#I live in Florida so the hurricane gave us no school for a week and I go back tomorrow

[emdabitchass]

He laid there silently

open rp

you walk into the Apollo cabin to see Em writing something while blasting music in her headphones so loud you can hear it

tags👇

@demigod-jack-hearth

@of-course-im-the-winner

@the-smart-and-the-dumb-one

@lisadaughter-of-hepheastus

@ariathemortal

@smileyalater

@reyna4ever

[teenyfish]

Marine Biology Story of the Day #13: The Collection

Hey everybody, long time no see—we’ve been dealing with hurricanes and vacations and I’ve been extremely worn down from work so I have not posted anything in the last two weeks.

But, since it’s early spooky season and I’ve finally had a chance to sit down, we are going to do a special post today and go over my collection.

My collection of “dead things”, as my husband likes to describe it.

I like to describe it as my natural history collection. It’s a collection I’ve been curating since I got go college, and I have either collected and cleaned them myself, or received them as gifts from others who share my strange hobby.  I have not personally killed any of these animals, however I’m sure some were road kill or were killed by barotrauma (if they were fish).  Also, these are not all from dead animals, I have a large collection of molts and shells as well.  For me, these are found objects, and I am giving them life again in my house.  If you are uncomfortable with the idea of animal bone collection and processing, I suggest you stop here.

If you have a morbid curiosity like I do, welcome.

Lets start with the bones.  On the first row we have what I think is a squirrel skull that I found on a beach (I’m not 100% sure because I don’t have any teeth from it) and a cormorant skull I found completely bleached and cleaned on a dock.  On the second row we have a pair of deer antlers I spent $2 on at an antique fair, we have an otter that I cleaned for my university that I was allowed to keep, we have rocky the raccoon, also from my university, a cat skull I found on a washed up beach (there were no tags attached, no tissue left, it could have been a pet or a stray, but considering we were in the middle of nowhere, there was no way to tell), and a Atlantic sharpnose shark jaw I cleaned while on a NOAA trip.  The back row we have a blacktip reef shark jaw from the same trip, and a red drum skull collected from a beach.  

Now, rocky is one of my favorites—we have a long relationship.  When I was in college, I took a mammalogy class and one of our assignments was to go find a dead animal and bring it in, dissect it, and clean it.  Like for a grade.  Our professor had tenure and was pretty eccentric, so he got away with it much to the chagrin of the president.  I found rocky on the side of a highway, while I was driving home to my parents’ house for fall break, and he looked pretty freshly dead, so I thought that would be the best way to go.  It didn’t stop him from stinking up my car though, and my mom was not pleased that I stuffed him in the basement freezer.  He made it back to school in a Styrofoam cooler, and I got an A on that assignment, and then we put all of our skulls in the “beetle tank” so that they could finish cleaning the skulls for us.  I forgot about it.  Fast forward to two years later, I was working for the graduate department while getting my graduate degree, and we were asked to clean out the “bone room” and process the skulls, and I found him, a tag with my name on it attached.  He came home to live me ever since.

Next we have the molts, all of which, with the exception of the sea urchin, all came from live animals that continued on living after they had shed their shells. On the bottom left we have my horseshoe crab molts, the larger one was collected on a fisheries survey I was on, the little one I found at a hotel beach in Florida.  Just above the horseshoe crabs, we have an urchin that I found in Maine—this one was likely smashed against the rocks by a seagull, because when an urchin dies, it usually doesn’t leave behind it’s spines. Next to it is the large, American Lobster, which came from the lobster at the aquarium I used to work at!! And then, in the bottom right is a spiny lobster molt.  Spiny lobsters come from the south eastern united states, but our aquarium collected a spiny lobster in North Carolina.  She was one of my favorite animals I worked with in the aquarium.

Then we have the full bodied organisms that were preserved fully.  We have European hornets pinned in the bottom block, which are from a small project I worked on as an undergrad.  These are invasive to the states.  The large blue jar contains a baby sandbar shark. My friend (who is also a biology nerd) found this one for me at a thrift store, so WHO KNOWS how it got there originally—but I gave her a new home none the less.  The last three small jars are fish and invertebrates that were collected on my trip studying marine plastics in the Pacific.  In one is a Velula velula, or a by-the-wind sailor, which is a small siphonophore (similar to a jelly fish, or like a small man-o-war) that “sails” on the surface of the water with it’s little biological sail!  The next one is a myctophid, which I’ve covered in previous posts, but it’s a small, very numerous deep sea fish with bioluminescent photophores on it’s belly.  The last is a dragonfish or a viperfish, which is another deep see fish similar to an angler fish, but it’s bioluminescent lure is on it’s chin.  

I’ve been putting this collection together for almost 10 years now, and they all have their little spots on my shelves at my home.  I just find these pieces of biology so beautiful, and I want to give these animals a second life.  I’m not just into dead animals, I have a 55 gallon saltwater tank and a sweet baby puppy as well, but I just love natural specimens--it is just so cool to be able to reach up on your book shelf and be able to study anatomy from the real thing. 

Now, there are a myriad of methods required for preserving biological samples, many of which you can do at home with your own materials.  Cleaning a skull successfully also depends on the condition that the remains are found in.  I rarely do a skull that has a lot of tissue still on it, it’s a lot of work. I do stress though, unless you want to get into some really nasty stuff, it is not for the faint of heart (or people who are easily nauseated).  If you want any information on how to clean skulls, both from mammals and from fish, please feel free to contact me in the notes or in the asks.

That being said, as a reminder, there are some legal issues regarding many species.  Marine Mammals and endangered species are a no go, even if you find the animal already dead.  Make sure to be aware of that when you go out in the field looking for bones.  It is also is typically illegal to collect things from state and national parks in the U.S., and I don’t have all the rules for other countries, so just educate yourself before you head out.

As always, if you have any questions or comments PLEASE do not be afraid to ask!  

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Wet Sugar” [Part 19 of 30]

Summary: Erik teaches Yani a lesson and change is in the air...

NSFW. Mature Audience. Smut.

"Sunshine & the rain Sunshine & the rain I'm feelin that pressure, now, now I'm feelin that same old round and round I can't go forward

I need a boost to catapult me high feels like the come up is way too tight chokin and squeezin' my life, every time"

Joi—"Sunshine & The Rain"

Yani knew Erik watched her from the security cams when she left for the night. She made sure to walk in front of all visible optics in case Neal was lurking for her too. Huntsman commenting on her relationship with Erik frightened her. Did Klaue know about it too?

The thought worried her all night when she slept at Leona's apartment. When she arrived back at the compound to cook breakfast and prep for the dinner meal, she stayed in the front house the entire time. It wasn't until the men left for the day to explore island bars that she even took a bit of time to walk down to the cove to relax. Erik was gone with the men. She had hoped that he could stay behind with her, but he made a point of driving the others into town. She asked him to pick up bottled water and extra batteries just in case they needed them.

The sky was even grayer when the men returned late in the evening. She ignored them all, including Erik. The standing freezer had an abundance of nickel-sized scallops and prosciutto. Yani cooked thin spaghetti noodles with fish sauce and fresh garlic with the scallops and tossed together an Italian salad with the thin slices of cured ham. This particular crew wasn't particular or even cared for dessert, so she watched them eat her food and quickly cleaned up after them when they were done.

She heard Erik talking to the others in the front house den. He was encouraging the men to leave early in the morning before the storm arrived, but the captain of the boat had trepidations about sailing back to Florida. Erik mentioned Puerto Rico but there was grumbling. The point became moot when one of the men turned up the view screen and the weather report was dire. The storm had grown and would pass by the island sooner than originally predicted.

The men would stay longer.

Erik sent her a text.

Go home and don't come back here until I tell you. Get to safety with your family.

She quickly texted him back.

If it gets bad, the safest place here is under the middle house. There is a large crawlspace there right under the kitchen window outside. The panic room is only for you. No one else.

Hug the baby for me.

Yani put together a to-go plate for herself and slipped away from the grounds without the men noticing.

Her Aunt and cousins made plans to stay in a shelter and she packed up pull-ups and baby food for Sydette and a small clothing bag for herself. Piling blankets in her car, she drove herself, Sydette and Twyla to the church shelter they had used since she was a child. It was better to be safe than sorry, and the other islanders who thought the same were already hunkering down for the night. As a child she had survived a Category 3 storm, so she was only slightly anxious with a Category 2 on the way.

The entire night she listened to prayers, a short sermon from the Pastor, and soft whispers from all around her as they all waited to see what the next day would bring. She dozed off around two in the morning but was abruptly woken up with Sydette clutched in her embrace as the wind howled outside the church. It was seven in the morning but darkness surrounded them.

