Fall in love. Sleep with a few people. Don’t give it away. Live with someone. Your time will be ever more precious. Don’t f*(& everyone.

Your mate is likely to be near you. You might know her as the new server. He might be your boss. She might be a valet. He might be in the kitchen. Anyone can do intimacy when they’re drunk, and everyone will connect over the shared hardships of this business. Your mate is the one you can talk to about your sister when you’re picking mint for the off-site. Your mate knows how you take your coffee the second time and never forgets. Your mate has impressive flaws that you see the day you meet them and are not cute now. Your mate is a human that you respect. They can list your flaws. They are not delusional about them. (That thing you do is not cute.)

Your mate is curious to discover who you are going to be. You are dying to know how their story turns out, and hope that you’re in it the whole time.

Whether it’s kids or animals or plants, get something living and care for it. Be reliable. Pay your rent on time. Get your oil changed. Pay your taxes.

When you find a home, put down roots. Take your time. Don’t settle. But settle eventually. Have a local. Know your neighbors. Bring your garbage cans in. Pick up litter. Say hi to kids. Watch the news. Know who’s on the ballot. Vote. Watch your community change. Engage with the people who are trying to change it for the better. Take a Saturday off to clean a park. Host a fundraiser. Be known.

Play. Tell jokes. Pick up an instrument. Find your perfect ball: golf, tennis, soccer, foot, basket? Be a fan of a team. Root for someone. Dance. Sing.

Ice someone. Prank. Punk. Look silly for the laugh.

Remember you are not the drinks you make, you are not the glasses you polish, you are not the people you train nor the bars you build. You are not the children you create. You are not the failures you suffer. You are not the awards you don’t receive and deserve. You are not your undeserved kudos. You are who you are and what you believe. If you are a bartender, you will know it, and so will the world.

Something my dad found a long time ago

December 18th, 2020

[niall-is-my-dream]

The Bucket List - Chapter Eight

You were absolutely stuffed after your Mams Sunday roast. She is such a good cook and loves nothing better after the Sunday lunchtime drinks rush at the pub than coming home to a joint of meat roasting slowly in the oven. She does the best roast potatoes ever to. Claire started clearing the table and you got up to help. In no time you'd cleared up and loaded the dishwasher together. Michael came in to the kitchen to get everyone a drink while you and Claire went off into the living room to put your feet up. You'd not been sat down long when a text came through.

"Hi, just landed and waiting for my luggage. Can I still come over tonight? About 8:30? Have missed you x."

"That'll be Niall." Your Mam said smiling. 

"What how did you guess that?" You asked. 

"Your face lit up when you read the message!" She replied. 

"Shut up!" You said smiling. You replied telling him you'd see him about 8:30 and that you'd missed him to.

An hour later you said your goodbyes and thanked your Mam for dinner. "I'll see you for golf Wednesday Pops?" You asked. 

"Yes perfect." He replied.

You walked the ten minutes home and headed straight to the shower to freshen up and get changed. You didn't want to look like you'd made too much effort so you just put your hair up in a messy bun and slipped on some shorts and a vest top.

He arrived early about 8:15, you opened the door to find him in his comfy joggers and a t shirt. He looked as gorgeous as ever and your heart skipped a beat when he smiled at you. He had his overnight bag in one hand and he ran his fingers through his hair with the other. 

God he looked hot when he did that. 

"You going to invite me in?" He asked, smirking clearly having caught you staring at him.

"Come on in." You said laughing.

He popped his bag down on the floor of the hallway as you closed the door and then grabbed a hold of your hands and wrapped them around his neck. His hands were on your bum and he pulled you as close as you could be. His forehead was resting on yours. 

"Missed you so much." He whispered.  

"Missed you to." You replied. "Been counting down the hours till I could kiss you again."

"Lets not waste any time then." He said leaning in to kiss you. H

His kisses were hungry and he moaned in your mouth. You felt heat in your heart and wetness in your centre. You couldn't get enough of this boy. He'd got your heart completely. He pushed you against the hallway wall and kissed you hard but slow. His mouth finding your neck that he nipped and sucked at.

"Been thinking about sucking your thick hard cock all day." You whispered in his ear as you moved your hands down to the waistband of his joggers. H

A growl escaped his lips as you slowly knelt whilst pulling them down and letting his erection spring out. You teased over the tip with your thumb before taking him in your mouth. Starting off slow you sucked gently before taking him all the way in your mouth till he hit the back of your throat. Using your hands to pump what you couldn't fit in. His hands were threading through you hair and his hips thrust to slowly fuck your mouth. You could feel the wetness between your legs and you were so turned on, you knew if you touched yourself you'd cum within seconds.