Yani sat up and looked at Leona and Twyla.

"How bad is it?" she asked.

"We were lucky. The hurricane died down and didn't even come near us. Right now we are getting the tail end of a strong tropical storm. Praise God. Them say it'll pass through by evening," Leona said.

Yani exhaled with relief.

She changed Sydette's pull up and cleaned her hands with hand sanitizer before opening up a jar of baby food.

"We should go home," Twyla said.

"I think we should stay until we know for sure it is safe," Leona said.

Yani checked her cell. Erik sent a few texts while she was asleep. It looked like he was awake all night by the number of messages he left for her and the baby. She texted him back letting him know her family's plan to stay at the church longer. She was glad that their cell phones still worked.

Food was served throughout the day and by early evening, the winds had died away leaving a summer rain and the winking of sun rays peeking through the last of the clouded sky. She packed up her things and drove back to Leona's.

There was a time-sensitive notification in her emails that jumped out at her as she contacted relatives in the states to let them know they were okay. Although cell service worked on the island, it was crackly and hard to hear when they tried calling overseas.

The email was from the University.

A nursing student had dropped out of the early summer track for three online classes and Yani was offered the spot because of her high entry test scores. She accepted quickly and took a deep breath. She was going to start school sooner than expected. It meant she could qualify for three prerequisites for the newly created nurse/midwife track she wanted to get into. It also meant she had a shot at entering the accelerated program that was opening the following Spring.

It was happening.

Her career goals were coming to fruition.

Yani took a moment sitting in front of her Aunt's desktop computer in the living room. She touched her chest and felt her heart pounding. As long as she kept up her grades she would succeed. Gratefulness swelled inside of her. The time Erik gave her to relax and do some self-study on her own made her feel confident accepting the early start. She could do this. For herself and her baby.

She grabbed her phone.

"Killmonger."

"You and the baby good?"

Hearing his voice made her eyes water. She was glad she didn't face chat him.

"We're fine. Back at Auntie's. Killmonger…I get to start school early."

"Yeah?"

She spilled out her good news and Twyla walked in on her and saw the joy on her face. Her cousin's hand rubbing her back at the news made Yani feel happy.

School would start in a week.

She was ready.

###

Erik didn't allow Yani to return to the compound until the mercs had left.

He baked her a cake to congratulate her on her early start for school, and he damn near ran to her car when she pulled onto the property with the baby. His hand gripped her neck so tight once he had her in his arms. He didn't allow Sydette to leave his side once he had her back with him. The mercs leaving along with the storm made the compound feel light and free again.

Watching Yani eat the cake he made while feeding some to Sydette calmed his nerves. Their first night back together had them all cuddled together in one bed, and he spent the rest of the week spoiling Yani with fancy food, back rubs, foot massages and nights out with her friends while he looked after the baby.

Her last night going out before she started her classes found him cooking oxtails the way Leona showed him how to do it and attempting to make a decent batch of stew peas and rice. Sydette ran around him in the kitchen of Klaue's main house while Yani got showered for her evening of fun. He made the food for Yani's return because she was always starving after a late night out.

Packing the food up into the fridge, he gathered Sydette's overnight bag and carried the baby into the master bedroom.

"Aye Sweet Pea, say bye-bye to Mama. Kiss!" Yani said holding out her hands for Sydette.

Draped in a fluffy white bathrobe and face unmade, Erik watched Yani give smooches all over Sydette's face.

"Be a good girl for Twyla," she said.

"Be back," he said.

Taking Sydette away from her, Erik drove to Leona's and handed the baby over to Twyla. By the time he made it back to the compound, Yani had on her make-up and her clothes…

"The fuck you wearing?"

She stood in front of the master bedroom vanity mirror primping and smoothing oil onto her platinum-colored hair. Face beat like a Boss Bitch, her eyes dragged away from her own visage and gazed at him.

"What you mean?"

"Bend over."

Yani leaned forward slightly and the short form-fitting white shirt she was wearing like a mini dress raised up and he could see the underside of her ass cheeks clear as day.

"Nah…nah…put some pants on or get something else on—"

"Serious?"

She sucked her teeth at him.

"You ain't got no panties on—"

"Yes, I do."

She lifted up the dress higher and he saw silky white boy shorts.

Erik twisted up his lips. He didn't want to be that dude. He didn't want to sound or look like an insecure pooh butt. Women could wear what they wanted. He appreciated women who dressed sexy and were confident in that sexiness.

However…

"Yani, these niggas be ruthless in the club. Why you gotta have so much ass out? You know they gonna push up on you…I can see your cheeks, girl—"

"Barely. Just tell me you don't wahn mi grindin' on niggas—"

"I don't want you grindin' on niggas with that dress on."

"I'm not changing clothes."

She put her hand on her hip and her eyes challenged him to say different.

He fell back and watched her slip on her heels and grab her small purse.

"Who's picking you up?"

"Lesonne. I'm catching a cab back if I get tired early…stop trippin'. It's really not that short…"

His eyes dragged down to her thighs. He could see the tops of them. The dress shirt flared out on the sides hanging low enough to cover her hips, but the cut still showed a lot from the front and back.

Let her show off in peace.

The click-clack of her silver heels on the tiled floor broke him out of his thoughts of making her stay home with him. He seriously thought of going with her, but she was so bubbly gossiping with her girlfriends that he had to figure out why he was so agitated about a dress. A stupid dress he would've lusted over himself had he seen her in a club with it on. He would've been one of the men pushing up on her if he didn't know her.

She checked her phone.

"They're on their way," she said.

He followed her up to the main gate of the compound, and the longer they walked with her ahead of him, the more time he had to look at her hips twisting as she walked, her thighs all out teasing him. Erik felt that gnawing need to control what was happening. He reached out and stroked the right curve off her ass.

"Don't have them dudes—"

She brushed his hand away from her body.

His eyes narrowed and he pulled her arm back toward him.

"Are you listening to me?"

"I'll be a good girl."

She said the words, but the twist of her lips told him otherwise. He reached behind her and slapped her ass. Hard.

"Ow!"

She punched him in his chest.

"I'll be up waiting for you."

"I may not be back until early tomorrow."

Now he was really irritated.

"So what was the point of me taking Sydette to your Aunt's? We were supposed to have a grown- up night together before you start school—"

"I told you that I wasn't sure when I would be back—"

"You said no later than one or two."

"Well, it may be later than that—"

"So we not fucking?"

She checked her cell and fixed the thin white belt that cinched her waist.

"We'll see how I feel when I get back."

She rubbed his arm and turned around to show him her backside. Jiggling her cheeks, she giggled at him with her teasing.

"See, now you're being mean," he said.

He took his flat palm and smacked the shit out of her rump. She yelped and rubbed her ass.

"Save that for when I get—"

He yanked her panties down and slapped her vulva.

"Killmonger!"

Her hands tried to block his.

"Take them off."

"They're going to be here—"

"Take them off."

They heard Lesonne's car roll to the front of the gate, music blaring, tires screeching to a halt. Yani's phone vibrated in her purse. She pulled it out.

"Tell her you'll be out in a minute," he whispered.

Her fingers swiped her phone screen and she put her cell back in her purse.

"Panties."

Yani stepped out of her tiny boy shorts and held them. He moved up against her and traced his finger along her lips, the red matte lipstick rich on her mouth. He bent down and kissed her, serving her his warm tongue and he felt her body go limp against his.

Slipping two fingers between her legs, he separated her folds. She tugged on the bulge in his jeans. Inserting his fingers into her pussy, he thrust in and out slowly making her squirm. Her hand made his dick lift up so that it pointed at her.

"You wore that dress just to fuck with me," he whispered.

Her eyes were glassy and her pussy was dripping. The sticky fluid from her body made squishy sounds. He kept manipulating her folds until her legs shook. She vacillated between biting her lips, staring down at his fingers, and closing her eyes as he varied the depth and speed of his digits inside of her.

"Erik…fuck…"

"You come home at a decent hour so I can get in all this. Hear?"

Yani bit her lips as she tried to stifle the tiny groans coming from her mouth.

"I should fuck you right now, right here," he said.

"They're waiting…"

"So."

"Huuhnnn…"

Her hands rested against his chest, her warm fingers, pushing him back.

Hooking his fingers, Erik tapped on her walls and let his thumb flick over her clit.

"I should pick you up and let you slide down this dick. Fuck you standing up—"

"Stop!"