"Annie you need to stop or I'm going to cum in that dirty little mouth of yours." He said dragging you up to face him. 

He kicked off his shoes, joggers and boxers and you felt his hands yanking down your shorts and knickers. You kicked those off to as you felt his hand swipe down across your folds and then he gently slipping two fingers inside you. 

"So fucking wet, you dirty girl." He whispered.

You let out a moan at his touch. It had only been a few days since you'd seen him, but it felt like forever. He removed his fingers from you and you let out a whimper at the loss of his touch. He grabbed at the hem of your vest top pulling it up over your head and removed his t-shirt straight after. You undid you bra and he pulled it off you, staring you right in the eyes, almost mentally fucking you. You were both naked standing in your hallway, you pushed up against the cold wall. 

"Tell me what you want Annie?" He whispered, whilst kissing at your neck and chest. 

"I want you to fuck me hard against this wall, make me scream your name." You whispered firmly back. 

You had never spoke like this before during sex, but fuck it turned you on. You felt comfortable with him and that you could push your boundaries and desires with him. 

"Jesus Annie, you are so fucking hot." He said, lifting one of your legs up and bending his knees slightly.

He lined himself up with your centre, before he pushed himself all the way inside you. 

You let out a moan. "Fuck yes." 

He kept his hand on your leg giving him the angle he needed to fuck you hard and deep. The other hand moved up to slowly caress you breasts, pinching at your nipples making you whimper in pleasure. You ran your hands across his shoulders and into his hair. 

"Fuck, Niall....... yes, harder harder!" You moaned. 

He was thrusting up inside you so hard that beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. 

"Jesus Annie, I'm not going to last long, cum for me." 

And he put your nipple in his mouth sucking hard as he tilted your body slightly, hitting you right in your g spot over and over again until you cried out his name your orgasm crashing over you. Your legs felt wobbly but he had a hold of you as he fucked you through your high before releasing himself inside you, his own orgasm causing him to cry out your name and multiple curse words. His head lay in the crook of your neck as he desperately tried to bring his breathing back to normal. 

"Fucking hell, I don't think I've ever cum that hard in my life. I can't move my bloody legs." He said chuckling. "You'll be the death of me Annie Hammond!" He said releasing your leg. 

You laughed together as he slid out of you. He gently kissed you running his fingers through your hair. 

"God I'm crazy about you." He said in between kisses. 

"I can't wait to spend tomorrow with you." You replied, your hands resting on his sides. 

You could've stayed standing there naked in your hallway, but you could feel your orgasms slowly started to leave you and you knew you needed to clean up.  Niall had literally only arrived at yours some 20 minutes ago and yet here you were, both of you fucked senseless. 

"I'm going to clean myself up." You said. 

He released his hold on you, kissing you one last time before he watched you pick up your clothes and walk away naked from him into the bathroom. 

When you arrived back in the living room wearing your vest and shorts Niall had already put his boxers and t shirt back on. He had grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and was leaning against the kitchen counter. You reached him placing your arms on his hips and smiled. 

"Better cross that off my bucket list!" You said smirking. 

"You are a naughty girl Annie, and you are driving me crazy!" He said. 

"Hey! What did I do?" You asked. 

He put the lid back on the water bottle and placed it to his side on the counter. He turned to you cupping your face and kissed you softly. 

"I haven't thought of anything but you for the last two weeks, I feel like I need you with me all the time, like its not right when we are apart. And on Wednesday I go away for 10 days and I'm dreading it. I'm feeling things I've never felt before. It's crazy how quickly I've fallen for you."

You didn't know what to say, you looked at him, his blue eyes desperate for you to give him a sign that you felt the same. 

"Niall you have my heart completely, If we want this to work we need to deal with the separation, enjoy the times when we are together. I'm not tied to a job, so I can visit you anytime anywhere if you want me to. Lets make a pact to never be apart for more than 2 weeks."

"Agreed, would you visit me in LA or come with me on promo trips?"

"Yes, if you wanted me to. But I don't want to tag along all the time. You need to enjoy it with your team and band."

He brought his hands away from your face and entwined them with yours. "I'm so lucky to have met you." He said.

"Well it was a major set up by Katie. Her and Willie had a plan apparently!" You said laughing. 

"Ha! Thought so."

"You hungry babe? Can I fix you dinner?"

"No thanks, I ate before I came over, knew you were eating with your family." 

"Fancy a beer and a cuddle on the sofa then. We can watch the golf highlights if you like?" You said smiling. 

"Perfect plan."