Yani removed his fingers from her slit and stepped away from him.

"Let me get going. I'll let you have it all when I get back."

He spun her around and pushed her against the gate. Dropping to his knees he pulled her soft ass cheeks apart and shoved his entire face into her pussy lips.

He heard Yani's hands slam against the metal gate bracing herself and she pushed her backside out giving him even more access to her private parts. Sliding his tongue along her outer labia, he licked his bottom lip that was wet with saliva.

He heard faint sounds escape her mouth as she tried to keep quiet as her friends waited on the other side of the gate. Shoving his tongue deep inside of her, Yani rocked her hips back to smash her ass into his face and he loved it. He gripped his dick through his pants and squeezed his balls to keep himself from cumming. He wanted to be knee-deep in her walls when he did that.

Removing his tongue, he let Yani's ass strike his face, getting his beard drenched with her sweet fluids. He had her soaking wet. It was time to make her pussy submit. Erik became a flurry of fingers and wet tongue kissing as he licked her engorged labia like icing off a cake. Bathing her pussy with his saliva, he dragged his tongue along all the sensitive parts that made her melt in his mouth.

"Daddy gon' chop this peach up when you get back."

He felt the heavy throbbing weight between his legs and before the surge from his balls could overtake him, Yani shuddered while his lips sucked on her clit, her release making her plump vulva spasm.

"Pussy sloppy, baby…"

He licked up all the excess juices that poured from her and kissed her folds gently, his full lips pressing against her skin, still feeling the slight spasms from the tail end of her orgasm.

"Watch yourself," he said.

She pulled her panties back on while he stood up and adjusted his dick. He was so horny for her.

"Just gonna leave Daddy like this?"

She rolled her eyes and he opened the gate for her.

His erection grew more rigid as he watched her walk away from him and get into the car.

Such a tease.

###

Erik surveyed some gun schematics on his laptop. It was nearing midnight and he was restless. He had tried to watch porn earlier, but none of the women he saw online excited him enough to rub one out. All he had eyes for was Yani and that mini dress. He took out some weed he got from Kendall and rolled a tight one. The baby wasn't there so he felt cool about indulging.

His cell buzzed and when he checked it, there were a series of pictures that Yani sent him. A few group shots with her friends, but a few with men at the club posing with her crew, and sure enough, that fucking dress was doing too much.

He went back to looking at gun designs and another text blew up his phone.

A video.

Yani and her girls dancing, but Yani was winding on some Rasta looking clown who was pressed up against her.

"See, this the shit I was talking about," he grumbled.

It didn't matter. He was going to use up a whole bottle of lube when she came home. A long drag on his herb had him toasted. Shit was potent as fuck.

The clip was only a minute long but long enough to let him know she was buzzing and showing off. Her girlfriends were egging her on and just as tipsy and feisty as she was.

He texted her.

Slow your roll, Ma. For real.

You not my daddy, lol!

She sent him more pictures, trying her best to be provocative. He didn't fall for it.

It wasn't until he saw a thirty-second video clip of another man grinding on her and patting her vulva through her dress that he jumped off the couch.

###

"We run tings. Tings nuh run we!"

The Flourgon song made Yani's hips dip, and she watched the crowd dance while she sipped on her apple martini in the V.I.P. section she reserved for her friends. It was ladies' night, and this particular club was a diverse mix of locals and white tourists. She liked the booth they were set up in. They could see what was happening around the club, but other patrons couldn't see what they were doing.

All of her friends were happy for her, and she was cutting up in the club with them, feeling powerful and ready to take on the world. Bottle service was popping and she was given extra drinks for free because of her connection to Kendall who had performed there the previous weekend.

The music switched to R&B and Yani followed her friends onto the floor and they became ridiculous with their dancing. She kicked off her heels and swung them in her hand as she downed shots and sang off-key to the music with her girls.

She took out her cell and took more video shots to send to Erik. She posted two pictures on her social media page of the group shots she had in their V.I.P. booth. On her way back to her section, she stopped by the bar to order hot wings and potato poppers to snack on and soak up the liquor in her belly.

Stepping near her booth, Lesonne tugged on her arm.

"Is that your man?"

Yani was confused by the question until she saw Erik bee-lining his way toward her. His lips were tight when he reached her group.

"There she is, Miz fatness."

The gruff island voice startled Yani as a man she had danced with earlier rubbed up against her, his hand sliding around her waist, his locs falling against her cheek.

In front of Erik.

Her man's eyes lowered to stare at the stranger's hand and Yani moved up on the single step that led to her booth to separate herself from the man. Her friends filed behind her, their eyes taking in the whole scene.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Erik shoved past the other man, his shoulder knocking him aside.

"Aye!"

"Fuck you want?" Erik said.

The stranger looked Erik up and down, and what he saw made him move along without another word.

Yani's friends stood away from them, leaning against the railing that separated their section. They looked out onto the dance floor. The tone of Erik's voice made Yani nervous.

"Why yuh here?"

She eased him into a corner of their section where no one on the floor could see them too well. But her friends could hear everything.

"You tryna be too cute. That's why I'm here. Got niggas touching your pussy in public—"

Yani heard her friend Milah let out an "Ooh…I knew it."

His eyes were on her dress again.

"Please. Don't make a scene, man. Not here. We're having a good time. You didn't need to come down here to tell me that. Coulda texted—"

"Nah, you wanted this attention."

His eyes were blazing. She caught a whiff of weed from his breath.

Lesonne placed a shot glass into Erik's hand.

"Drink up. It's a celebration," Lesonne said.

Erik tossed back the tequila and Yani moved over to the railing to watch the crowd and divert Erik's attention. She was shocked when she felt his palm strike under her ass. He pressed up against her and let his hands grip the railing, trapping her there. His hot breath tickled her ear as he leaned in to whisper.

"Didn't I tell you to watch yourself before you left? You think I was playing?"

"It was nothin'."

His hand reached down and clutched at her mound.

"He had his hand on you like this. Bitch, I can feel how fat your puss is through this dress. You let that nigga touch my shit."

Yani's eyes darted to the side. All four of her friends had their eyes glued to the dance floor, but she knew their ears were stinging from Erik's words.

"Let's talk about this at home—"

"No."

His voice was raspy against her ear.

"You tryna get fucked in the club?"

Now he was getting loud. She tried to turn around but he kept her in place, his groin shoved hard against her ass. She turned her head and his lips met hers. He wasn't gentle with her mouth, but he was gentle with his hips rocking into her. He dropped his right hand down and wiggled his fingers under the front of her dress and slipped them down her panties. The stimulation from his fingers across her plump clit had her mewling and pushing back against him. The blood in her body thrummed hot as his tongue slid against hers. No matter what happened between them, his kisses always disarmed her.

Her head dropped forward when his fingers sunk into her pussy.

"This what you wanted?"

"Ooh."

He was digging deep.

"I saw you out there dancing. All this big ass out in the open…"

Her friends pretended not to notice, but they could hear everything. Even her wet folds being assailed by his hand.

Erik removed his hand from her slit for a few seconds, and she felt him unzip his pants and lift up the back of her dress. She gripped her fingers around the railing. Two of her friends slipped away to the dance floor. The other two stood rooted, heads facing forward. Erik yanked her panties down to her knees.

Her skin felt tingly and once she felt him lining his glans against her opening, she accepted what she had done. She wanted to incite his ardor. She wanted to flaunt her body to get him enflamed for her. She wanted him begging for her pussy. At home.

But no.

He drove all the way across the island, walked into this club so he could-

"Fuck, Killmonger!"

His dick stretched out her opening, and from the angle he entered her, the head of his dick tugged down on her clit and the sensation shot out a hot ripple of pleasure up to her nipples and down to her toes.

From the floor, if anyone looked up, they would simply look like a couple hugged up watching the action. Erik kept his hands gripped on her waist as he rocked into her.

"Fucking slut."

His words slurred in her ear.

"Look at your friends. Making them watch Daddy fuck you like this."

Her eyes flicked over to glance at Milah and Lesonne who stayed behind. Milah's eyes were brazen and aroused watching Yani get pounded in public. Her eyes trailed down Yani's body until she was staring at Erik's dick pumping in and out of her.

"Shit, Yani. Yuh nasty. Him beating up that pum pum," Milah said.

Erik dragged her over to the back of the VIP section and away from her friends, his dick still rooted deep within her. He grabbed her arms to balance himself and really started to thrust. Yani chewed on her lips trying to keep quiet, but a few cries got out, drowned by the loud bass thudding throughout the club. Her balance was thrown off when he released her arms and she reached out to hold onto the wall.