You grabbed two bottles out the fridge and you both got cosy on the sofa. He sat to your left and wrapped his right arm around your shoulders as you pulled a thick wool blanket over your legs that was resting on the foot stool. You sat and watched the golf highlights, Niall telling you about the tournament he'd just been at, you loved how passionate he got when he talked about his work in golf.

You sat in silence for a while, both of you tired after a long day and the quick hard sex you'd had. 

"Come on babe, lets get you to bed. You look shattered." You said.

"I am, but I'm looking forward to a day in bed tomorrow." He said with a wink.

Chapter Nine

https://niall-is-my-dream.tumblr.com/post/168011470508/the-bucket-list-chapter-nine

[notarelationship]

Experienced Bartender Required

Part 2/2

Ratings: Explicit Warnings: Not really. Words: 1451 Summary: Cooper gets married. Blaine can’t compete. Kurt comes to the rescue. Porn with a mild plot. Notes: My delightful beta @mshoneysucklepink is having a crap couple of days. Part 2 of some feel-better smut below.

This is unbeta’d so if you can’t tell whose bits are where I apologize. I’ll clean it up before I post to AO3.

-

It was almost 2 am by the time Blaine made it up to his room. The reception had wrapped up around 11:30, but when the remaining members of the wedding party and a handful of his dad’s golf buddies decided to hit the hotel bar, Blaine was required to join them. Unfortunately for Blaine his father had pulled some strings and the hotel agreed to keep the bar open as long as they were drinking.

After two hours everyone was too drunk to notice Blaine leave.  He stopped at the front desk to replace the key card he had given Kurt. Kurt. Blaine rushed to the elevator, impatiently pushing the button while he waited for one to arrive at the ballroom floor.

Blaine rushed down several hallways until he found his room; sliding the key in and waiting for the click to open the door.

Kurt was wearing a hotel robe, folding clothes and setting them on a chair in the far corner.

“Hey,” he said, abandoning what he was doing to approach Blaine. “I showered, I hope you don't mind.”

Blaine shook his head. “Not at all.” Kurt couldn't have been there that long, there was still warm air coming from the open bathroom door. “Should I, uh -” Blaine pointed to the shower.

“God no.” Kurt came closer, sliding a hand around the back of Blaine's neck and pulling him in for a kiss that immediately went dirty. “I couldn't stop thinking about you, still hard,” Kurt rubbed at the front of Blaine's tuxedo pants, reached blindly for his cock. “How you didn't come.”

Blaine snarled and pulled Kurt against him, pushing open the robe as Kurt shrugged it off his shoulders and let it land on the floor. Blaine was still wearing his tuxedo but now Kurt was completely, gloriously naked.

“I spent twenty minutes with my fingers in my ass waiting for you,” Kurt bit at Blaine's jaw. “I was afraid you wouldn't come.”

“It's my room,” Blaine said. “And I really really want to come.”

Kurt laughed against his mouth, then made quick work of Blaine's clothes, pushing him into the bed when he was down to his boxers.

“Wanna ride you, is that okay?” Kurt’s eyes were a ring of clear blue surrounding blown black pupils, and he was crawling over Blaine’s body. Blaine just nodded, his mouth parted in anticipation. “Fantastic.” Kurt bent over, dragging damp lips across Blaine’s chest, flattening his tongue against a pointed nipple and laving until Blaine’s hips rocked up into Kurt’s bare ass.

Blaine wriggled, reaching for his underwear, wanting only bare skin and heat between them, but Kurt stopped him with a firm grasp of his wrists. “Mmmm, not yet,” Kurt nuzzled into Blaine’s neck, placing his wrists in an x on the pillow over his head. “Stay?” Blaine obediently grabbed each wrist with the opposite hand and nodded. “Good,” Kurt kissed him firmly on the mouth then sat back, looking at Blaine with a contemplative expression. “Oh, here.” Kurt Kurt grabbed one of the extra pillows and Blaine lifted his head so Kurt could arrange both Blaine and the pillows so his head and upper torso were elevated. “In case you want to watch.” Kurt teased.

“I do.”

Kurt grinned and wasted no more time, sliding down the bed, mouthing at Blaine’s belly and pulling his underwear off. “My turn to taste, okay?” Blaine nodded and Kurt licked a thick wet stripe up his cock once before deep throating him. Kurt moaned as he pulled off with a pop, focusing his attention and his mouth on Blaine’s balls, licking until they were soaked. He pushed Blaine’s thighs up and mouthed at Blaine’s perineum, sucking gently while Blaine cursed and begged; saliva pooled in his crack, he could feel it drip over his hole as Kurt bent him further over and placed his mouth right there.

Then he was gone, hopping off the end of the bed as Blaine watched, his brain muddled from the stimulation. “Where -?” He blinked in Kurt’s direction, but he was gathering things from the top of the bureau against the wall.

“Should have laid these out before.” Blaine glanced at the bed where Kurt had deposited a bottle of lube, a strip of condoms, and a slim anal plug. Kurt picked up the plug and moved between Blaine’s legs. “I thought this might be fun?”

It was a small plug, black and tapered, flared at the bottom, about two fingers wide and maybe four or five inches long. Just enough to drive Blaine completely mad. He nodded “Yes. Please.”

Kurt bit his upper lip, pouring lube over his fingers before pressing it against Blaine’s hole. He didn’t waste time, pushing through the first ring easily before working in his finger in and out to get through the second. Blaine moaned.

“Maybe you should just fuck me?” He mumbled.

“No way.” Kurt wrapped a lube sticky hand around Blaine’s cock and he hissed. “I want this inside me.” Kurt grabbed the plug, covering it with lubricant, then inserting it into Blaine. “God you just swallowed that.”

Blaine wiggled his ass. “Tickles.”

Kurt laughed softly before tearing open a condom wrapper and straddling Blaine’s thighs. Kurt rolled the condom on, covered it with too much lube and kneed his way into position, placing Blaine’s cock at his entrance. Kurt must have really stretched, because he sat on Blaine’s cock, taking it all the way to the base without so much as a hitch. Kurt sighed his relief, and Blaine abandoned waiting, gripping Kurt’s hips with both hands as he rose and fell. He fucked himself slowly, getting a rhythm, then faster, Blaine bracing his hips as Kurt thrashed above him. In only a few minutes Kurt was coming, pearly white dribbles, then streaks across Blaine’s chest. Blaine planted his feet, fucking Kurt hard and fast until he was coming, his asshole clenching hard around the plug.

Kurt collapsed on top of him, panting, smiling. “That was amazing.”

“Hnng.” Blaine agreed, wrapping his arms around Kurt. They dozed off wrapped around each other.

-

Blaine jolted awake to the sound of the hotel phone ringing.

“Hello?” It was the operator with a wake up call. “Who gets wake up calls?” He mumbled to himself as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed.

Blinking awake, he realized he was alone in the room. “Right.” There was a note on the bedside table, tucked under his phone.

Had to catch the early train. Your phone was dead so I left a wakeup call for you. Last night was fun! K.

Blaine stretched his arms over his head, then dug around in his bag for his phone charger, plugging it in before he got into the shower. There were no signs that Kurt had been there at all.

Until Blaine went into the bathroom, where he found the plug they had used drying on a hotel towel. Blaine laughed. “Right.”

-

It was almost midnight by the time Blaine got back to his apartment. After brunch and coffee and hanging around the in case his dad or mom or Cooper needed anything, and making several trips back and forth driving relatives and guests to the train station, Blaine was exhausted.

“Hello?” He opened the door, dropping his overnight bag on the floor. “Are you asleep?”

“In the kitchen!”

Blaine kicked off his shoes and went into the kitchen. Kurt was boiling water for tea. Blaine stepped up behind him and kissed the back of his neck. “How was rehearsal?”

Kurt huffed. “Nightmare. Not one of those bozos had so much as read the script, much less learned any of the lines. We wound up spending the whole night blocking one scene. I don’t know how these people expect to be ready on time.”

Blaine stuck his hand into his pocket, bringing out the plug Kurt had left at the hotel. “Oh, you forgot this.”

“Oh! Thanks. I’d hate to upset the cleaning staff.” Kurt took it and opened the dishwasher putting it in the basket with all of their other dishwasher safe sex-toys. “Do you want some tea or just bed?”

“Tea and bed?” Blaine said hopefully. “You know, I really wish you’d have let me bring you as my guest.”

“Are you kidding? I made $1,200 in tips last night Blaine. You can introduce me to your family at Christmas this year. That money is going straight into our new apartment fund.” Kurt kissed Blaine on his nose. “Now go get ready for bed. I’ll bring your tea in.”

“Thank you,” Blaine said. “I love you. You really are the most amazing boyfriend.”

[samanthasroberts]

5 Reasons Why The Middle Class Doesn’t Understand Poverty

Poverty is a well-worn subject here at Cracked. John Cheese has talked about it a lot, C. Coville discussed legal loopholes that can screw the poor, and we’ve also covered myths the media perpetrates. And now it’s my turn to moderately wealthsplain the subject.

Unlike John and others, I grew up one year’s worth of acoustic guitar lessons away from being the most stereotypical middle-class white kid ever. I didn’t take yearly vacations to private islands to hunt men for sport, but I also never wanted for clothes and video games. And while us suburban kids were taught that it’s good to help the poor, we were also accidentally taught to treat them with disdain. Here’s how.