Erik yanked her underwear back up as he pulled out.

"Be still."

She whimpered as he placed his erection between her thighs and jerked off his load into her panties. He swallowed the grunts in his throat as the last of his semen spilled out.

"Pull your panties back up," he said.

Yani did as she was told, her soaked underwear sticking to her vulva. She smoothed down her dress and still felt the thumping of her clit. She turned to face him and he zipped up his pants.

"Let somebody touch my shit now, girl."

He looked at her friends who avoided eye contact with both of them and left her standing there. They watched him move through the crowd, his swagger so acute that Yani had to pour herself a glass of champagne and gulp it down.

Panties filled with cum and a face filled with embarrassment, Yani said nothing to Milah or Lesonne.

###

Erik was reading in bed when Yani returned to the compound. He'd been at the house for over an hour before she came back.

She showered and crawled onto the bed next to him. He ignored her, even though she was butt naked. After a time, he put the book on the nightstand and looked at her.

"Rest of the night was cool?"

"Yeah."

His eyes tried not to stare at her body too much, but he couldn't help it. Her face looked pouty. He pinched one of her nipples.

"You fucked me in front of my friends."

"So. They didn't look bothered by it. They say something?"

"Not really."

"You need to apologize to me."

"For what?"

"Making me come out there. I had shit to do here. But you got out of pocket. Stole some work time from me."

Her fingers stroked his naked chest tracing the skin between his keloids.

"I'm sorry."

"Nah. Not like that. You know what I want."

He pulled the covers back from his body and lifted up his dick. Her fingers clasped it and she lowered her head and wrapped her lips around it.

"Damn," he hissed.

Once she had him standing at attention, her fingers slipped between her legs and she fondled her clit.

"Get it ready for me. You got some making up to do."

Her mouth sucked and licked up and down the sides of his length and he groaned from her loving tongue swiping against his balls. He reached for the lube next to his book and slathered his dick with it.

"Turn around. Sideways," he directed her.

He tilted his hips to the left slightly and Yani lowered her ass, her fingers holding open her labia.

"Slide down Daddy's dick, baby."

She was on her hands and knees and he had the pleasure of watching her entire side view as she bounced on his dick. His left hand rested on her ass cheek.

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

"Show me."

Her breasts jiggled and he reached over to play with her big nipple. She had a steady rhythm.

"You gon' let some other nigga touch my pussy again?"

Her lips curled up and she shook her head vigorously when he started thrusting up into her.

"What? I didn't hear you."

Her hand reached back and touched his side.

"Ooomph…Daddy!"

He was stretching her out real good.

"Answer me."

He slapped her backside. She leaned down on her elbows and pressed her face into the mattress. That wouldn't do. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to face him. She plucked on her nipples and pushed her breasts together for him. Her pussy was squeezing him while he let her do most of the work. He slapped the side of her hip and her eyes shot open.

"You betta answer me—"

"I won't let no one touch my pussy…just you…just you."

"This pussy is so good…you liked it when Daddy fucked you at the club, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You liked your friends watching me dick you down, huh?"

Her pussy clenched around him.

"Yeah, you liked that shit. You liked them seeing what you get all the time. Daddy's big dick all in your fat pussy."

She was wailing as she bounced on his dick. He played with her nipple and watched his thickness split her good. He lifted up and held her back, widening his thighs so he could get his balls all up in her ass. He held her in that position for a long time, punishing her folds until she was begging him to let her cum.

"Don't you ever let me catch you with some other man's hand on this pussy. Hear me?"

"Yeah!"

Erik pulled out and pushed her onto her stomach. He climbed on top of her and inserted his dick once more. He gave her slow thrusts until her fingers were clawing the pillows.

"Cum on me, Yani."

She screamed his name and fell apart on his dick. He didn't wait for her to finish as he sped up his pace and then pulled her on her knees so he could watch her rock back onto his length.

"Had all my cum in your panties…"

"Yeah…"

"You liked that, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

He groaned out loud.

"Cum in me, Daddy."

"Whatchu want Daddy to do? Tell me again…"

"Cum in my pussy…"

"…fill your pussy up?"

"Make a big mess, Daddy…"

"Like I did at the club?"

"Yeah."

"Wet your pussy up like I did those panties?"

"Please—"

"Tell me—"

"I want you to wet my pussy up. Make a big mess like you put in my panties—"

"That's what you want?"

"Yeah."

"You like it when I make you sloppy—"

"Yeah."

"Give you a big cream pie—"

"Mmmhmmm."

"Ah shit-!"

It never failed. Talking to her while watching the sexy dimpling in her ass, her thighs striking his, it never took long for him to let go whenever he was ready. He ejaculated, the tight pulling on his balls letting him know he had emptied out another huge load.

He stayed in her pussy for the rest of the night, fucking her until she fell asleep in his arms. The bottle of lube was empty like he thought it would be.

###

Erik worked hard to get a workable mock-up of the weapons he wanted to convert with the vibranium. He found it hard to concentrate for the last few weeks because he and Yani had both been busy. Sex was infrequent, and she was gone from the compound a lot. He thought her online classes would keep her close, but it actually took her away. She started a study group with a few other online students on the island and met with them three times a week. Her courses were time-consuming and her energy was spent on assignments, getting high grades on her quizzes and tests, and caring for Sydette. She was mentally drained by the end of the day and was often knocked out by the time he joined her in bed at night.

He felt displaced.

Their life had been perfect, but now he was losing her to school.

When her midterm rolled around and they were easing into August, she dropped some news on him that upset him. The apartment she was going to share with her roommate was available and the leasing agent wanted her and her roommate to take it right away or risk losing it to another tenant. She wanted to move out right away. Her roommate was ready to get the apartment too.

She told him while he took out braids from Sydette's hair on the porch.

Yani was going to settle on the other side of the island with the baby, leaving him at the compound alone.

As always, when it rained, it poured.

While Yani went out for several days with her roommate to buy furniture and cookware for her new apartment, he received word from Klaue: he was coming back to St. Thomas.

Early.

###

Chapter 20 Here

Tag List:

@fd-writes​ @soufcakmistress  @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon  @thadelightfulone

@allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky

@raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514  @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling

@chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry  @honeytoffee @meilintheempressofdreams

@tyees @eye-raq @writerbee-ffs

[ecfandom]

Polis 433 Ch. 12 Preview

It’s not clexa, but it’s a preview. Clexa to come!

Elliot and Taryn rounded the corner at sprint, their legs and arms pumping in unison. Had it been anyone else, Elliot would have pulled ahead with her years of military-backed stamina and strength, but Taryn had been an NCAA Division 1 track athlete in undergrad, and she gave as good as she got. Where Elliot’s solid build and strong thighs made her powerful, Taryn’s long legs and lithe musculature made her fast, and they matched each other footfall for footfall.

Grinning like idiots, the blew through town, racing along the docks, dodging the morning fisherman as they hauled in their catches for the day. The sun was barely up, but this port town was already awake and raring to go. The early-risers grinned, waved, and shook their heads at them as they passed, fond of this familiar tradition that livened the mornings and ushered in the new day.

“Flag pole,” Elliot huffed, indicating their final destination about a hundred yards away, initiating the last leg of their sprint. It would be a  battle to the end to see who would come out on top and buy breakfast, per their tri-weekly tradition. They both kicked it up a notch, jostling for the lead. Neither were above a little light throwing of shoulders and elbows, and they both laughed as it happened, shoving the other off each time.

Elliot grinned when Taryn pulled ahead fifty yards out, predictable and eager as always. She waited until they were about twenty-yards out, and then she gunned it. She overtook Taryn in ten yards, just managing to keep her lead for the last ten as they flew past the flagpole.

“Mother fucker!” Taryn half-shouted, half-laughed as they slowed to a stop. Elliot dropped her hands to her knees and sucked in air greedily as Taryn flopped to the ground, a mess of red, gangly limbs. “How the hell do you do that?!”

Elliot brought her head up from between her shoulders and grimaced in Taryn’s direction. Their faces were a matching bright red, and sweat dripped from their hairlines generously. “Endurance,” she panted, dodging a rock that Taryn flung at her good-naturedly.

“I have endurance! I was a distance runner in college. I won every race!”

“And that was what? Twenty years ago?”

Taryn glared. “Sixteen, plus med school, a career and two children.”

Elliot shook her head, droplets of sweat dispersing around her. “God, we’re getting old.” She stood and held out her hand, helping Taryn up from the ground.

“So, where we going?”

“Like that’s even a question,” Elliot said with a laugh.