5

We’re Constantly Told That “Money Can’t Buy Happiness”

If you’re friends with the right kind of insufferable people on social media, you’ve probably seen pictures like this:

Pinterest

Or these:

Simple Reminders

Quotesgram How profound, guy with countless fans and a net worth of 150 million.

Or, God help us, this:

It’s all variations on the same theme: Money can’t buy happiness, true wealth comes from friendship and experiences, you don’t need the solid gold butt plug when the polymer one feels identical inside of you, etc. Movies teach it, music teaches it, our parents teach it — money is useless if you aren’t living. It’s not an inherently bad message, but try telling people at the homeless shelter to count the blessings that money can’t buy, and see how long it takes before you’ll feel blessed that you can afford health insurance.

Outside of images that the Care Bears would find insipid, “Money can’t buy happiness” is what middle-class people tell each other when someone is trying to decide between two different jobs. “I make 70k right now and the new gig only plays 60k, so I wouldn’t be able to travel as much. But I’d have more free time to play Ultimate, the benefits are better, and there’s no way my new manager could be any worse than my current one.” That’s an important decision to the person making it, but they’re debating between two different kinds of comfort. It’s safely assumed that the money they will need to exist will always be there. It would be nice to have more — to be able to go to more restaurants or to justify buying a second Roomba because deep down you know that the first one is lonely — but there’s always enough to keep the lights on and the kitchen stocked.

You may have seen the study that claimed $70,000 a year is the ideal salary — after that, more money generally doesn’t make you happier. Well, that’s great news for people hovering around that benchmark, but if you’re poor, more money will abso-fucking-lutely make you happier. More money means healthier food, or a chance to get out of the house and have some fun. It can mean knowing the rent is paid for next month, or being able to afford medication.

The middle class isn’t immune to money problems, especially if there are kids in the mix. Getting laid off at the wrong time sucks, no matter what your income is. But the middle-class people with money problems I’ve known were generally suffering from self-inflicted wounds. They had no savings because they wanted the new car or the luxury vacation. They wanted one of those experiences they were constantly told was more important than money, because the money for day-to-day necessities was always there, right up until it wasn’t.

That’s part of the reason, I think, so many middle-class people laugh at campaigns to raise the minimum wage. “You want 15 bucks an hour to flip burgers? How about you just hold off on the new TV until you get a real job?” The middle class generally fluctuates between being able to afford a nice vacation one year and having to settle for a few trips to the movies the next. The poor can fluctuate between paying bills and being out on the street. But the idea that such essentials could just go unpaid is unfathomable, right up until you experience it.

4

We’re Taught To Associate Low-Paying Jobs With Failure

When I was growing up, there was never a question of whether or not I was going to college. That’s partially because the idea of my spindly idiot ass learning a technical trade or doing manual labor is the first step in creating an “Epic Fail!!!” YouTube video, but mostly because my parents had a fund set up for me. (It helped that I live in a country where a post-secondary education doesn’t cost roughly eight quadrillion dollars a semester.)

So jobs that didn’t require a degree were presented to us as warning signs. “You better study hard, or else you’re going to end up just like that bull masturbator for the rest of your life! And I didn’t intend that pun, so don’t giggle!” Becoming a janitor or a gas station attendant or an internet comedy writer would have been considered a disappointment, an inability to take advantage of the gifts that were offered to us. Poverty was considered a moral failing.

No one ever just came out and said that, but the implication was always there. We tend to assume that other people are basically like us until they prove otherwise, which is why I’m constantly shocked to discover that most people don’t like my favorite homoerotic golf academy anime, Wood Strokes. So we were never taught that working as a dishwasher or a grocery store clerk or a sperm bank fluffer could be an important stepping stone for someone with a different background than us. We were also never taught that, you know, it’s still a goddamn job where someone shows up and puts work in and gets paid for their time. They were always just associated with squandered potential.

And man, when you hear that message constantly, it’s hard to shake. It’s easy to glance at a middle-aged dude working the checkout counter and automatically think “Well, I bet he’s not the brightest guy around” or “Oh shit, is that what happened to Matthew Lawrence?” It’s not malicious — not initially. Being told to take advantage of your opportunities is not a bad message. But when that message is driven into you for decades, it creates a stigma around certain jobs. And from some people, it produces plenty of snide remarks about how the people working those jobs should get better ones, as if the person who’s been a server for seven years has never considered just popping down to the job store and picking up a career in architecture.

Janitors and baristas keep society running as much as anyone else. If all of America’s coffee shops shut down for a day, the country would experience a nationwide narcolepsy epidemic crossed with The Purge. But when you grow up in the middle class, the only thing you’re taught about such jobs is that you should get one as a teenager to build character, and then thank God that you’ll never have to work one again as long as you don’t fuck up in life. And as long as we consider that a sign of our superior work ethic instead of birth luck, we’re going to keep dismissing as pathetic the jobs we’d all get angry about if they vanished tomorrow.

3

There Are Always Certain Things We Take For Granted

An education isn’t the only thing that most middle-class kids can assume they’ll get. A car to borrow, a phone, 20 bucks for when you really want to take a girl to what you assumed was a bad movie so you could make out in the back row but then it turns out that she’s actually super into the plot of Gigli and wants to focus on it even though you were all set to reach second base and so you end up getting a confused erection to Al Pacino and it inadvertently shapes your formative years … you know, all the little things that are part of growing up in Middle America.

That’s the end result of assuming that a good job awaits you, and that money is for throwing at problems and buying pizza instead of something to stress out about. Water heater broke? No worries, we’ll just have to eat in the rest of the month to make up for it. Shoes all worn out? Well, you can’t go to school like that, so go get some new ones. Gone on a losing streak at the Pokemon Card League and the groupies have started drifting off to the other players? Better pick up a few booster packs to get back in the game. You know you can’t get greedy and start buying Armani, but as long as your needs are modest, the money will always be there.

So the idea of 20 bucks making or breaking someone is impossible to appreciate. It’s just not a concept that clicks in our heads. It makes sense on a logical level, sure — you need money, and you don’t have it, and that sucks. But when you’re raised in comfort, you can’t put yourself in that head space emotionally. You can’t understand the stress, or the fear that you might not be able to feed your kids. The closest we can get is watching Gwyneth Paltrow try and hilariously fail to live on a tiny food budget before going back to her $4,000 kale cleanses. That’s kind of like empathy, right?

And because it’s tough to relate to, it’s tough to talk about. If someone tells me that they never got Christmas presents growing up, all I can respond with is “Uh, yeah, that sounds like it sucked. Well … one time my grandma accidentally got me Super Murpio 67, so … I hear you.” Starting a conversation with a bunch of middle-class people about poverty is like bringing up Trayvon Martin at a country club. Everyone trips over everyone else’s words to talk about how tragic it is, but then they distance themselves from the problem and the “buts” start coming out. And to further compound the issue …

2

We Don’t Witness Poverty, So We Don’t Understand It

When I was growing up, my exposure to poverty was largely limited to sitcom families who would talk about how poor they were, but were still able to go on a wacky adventure every week. The Simpsons kept running into money troubles in their early years, but their house looked the same as mine. Even the family from Roseanne, the classic working-class sitcom, owned a house that’s a palace compared to what a lot of people live in. The problem with portraying poverty in sitcoms is that it’s hard to get laughs out of eviction and early deaths caused by crippling medical debt, so the lesson always ends up being “Poor people struggle with money sometimes, but in the end they always get by, and they have lots of laughs while doing it!” Sitcoms make being poor look fun.

Beyond that, once or twice a year, I’d go to some kid’s birthday party and notice that his house was a lot smaller and more run down than mine. One of the kids who always got talked about in a slightly different tone of voice by the adults. I never gave it much thought because we went to the same school and both liked Nintendo — how different could our lives possibly be? Maybe I’d see a story on the news that would put a positive spin on the issue. (“Look at how many volunteers with beautiful families showed up to the soup kitchen to help feed these filthy hobos!”) Beyond that, the middle class just doesn’t think about poverty.

We’re always looking up, always wanting to go to the Christmas party at the rich friend’s house so we can get a taste of what we’re aspiring to. There’s rarely a reason to go to the poor part of town. Tell jokes about it, sure, but go? We never have to leave the bubble, so we never learn what real poverty looks like. Poor people become invisible, this mysterious Other, a group that serves you food, and in return, you throw a couple of non-perishables and toys into donation bins for them over the holidays.

Oh yeah, the middle class loves to donate food and toys and clothes and gently used ball gags and all sorts of other crap that we weren’t using anyway. Food banks actually need money far more than they need your creamed corn that’s going to expire in two weeks, because money just goes further. But people who will gladly part with 12 boxes of Kraft Mac and Cheese and some Funyuns they found under the sofa get leery when it comes to handing over money, even though we’re supposedly under the impression that we don’t need it ourselves to be happy.