***

They sat at Sal’s, enjoying the peacefulness of being two of a handful at the restaurant that hadn’t yet ushered in the morning rush.

“You going to the game Wednesday?” Elliot asked around a mouthful of pancakes.

Taryn nodded, not taking a breath away from her coffee as she finished her cup in one go, set it on the table, and grinned at Betty who swung by and refilled it, used to Taryn’s habits by now.

“Bringing the girls?”

“Janie’s going with some friends from school,” Taryn said of her eldest daughter, the eight year-old spitting image of Taryn’s wife, Ella. “Ella’s bringing Lily by after her shift. I probably won’t get off until about the third inning. You going?”

Elliot nodded, shoveling more food into her mouth. The two of them were bottomless pits, as Ella often fondly referred to them. They were both tall and broadly built for women, but even so, they put away more food than even their large bodies should be able to old. It was endlessly amusing to the people around them.

“How’s Lexa?” Elliot asked.

“Discharging her tomorrow. Her last HBOT session is today.”

“Really? That’s great.”

“She’ll be off duty for another week and I’ve got her going to PT for respiratory. She’ll be light duty for another two after that, then we’ll check in.”

“She’s not going to like that.”

“Too bad,” Taryn said with a laugh, “orders came down from the chief.”  

Elliot lowered her fork of food in surprise. “Abby? What’s Abby care?”

Taryn shrugged and wiped at her mouth, wondering how much she should say. They didn’t keep anything from each other, never had, but some things weren’t hers to tell. “How well do you know her daughter?”

“Clarke? ‘Bout as well as you, I suppose. From what I’ve seen, she’s pretty damn good at her job. Not a lot to tell in six months, though. Thompson likes her.”

Taryn nodded, her eyebrows flicking up in surprise for a moment before she schooled her expression. Not fast enough, though. Elliot leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest, studying her friend.

“You know something.”

Taryn shook her head. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You don’t like her?”

“No, no I do. You’re right, she’s good. Better than half my residents, honestly. But there’s something about her, though. I don’t know. She’s...elusive. It’s like she doesn’t want anyone close.”

“She doesn’t,” Elliot said.

“Well, Lexa apparently is.”

“Oh yeah?

Taryn grinned. “Lexa caught feelings.”

Elliot laughed. “For Clarke?”

“That’s on the DL. She told me when she was oxygen drunk.”

Elliot laughed again and shook her head. “Good for her. Now things are making sense.”

“How do you mean?”

“Ran into Clarke the day after we admitted Lexa. Thought she was going to kill me when I told her about Lexa’s MI.”

“You too?”

Elliot grinned. “Good, I like a little spitfire, and it’s about time Lexa found someone.”  

“Yeah, but Clarke?”

“You don’t think it’s a good fit?”

“I think, for one thing, they don’t know each other. Hell, I don’t even know her and we’ve been working together for six months. I know her kid better than I know her. It’s like, what are you hiding? You know? It’s weird for someone so sweet and warm to be so distant.”

Elliot sighed and shook her head. “For someone else, maybe. Not for Clarke.”

“What does that mean?”

“She flinches all the time. You ever notice?” At Taryn’s frown, Elliot nodded and continued. “Loud noises, people coming up behind her, aggressive patients. She doesn’t let it affect her job, but it happens all the time.”

“I never noticed.”

“She’s not in the ER much, so you probably wouldn’t. She covers it really well, but it’s there. She’s got a strong startle reflex too, and she makes herself small when she’s panicked. Crosses her arms, hunches over,” Elliot said, demonstrating before relaxing back into her casual position, nodding like she’d just diagnosed appendicitis. Obvious, easy.  

“Okay…” Taryn said slowly, trying to piece it together. She shrugged. “I’m not following.”  

Elliot nodded, a slight grin on her face. Taryn was an incredible diagnostician, but there were some things she’d never seen, and Elliot was glad for it. “PTSD,” she said simply.

“You think she’s got PTSD?”

“I know she does. I’ve seen it enough.”

“She not a vet. Not that I know of,” Taryn said, musing.

“You don’t have to be a vet to have PTSD. Anyone can have it. I see it more and more at the clinic, especially in young women.”

“You think it was assault?” Taryn asked, taking the check from Betty with a smile.

Elliot shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope not. But something happened to her, that’s for sure. And you can tell whatever happened hurt her more than just her soul. She’s such a strong, independent woman, probably hurt her pride to boot. She’s got to trust you before she opens up to you, and that’s gonna take a lot. If she’s let Lexa close, then there must be something going on there, making it feel safe. And I’m glad. I like Clarke. She’s good, and she cares about her patients.  I’d like to see her hurting less. Frankly, I think if anyone were good for her, it’d be Lexa.”

“And for Lexa?”

Elliot thought about it as she threw a handful of bills on the counter for a tip. She winked at Betty as she swooped in to collect it, and she and Taryn both graciously accepted the to-go containers of pie on the house that Betty pushed into their hands. They thanked her and headed out, squinting against the late morning sun as they pushed out of the restaurant and headed towards the hospital.

“As for Lexa,” Elliot finally said, “I don’t think I’ve seen her smile this much in the last ten years that I’ve known her. And anyone or anything that can make that kid smile…” She shrugged. “They’re okay in my book.”

Their beepers went off simultaneously before Taryn could respond. Despite their full stomachs, they jogged the rest of the two blocks to the hospital, skipped the ER, and ran straight up to the helipad.

The incoming Coast Guard helicopter whipped the air around them into a frenzied storm, forcing Elliot and Taryn to bend nearly in half as they ran to meet the gurney.

“What’ve you got?” Elliot shouted above the roar of the whipping blades.

Coast Guard AST Paxton Matthews, an elite rescue swimmer with paramedic training, shouted off the working diagnosis as they ran the gurney into the hospital. With a mild bout of dehydration and hypothermia, Taryn sent the lost hiker off with her residents and stayed behind with Elliot, wanting to catch up with her sister-in-law who’d been gone for the last month, deployed to Florida to help with the latest hurricane to hit the coast.

“Long time no see,” Elliot said, clasping hands with her, then bumping their fists together.

Taryn walked back over to them, and brought Paxton in for a hug. “How’ve you been, man?”

“It’s good to see you guys,” Pax said, her calm, low voice the same as ever. Much like Elliot, Paxton Matthews was the tall, dark, and handsome dreamboat all the girls swooned over, but was somehow always alone. She sported a similar military cut to Elliot’s, though hers was quite a bit shaggier in the front, perpetually wavy from the salty sea-water she spent her days and nights in. Handsome and charming, she was beloved by the people around her, especially the women, but she was just as reserved as Elliot, if not more so. Unlike Elliot though, Paxton lacked the brooding chill Elliot often carried around with her. Pax was simply an introvert, quiet and even a little shy, unless she was in the water saving people’s lives.

She turned to Taryn. “How’re the girls?”  

“They’re good. Getting bigger, it breaks my heart.”

“I bet. I’ve got toys for them.”

“You spoil them,’’ Taryn said with a grin.

“Of course I do. I’m their aunt.”  

“Is that Paxton Matthews I hear?” They turned, all three of them grinning at the sight of Dr. Ella Matthews-Michaels, Dr. M for short, walking swiftly towards them, her arms open wide for a hug Paxton pulled her into as soon as she was in reach. “I saw the page and hoped you were the one bringing the patient in. Oh my god, I missed you,” she groaned as Paxton gave her a squeeze and let her go. “How are you? I can’t believe you’re already out, you just got back yesterday!”

“Duty calls,” Paxton shrugged.

“You’re still coming over for dinner tonight, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. I want to hear about Florida. I’ve got to get back, I’ve got an anaplastic astrocytoma to remove in ten, but I’ll see you tonight. Don’t be late,” she said, turning to go.

“I don’t know what that is,” Paxton muttered.

“Brain tumor,” Elliot supplied.

“Hey baby,” Ella greeted Taryn, placing her hands on Taryn’s chest and lifting to her tip-toes. She kissed her, then wrinkled her nose. “You need a shower. You run today?”

“Mhm,” Taryn muttered, distracted by the sparkling green of her wife’s eyes. Elliot rolled her eyes and grinned at Paxton, who just shook her head.

“Who won?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Ella snorted and patted her wife’s chest, kissing her one last time before leaving. “Better rest up,” she murmured, “I’ve got plans for you later.” She patted Taryn’s ass as she left, ignoring Paxton’s faux-disgust and Elliot’s protests of PDA in her vicinity.

“Don’t hate the winner, friends, hate the game,” Taryn said, quite proud of herself.