That’s partially just because it’s more satisfying to give stuff instead of money — you can imagine some happy kid playing with your old Lego, and you get to clean out your closet. But remember, we’re taught that the poor are stupid and lazy. We sit around telling each other stories about how our friend’s cousin’s boyfriend knows a guy who spent his welfare check on beer and weed. These are campfire horror stories for the most tedious suburbanites, and they’re told in the hot tubs that they probably shouldn’t have bought until the next mortgage payment cleared. We can’t trust those people with money, because if they were smart enough to manage it properly, they’d be smart enough to have a better job. Also, they probably all have hooks for hands and murder teenagers while they’re making out in their cars. Hey, we learn so little about poor people that it’s just as believable.

1

We’re Taught To See Ourselves As The Victims

I’ve known people with movie theaters in their homes and four cars in their garage who are convinced that society is against them, that life is a gloomy parade of suffering because their property taxes went up a bit. That’s stereotypical rich people behavior, but it’s there in the middle class too, in subtler ways. I live in a city where the economy revolves around a boom and bust industry, so people tend to make good money while complaining about taxes for a few years, then get laid off and go on government benefits for a while, and then get a new job and go back to complaining about the government. And if you watch the cycle, you see the same “us against the world” mentality, just with fewer BMWs in the mix.

When middle-class people get laid off and go on welfare, they blame the economy, or their former employer, or the government. They never blame themselves. And they shouldn’t! Much like a whale’s erection, economies are big, confusing things that can’t be controlled by the average person. It’s not like they left photocopies of their asshole on the boss’ desk. They paid into the welfare system with their taxes when times were good, and now they’re using the system for exactly what it’s intended: helping you out when you’re unlucky. It’s bridging the gap until you, a hard-working person who just caught a tough break, gets another job.

Except when poor people use the system, it’s none of those things. Suddenly they’re not getting help; they’re just dumb, lazy leeches. Plenty of middle-class people are more empathetic and generous than I’ll ever be, but the worst instinct of the middle class is to blame the system when the system fails us, then lecture poor people when the system fails them. I’ve heard the condescending explanations about how the world really works (which usually come out after a few beers when no actual poor people are around because the speaker would never be brave enough to say it to their faces) more times than I can count.

The middle class has a weird relationship with the rich — we alternate between complaining about them and wishing we were them. Money can’t buy happiness, but a yacht certainly wouldn’t hurt matters. Even if we don’t like the rich, there’s always the pipe dream that we could be them. But no one dreams about being poor, unless you’re into an incredibly specific kind of role-playing.

Being poor is a problem (practically, not morally), and a problem is either the fault of the person or the fault of circumstances beyond their control. The latter means we in the middle class might have to do something about it — or, God forbid, reflect upon our lifestyles, which is just the worst. It’s much, much easier to assume that we’re fine, that ultra-rich politicians and celebrities and investment bankers are the ones being condescending and awful to the poor, but also that poor people could probably stand to work a little harder. So, uh … sorry about all of that. I’ll donate some food at Christmas, though!

Mark is on Twitter and has a book that’s made him rich in experience.

For more, check out 5 Things Nobody Tells You About Being Poor and 4 Common Morals Designed to Keep You Poor.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out Disney Thinks You Hate Poor People, and watch other videos you won’t see on the site!

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Source: http://allofbeer.com/5-reasons-why-the-middle-class-doesnt-understand-poverty-2/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2019/02/27/5-reasons-why-the-middle-class-doesnt-understand-poverty-2/

[ipirealestate-blog]

Equestrian Property For Sale Near Wellington Florida

Loxahatchee horse farm next to bridle path on 5 acres!

Imagine owning this horse ranch where you and your horses get to indulge in peace and tranquility yet be able to get to the WEF in Wellington in just a few minutes.

Loxahatchee is the town that touches Wellington on the north. It is a great area for your horses, less traffic, less crowded than Wellington especially during our world famous Winter Equestrian Festival and Polo Championships.

Nestled on a cul-de-sac this horse farm sits on over five acres of land.  Own this horse property with barn and home near Wellington.

Meticulously maintained, this  acreage  is ready for you to design your own paddocks, riding arena and more.

Take advantage of the private access to the bridle trail.

This horse farm near Wellington offers the privacy, serenity, and space you and your horses need.

Fully fenced acreage in Loxahatchee  

Keep your horses safe and secure on this equestrian ranch.

The extensive horse trail runs by the side of the property, giving you plenty of opportunities to meet other riders on the trail.

Need room for your trucks and horse trailer? Look no further! Here it is!

When you own this equestrian property in Loxahatchee you can park your trucks and trailers along this gated driveway where there is plenty of shade.

This property also comes with a 3-car garage with hurricane rated doors.  

Now you can stop searching for stalls to rent each season!  

Build your own Olympic size dressage ring right on your own property.

Bring your horses and get then settled in the three-stall barn. The barn has a feed room, electricity, and water.  

Your horses will have sufficient space for shelter. You have enough space to ensure the safety of your equestrian equipment.

Hacking distance to White Fences Equestrian Center Show Grounds

Who doesn’t want to be in hacking distance for exceptional dressage venues?

After taking care of your prized horses during the early morning hours whether you are competing in our equestrian events or riding the trails, enjoy a relaxing afternoon in your salt-water pool.

The light-filled open floor kitchen has everything you could want.

It comes with a dishwasher, freezer, microwave, double wall oven and a ten-foot island granite top for those early morning breakfast.

A Loxahatchee horse ranch that takes entertaining to the next level

This impressive Loxahatchee horse farm comes with 4 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms with  3,689 square feet of living space.

It offers more than just a peaceful abode.  It is also a great place to relax and entertain.

Entertain your guests to your heart’s content in this fun-packed entertainment area of the home.  There is plenty of room with a wet-bar and a full sized cabana bathroom.

The wet bar easily accommodates six seats.  Stock up your favorite drinks, and even your friends’ favorites to ensure everyone will have a good time when they are over for a holiday or celebration.

When you long for ultimate privacy, the master bedroom in this equestrian ranch in Loxahatchee is your go-to.

Tile floors, neutrally-toned walls, and large window create an open and airy feel to this bedroom. The walk-in closet is a great size to fit all of your clothes and shoes. The three other bedrooms also have walk-in closets, helping you to stay organized.

A stone surround fireplace offers warmth and adds a rustic feel to this contemporary style home.

A truly exceptional equestrian ranch

This horse property with barn and home near Wellington has so many things to offer. In addition to its more than five acres, you can also utilize additional acreage.  

It’s also conveniently located. It’s in hacking distance to White Fences Equestrian Center Show Grounds, and approximately 12 miles from WEF and Global Dressage Festival.

There are so many wonderful features in this home:

Accordion hurricane shutters for the doors and windows along with three hurricane-rated garage doors.  It’s an additional protection for you and the house, which is part of your investment.

New A/C, new ducts, and new returns increases this home’s energy efficiency. They also work more efficiently in cooling the home..

Intercom system elevates your home’s security to the next level. It is an additional layer of security, as well as providing convenience.

3 hot water heaters ensure you won’t run out of hot water, and there’s plenty more to spare.

The saltwater pool is a great place to relax and enjoy after a long day’s ride with your horses.

3 porches extend your home’s living space. They also give you a comfortable place to sit down while enjoying the beauty of your horse farm.

Hardy boards offer efficiency and longevity.

Insulated, sound deadening walls ensure you have a peaceful sleep and won’t be disturbed by any accidental noises when you are entertaining.

The wet bar with mini refrigerator is convenient especially if you love to entertain.

Walk-in closets ensure you have enough storage for your personal items.

Double Jacuzzi with inline heater offer the best of pampering and relaxation.

3 walk-in showers , 2 tubs give enough space for everyone

Double ovens increase your efficiency in the kitchen.

10-foot island provides plenty of counter space.

Solid wood cabinets in the kitchen enhance the visual aesthetics of the home’s kitchen. They are also great storage savers.

Dual shower heads in the showers increase the luxuriousness of your bathtime. It also shortens you shower time.

The loft provides an additional seating with a great view of the outdoors.

Central vacuum. .

Lots and lots of storage allow you to be better organized and have dedicated spaces for all your belongings.

Huge utility room with a sink.

If you love to golf,  there are public golf courses; Sandhill Crane off  Northlake,  Madison Green Country Club, and the Village Green are the closest ones at ten miles away with additional golf courses.

When you need to stock up on your goods or do some shopping, you’ll find plenty of options along Seminole Pratt Whitney Road and Orange Blvd with a Publix Store.  On Southern Blvd.,  you have Tractor Supply Company for horse feed, stall bedding, premium shavings, and other equestrian products within minutes and another Publix store, a 7-11 gas station too.

Ultimate comfort and convenience are yours in the modern home, thanks to its newly installed AC and ducts, and dividing wall insulations to reduce noise levels to bedrooms. You’ll also love the elegant and stylish features of its various seating rooms, from its bright and airy living room to the cozy comfort of the family room.This horse farm near Wellington also gives you unlimited access to the gorgeous scenic views surrounding the property.

Make your dream equestrian property come to life with this Loxahatchee horse farm, yours for only $949,777.

Call me, Broker Nestor Gasset, at 561-753-0135 to see this property’s amazing features for yourself.

In case you can not view this video here, please click the link below  to view my listing at 19431 Capet Creek Ct, Loxahatchee, FL 33470 on my YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWK3i1Py9MM&feature=youtu.be