“That’s not how that goes,” Elliot laughed, shaking her head.

“Have you seen her, though?” Taryn asked. “I’m definitely the winner.”

“And I’m definitely still right here,” Paxton said, grimacing.

[freevoidman]

My G, why does the floridian hurricane in porg’s shitshow of a fic upset you so much?

@sui-senka just pinging ya bc you replied and I figured you wouldn’t want to miss my response.

OKAY so the very short answer is she doesn’t know shit (unsurprising, but still) and clearly didn’t do any research about hurricanes, hurricane procedures, hurricane safety, or… literally anything, considering that a lot of her self-written Vergil backstory hinges on a hurricane separating him and his “lover,” making him unaware of Nero’s existence.

Her ignorance about hurricanes and the damage they can cause is practically inexcusable, considering most anything can be googled nowadays, so this had no reason to be as shit as Porg made it. This absolutely infuriates me, considering that I have lived through hurricanes, specifically, one of the worst hurricanes to hit the northeastern US.

The LONG ANSWER will be under the cut because, i’mma be real with you anon, I’m gonna tear apart Porg’s shit, and I get real mad.

Alright, so, in Porg’s fic, this bullshit comes at the end of her segment about her OC and Vergil, and why Vergil knows that he had sex with someone, but was unaware his child was alive. About seven months into OC’s pregnancy Hurricane Hugo (or, at the very least, a hurricane with matching strength TO Hugo) hits wherever she and Vergil are, they got separated during the storm, and then never reconnected. Her OC then gave birth to Nero and died during a demon attack, but Nero was not killed, and was taken off the mainland to Fortuna.

Before continuing, here are some important things to remember!

Porg has stated in her fic she placed Fortuna around the Florida Keys

She specifically cites Hurricane Hugo as the hurricane that hits and separates Vergil and her OC. She also cites this happening in the year 1989 (the same year Hugo happened). Remember this setting.

Nero’s mother is SEVEN MONTHS PREGNANT when this hurricane hits.

Nero has to be young enough to have no memories of his mother. At most, I’d say he would be a year old, and at the youngest I’d say 2 months, because he’d have to survive for at least a few hours after his mother died before people found him.

Okay? Okay.

So, for the first point of stupidity, there is absolutely no reason why Vergil and her OC should have become separated. I’m not reading off her fic directly, but I’m pretty sure that she never cited a specific reason as to why, just that they did.

During hurricanes, you get the fuck away from the coastline if you can because flooding can and absolutely will happen, and then you stay indoors. You do not go outside unless you absolutely have to, especially at night when you can’t see. The windspeed for a Category 1 hurricane, the lowest you can go before it’s classified as a tropical/severe storm, is 74 mph (119 kmph) and can cause damage to houses and cause branches or poorly rooted trees to fall. You can lose power, but it’d only be for a couple days at most.

Hurricane Hugo (or her imaginary hurricane, which would have the same strength and occur at the same time) was a Category 3. Category 3 hurricanes have the lowest wind speed at 111 mph (178 kmph). Whereas Category 1 hurricanes can do some damage, mostly through negligence or very rare circumstances, Category 3′s can rip trees out of the ground, cause serious flooding, can damage most well-built houses. It’s not fun, and picture of areas devastated by hurricanes are brutal.

So Vergil, who is a decently smart sentient being, and her OC should have NEVER gone outside, let alone be away from each other. A seven month pregnant woman would ABSOLUTELY NOT BE OUTSIDE IN A CATEGORY 3 HURRICANE. I can understand them not wanting to move away from a coastline, or abandoning their house, as they possibly would’ve had nothing to come back to, but there is NO reason why they would get separated in 1989 after a category 3. If anything, this should’ve brought them closer together.

And yet, somehow they do! And they never reconnect? How??? Porg states that this is all happening in southeastern US–there is no way any seven month woman would be able to travel far enough on her own, more than likely without a car, and be able to care for herself. Granted, Porg made her OC a full devil, but even a full devil would definitely struggle at 7 months pregnant with a baby coming in the future.

Now, I’m going to be honest, this was all the minor stuff. Now here’s where I get mad.

When people find Nero, Porg states in her fic that instead of taking an infant to the hospital, they instead take him to an orphanage on Fortuna. Remember, this is at the very least four months after a Category 3 Hurricane hit, and at most, 16 months.

Now, I live on Long Island. For those unaware, back in 2012, we had a hurricane hit us. That was Hurricane Sandy, which was a Category 1 when it hit. People here acted with confidence–it’s only a Category 1, it’s not that strong, we’ll all be fine!–and didn’t prepare properly for it.

This was one of the deadliest hurricanes of 2012. It was a Category 1.

I lived through that, and it wasn’t pleasant to say the least. I was one of the lucky folks that lived far enough away from the coast that there wasn’t any serious flooding, but even then it was rough. I was sitting on my couch looking out the window when a giant portion of a tree that had been eaten away by bugs broke off from the trunk and smashed into our front yard, only about fifteen feet away from where I was sitting. If the tree had been leaning more towards us, or the wind was blowing just strong enough, it could’ve crashed into the room and crushed me. When my dad went out to walk our dogs that night (and at this point, we’d lost power) one of those poorly-rooted trees fell over. It was pitch black outside, with heavy rain and wind making it impossible to see more than five feet in front of you. We didn’t know if he was alive, because we also didn’t know which tree fell or where he was, and we couldn’t hear each other over the wind.

And I know plenty of people that lived in worse places that didn’t leave, and they got even more fucked over in that first week. The only reason why my neighborhood got power back within a week was because we were right by two schools (my elementary and high school, ironically enough). I know people that had to go twice as long without. Some had to wait a full month because of downed trees and severe damage to the breakers in their neighborhoods.

And again–my street, my neighborhood, most of the people in my school? We were lucky, because a majority of the school body and staff lived inland. People got fucked over for YEARS after Sandy, especially those that lived on the coastline and straight up couldn’t leave, even if they wanted. Their homes were flooded, they lost thousand of dollars having to repair the damages, lost countless memories following the damages in the aftermath. This was happening more than a year after a Category 1 hurricane hit an island.

So the fact that Porg, in her godly wisdom, could go “yeah, baby Nero wasn’t taken to any place that could give him substantial care, but was instead given to an orphanage on a tiny island that was hit by a Category 3 hurricane” completely infuriates me. She did zero research, other than finding a natural disaster that happened somewhere she was familiar with, around the time when she oh-so grandly puts Devil May Cry 3, to “pull at the audience’s heart strings” is not only moronic, but completely ignorant to real people who have suffered in the aftermath of hurricanes.

There is a sentence–just as barebones as the rest of her shit writing–that describes the aftermath. That’s it. And as an added kick, Vergil doesn’t care about it, or how his lover is missing in the aftermath, even though Porg wrote him as someone who cared about her OC very, very much.

(This is arguably the most in character she gets with Vergil, by the way.)

It is entirely possible that, after a Category 3 like Hugo, that Fortuna would be fucking wrecked in the aftermath, especially if it was in the direct path, and especially where Porg put it. Fortuna is an isolated island with no obvious connection to a mainland (at least, established in the games, i haven’t read the novels). Put that next to Florida, which is well-known for getting hurricanes and tropical storms pretty regularly, and I don’t know how the fuck it would be standing, let alone in a state where it could accept an infant.

I think that stupid section was the part where I really, really hated what I was reading. In an age where the internet, where google, where there’s plenty of resources and first-hand accounts talking about hurricanes, the damage they can cause, and the aftermath of said natural disasters, Porg did nothing more than look up a Hurricane that happened around 1989 and slapped into her fic with nothing more behind it than a plot point that made zero fucking sense.

Oh, by the way? All that information I looked up about hurricane windspeed, about when Sandy and Hugo hit? It took me less than a minute to look up and fact-check myself. Porg, learn how to fucking google simple shit before you puke up your regurgitated bullshit.

[thecoroutfitters]

Written by Guest Contributor on The Prepper Journal.

Editors Note: A guest contribution from David Hoes to The Prepper Journal. I love this. Goes well as a supplement to the recent post on Prime Locations for Post Disaster Salvage. As always, if you have information for Preppers that you would like to share then enter the Prepper Writing Contest with a chance to win one of three Amazon Gift Cards  with the top prize being a $300 card to purchase your own prepping supplies, enter today.

Okay, I admit it. I am a scrounger. I don’t do it out of necessity; I do it because I enjoy getting a bargain and building my prepping stockpiles. Now, I need to clarify that I do not steal things. I do not take towels from hotels or silverware from restaurants. I do not find and keep items such as wallets, credit cards, or electronic devices that can be traced to an owner. I do not keep anything that someone is likely to try to reclaim. Such items I will turn in somewhere. If I see someone drop something, I will tell them.

I’m also not going to discuss using coupons or discounts. These are both good ideas, but have already been covered.

That said, I do take items that are unlikely to ever get back to their original owner, and things that I am allowed to take or that are come with something I have purchased. If in doubt – I ask. Here are some ideas:

Personal protective equipment: Most hospitals and some doctor’s offices now offer free respirators to visitors. I’ve picked-up several of these. Protective gloves are often available in the ER or in patient rooms, and some give-out small bottles of hand sanitizer. I have a little psoriasis on my hands, and they are happy to give them out. In the quantities a hospital purchases them, they are almost free.

Wipes and anti-bacterial solution: Doctor’s offices and medical facilities often have solutions or wipes available for free. They bill your insurance $150 for a few minutes with a doctor. They don’t sweat the little stuff. Heck, ask your doctor for appropriate medical samples while you are at it. You never know what you may get.

Gauze, wipes, Band-Aids, and surgical tape: I have asked if I could take a few gauze pads, alcohol wipes, and mostly used rolls of tape when I have gone to labs and imaging facilities. They are normally okay with it.

Salt, pepper, sugar, condiment packets, and straws: These all have survival and medical uses. Grab a few each time you go to a fast-food place. During the depression in the 1930’s, those down on their luck would go to a diner and order a cup of hot water for a few cents. They would then add ketchup and other condiments to make a sort-of tomato soup. There is actually enough vitamin C in a few packs of ketchup to prevent scurvy. Is this stealing? If taken in reasonable quantities, I do not believe so. If I order a cup of coffee, part of the price I pay goes to cream and sugar. My ex used to take her coffee with 4 creams and 4 sugars. I do not use either, so I do not think taking one or two of each is stealing. Now, taking a handful? Yes. That is stealing. Asking for salt and condiments at a drive through? Nope. What they put in the bag is yours.

Soaps and shampoos: Yes, in a motel I take what they put in my room. I do not consider it stealing; I believe that I have paid for it and can take it. When I or a loved one is in the hospital, I take whatever they give as well. Hospital staff has told me on numerous occasions that insurance paid for it and if I don’t take it they will throw it out. Also, many hotels provide courtesy tooth brushes, tooth paste, and combs upon request. If they give it to you, it isn’t stealing, even if you don’t really need it. But no, I don’t take towels or rolls of toilet paper.

Candles at church: Many churches toss-out candles after one or two uses, and may give-away the used ones for free if you ask. Although some now use propane or natural gas simulated candles, those that still use candles tend to use ones of very high quality. Small stubs can be melted down and used to create larger candles. My church had a Christmas Eve service where everyone was given a candle to hold. They were lit for about 10 minutes and not reused. Hundreds of good candles were thrown out.

Community events: Where I live, they have several free community disaster planning, home and garden, and wellness events each year. They give-out items such as samples of seeds, dental floss and toothbrushes, band aids, energy bars, bottled water, samples of vitamins, water bottles, and other swag. At one event, the first 50 people through the door got a bag with some very nice stuff.

Food banks: I have been fortunate enough to have survived without going to one. However, if you are looking to build a small emergency stockpile, why not go and pick-up a few cans of food? They will probably mostly have items near or past the expiration date, but canned food is generally safe to eat long after the expiration date. I have eaten MRE’s and canned foods that were 10 years past their expiration dates and suffered no ill effects. The exceptions are if the can is damaged, in poor condition, or if the can contains acidic products such as tomatoes. Is it wrong to take food from a food bank if you are not immediately facing hunger? I think the answer is, it depends. If you are sufficiently wealthy to purchase your food and have plenty of money to stock-up on prepping supplies, I would say that it is wrong. However, if you can buy all you now need but are unable to afford to purchase a enough for a 72 hour emergency supply of food to see you through a disaster, I would say not. I donate money to food banks, and I give so that people do not go hungry. As a donor, I am not bothered by those who use the food bank to prepare for future hard times.

Wooden Pallets: I live near a business that sells pools and hot tubs, and another that sells paving stones. They dispose of dozens of wooden pallets each week. I have used them to create raised garden beds, for firewood, and for woodworking projects including building a bed frame for a futon.

Road Debris: When I drive, I keep an eye on the shoulder and medians. I frequently find bandannas, bungee cords, tools and knives, Bic Lighters (still good), coolers, storage totes, thermoses, 5-gallon plastic buckets, gas cans, and a variety of other items. Bandanas are my favorite find; I have found 30 or more. Bikers lose bandannas like crazy. Wash and reuse them. They have lots of survival uses. One of my favorite finds took place a few weeks ago. I found a Camillus Titanium folding knife lying in the road. It was a bit scuffed-up and not very sharp, but I cleaned it up, sharpened it, and it has become my EDC knife.

Post-disaster giveaways: Here in Florida, following Hurricane Irma, the County and many different organizations gave-out a lot of food and water to anyone who came by. No questions were asked. A friend of mine got dozens of bags of cookies, boxes of Pringles chips, ten cases of Civilian MRE’s and ten cases of bottled water. It is unfortunate, but the ones who give and the ones who distribute often have very different goals. Churches, civic groups and charities may raise money for 1,000 meals. They want to see 1,000 different people get food. Those who distribute the aid may not care. If one person arrives with a truck that can carry 1,000 meals, they may let them have it all. They don’t want to carry it back at the end of the day. They will report back that the food was distributed and everyone will be happy. Don’t be a pig, but if you can put it to good use, do so.

Free bicycles: I am only speaking about Florida, but I think this is true for other areas. Law Enforcement departments recover a huge number of bicycles that have been abandoned, discarded or stolen and that are not claimed by owners. In some places jail inmates repair them as part of a work program. It is not widely advertised, but there may be periodic giveaways where serviceable bikes are distributed on first come basis. I once had two bikes stolen in a particular county. One of the two was recovered, but I had already replaced it, so I donated it to this program.

Why am I mentioning bicycles? Well, because I believe that in a TEOTWAWKI situation, they may become the most important method of transportation.

Complaining about lousy stuff: I wrote a negative review about a pair of gloves I bought on Amazon. I included a photo clearly showing the defect. They sent me a new pair without making me return the old pair. The old pair went into my preps box.

I have complained about the quality of canned or packaged foods. They sent me coupons for free products. I DO NOT invent complaints to get free stuff. In some cases, the original product was so nasty I did not want coupons for two free ones. That was the case where I bought a can of collard greens that contained a large cockroach. Still, if you pay for a product and you really get something nasty, complain. Then add it to your preps. If SHTF and you have nothing else, you may be willing to risk eating a cucaracha. Even sending a suggestion may earn you a coupon for a free product. I told a company that sells crackers and tuna snacks that the crackers crumbled too easily. They send me a coupon for a free package. I did not lie and I did not steal.

Garbage day: I’m not going to go into the finer points of dumpster diving, but the finds possible on garbage day are incredible. I have changed residences 18 times since leaving High School. Many were interstate moves. When your car and U-Haul are packed to the max and there is still more stuff, you put it on the curb. I once had a Saturn so overloaded it could barely make 50 mph on an Interstate. I left a lot of valuable stuff behind that could have really helped some prepper. If you see a big pile of stuff waiting for the garbage truck, most of it probably still works.

I realize that my suggestions may be distasteful to some. It is much more fun to purchase prepper items from Amazon or WalMart. In America, second-hand, discarded and used are bad words. Nevertheless, if SHTF, scrounging skills will become more valuable than shopping on-line with a credit card skills. And if you have some more ideas, I would appreciate hearing them.

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[pcurrytravels]

Thoughts: New Orleans (Part V)

It was day three in New Orleans, and once again we woke up early for breakfast. We found out that there was a location of Daisy Duke’s in the CBD that was even closer to our hotel so we went there. I decided to just go ahead and get breakfast this time…..with a side of crawfish hushpuppies. I have to say, I actually liked this location of Duke’s better. The service was quicker, the prices were slightly cheaper (might have something to do with how the other location is in the more touristy French Quarter) and the sweet tea was even better. Oh, and they offered crawfish hushpuppies here while the other location didn’t. And yes they were delicious.

After we finished, my mom went back to the room while I took a little morning stroll, exploring the CBD some more before I decided to give PJ’s Coffee on Canal a try. PJ’s Coffee is the ubiquitous coffeehouse in New Orleans (I literally only saw two Starbucks the entire time I was there), and after trying their product I can easily see why. Remember when I said in the Mini-Guide how their blended Granita drinks are like Frappuccinos but better? Well, they are. They’re smoother, sweeter, and likely made with better quality coffee beans (I mean, New Orleans is a port city so I imagine they’d have pretty easy access to a number of things, including coffee beans). So yes, if you visit New Orleans and see a PJ’s Coffee (and you definitely will), be sure to stop by and give them a try.

Going back to the room to chill for a minute, we then set off to the National WWII Museum. We used the St. Charles Streetcar to get there, and I must say, riding this one was a much more pleasant experience than any of our rides on the Canal or Riverwalk streetcars. Although it can still get crowded, this line is rarely ever standing-room only. Unlike Canal, it also has windows that open, which is surprisingly a very effective means of keeping things cool on board (the Riverwalk line has windows that open too, but that line is usually packed with people and, thanks to the resulting heat attracted to human bodies, an open window is not very effective). It felt nice being able to easily grab window seats without having to worry about having to push through people upon reaching our stop.

Down St. Charles Avenue, through the CBD and Warehouse District, we got off at Lee Circle which was, almost appropriately, right next door to the Civil War Museum and a block away from the National WWII Museum. Why am I saying it was appropriate? Because Lee Circle is named after Robert E. Lee; you know, the Confederate general?

Yeah, modern New Orleans may be a fairly liberal, morally loose and open-minded place, but it’s still the South. There’s going to be reminders of the antebellum and Jim Crow eras all over the place, and that includes public “memorials” to the Confederacy. Ugh. Thankfully, last year the local government decided to remove the statue of Lee that sat atop the pillar pictured above. As they should, because reminders of the more shameful parts of American history such as that need to be in museums, not shamelessly displayed in public (now what they need to do is change the name back to Tivoli Circle or something but I guess that’s none of my business).

Speaking of museums, the National WWII Museum is great……if you’re into the topic. I don’t know if it’s because I learned all about it in school (I remember having one history teacher in high school who was particularly passionate about this era for some reason so I already feel like I studied it to death) or what, but it just didn’t do much for me. Aside from the exhibit about servicemen of color in the War, the Japanese internment exhibit, an infographic which detailed the threat of Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy and the Japanese Empire and the C-47 hanging in the lobby, nothing about the museum really caught my attention. I honestly feel like it was just too small as my mom and I were in and out of there in less than thirty minutes, which is weird when considering how highly regarded the museum is (I’m also VERY happy we got in with the power pass as the admission price is WAY too high at face for what you get in my opinion). It’s a shame the Civil War Museum next door wasn’t included in the Power Pass as I always found the Civil War more interesting than World War II to be honest.

Once we were done, we hopped back on the streetcar to Canal and from there made our way to Jackson Square once more. We first stopped inside the PJ’s for a moment to enjoy frozen lemonades and air conditioning. You’d think we would have an easier time getting used to this weather, seeing that our family originates out of Alabama and Mississippi in addition to being the sort of climate our ancestors were forced to do unpaid labor in for hundreds of years but I digress. Upon cooling down, we stopped to listen to the live brass band for a few minutes before heading into The Cabildo.

The Cabildo is one of two twin buildings which flank the St. Louis Cathedral. Originally serving municipal purposes, the two of them as well as the 1850 House have been repurposed into outposts of the Louisiana State Museum. The Cabildo in particular once operated as the city hall, in addition to being the site where the Louisiana Purchase commenced, but it now hosts an exhibit about Louisiana’s history; spanning from its settlement by the French in the 1600’s to the Reconstruction era. Now, it was fairly interesting and all, with paintings, artifacts and templates about the battle of New Orleans, the region’s indigenous peoples, the differences between French and Spanish colonial rule/policy, West African slaves and free people of color, the Louisiana Purchase and the area’s history with pirates, but overall, I didn’t find it as captivating as The Presbytere.

On the other side of the Cathedral, this not-quite identical building (if you pay close attention, you’ll notice it’s painted in a lighter color and has a flatter, more squared-off roof than the Cabildo /architecture nerd) was originally a courthouse, but now serves as a museum for Mardi Gras, Napoleon’s death mask…………and Hurricane Katrina.

I can remember the news reports like it was yesterday. Having been under the impression that hurricanes were just a Florida thing or something, needless to say, I was scratching my head in confusion at the whole ordeal. My fourteen year-old brain was struggling to comprehend how a hurricane could both reach and do that much damage to somewhere so far inland from a coast (I managed to figure it out a few science classes later), but I still just shrugged it off and thought “oh, they’ll be fine, Florida gets through it every time!” However, upon seeing video footage of vast swaths of houses underwater along with thousands of people crowding into the Superdome, that’s when the severity of the situation hit me.

Even more upsetting was how horribly the situation was handled. People were without food and water for DAYS after the storm made landfall (something we’re seeing a repeat of with Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico basically). It definitely should not have taken nearly a week for FEMA to show up. Then again……the overall catastrophe had more to do with the failure of the area’s levee and floodwall system than it did with the storm itself. I have to ask, why were they in such bad shape in the first place? Many theories and conspiracies still abound to this day, but either way, what happened was a tragic mess that could have been avoided in so many ways.

There were a number of pictures on display of the aftermath, as well as video footage of the day the storm made landfall, and it all felt so……..eerie. Sad, but eerie. To think this eerily deserted city, under siege by a raging, violent storm, is the same vibrant, energetic place that we had been walking around in for the past several days. I almost had to look out the door just to make sure everything was alright; even though, in a lot of ways, things aren’t totally alright (…….a whole thirteen years later). Houses and buildings devastated by Katrina can still be spotted all over the city, and although I didn’t go see it for myself, it’s been said that the Lower Ninth Ward (arguably the most devastated neighborhood of all) has more or less been deemed a lost cause and they gave up on rebuilding a long time ago. New Orleans has definitely rebounded, but it’s still heartbreaking to see so many lingering signs of this catastrophe.

After finishing the Katrina exhibit, we walked through a hall that featured tidbits about Hurricane Betsy, another devastating hurricane that took place back in 1965 (although still not as bad as Katrina) before walking past the random sight of Napoleon’s death mask and upstairs to the Mardi Gras exhibit. Granted, it was more or less a retread of Mardi Gras World, aside from focusing less on floats and more on the history of the various krewes, the “throws” (beads, doubloons and the like) and costume design. It was still a lot of fun none the less. Alas, the clock was ticking, and we wanted to cram one more thing in before embarking on our cruise, so it was off to the lower Pontalba building for the 1850 House.

The Pontalba buildings are two, four-story, red-brick twin buildings which flank Jackson Square. Built in the 1840’s by an accomplished businesswoman known as Micaela Pontalba, they were originally designed as Parisian-style luxury rowhomes, with high-end retail and dining establishments being housed on the first floor. Having fallen into disrepair by the 1930’s, they were then extensively repurposed into apartments, which are still in use to this day. The portion now known as the 1850 House remained untouched, however, instead being used by the Louisiana State Museum as a time capsule exhibit. Within, you’ll be given a glimpse into the lives of middle-class New Orleanians in the 1800’s.

Through a small courtyard, and up a rickety and old-fashioned spiral staircase, you’ll be greeted to a template which provides some information about past occupants of the row home which leads to the parlor and dining room. Granted, each room is protected by a glass railing, likely to prevent damage to the various antiques as it is a self-guided tour after all. Basically, all you can really do is look on at the rooms and their vintage furnishings from the hallway. On the third floor, you’ll find the bedrooms and the nursery and going from there (the layout of the place was pretty confusing so I’m not sure what direction we were going in at this point), you’ll see an exterior room which served as the slave and/or servant quarters until you reach the kitchen and storage room at the base of the house. Now, I’m a vintage/antique nerd, so I enjoyed it, but it probably would have been just a bit more enjoyable if they offered a guided tour, thus allowing you to explore the rooms in detail.

Oh wait, what time is it? Oh, time for the Creole Queen Paddlewheel Cruise! We hopped on the Riverwalk line of the streetcar once more and took it to Spanish Plaza (a monument to Spain’s colonial legacy in the area) which is where the boat was docked. The Creole Queen is one of a number of paddlewheel boats in New Orleans which offer old-fashioned river cruises. Once you hop aboard, you’ll be treated to stunning views of the city and the river (provided you can ignore its gross and oily brown hue) while the guide gives you a little history lesson. Granted, most of the stuff he was saying I already found out from the other tour guides and museums I went to, but it was still enjoyable nonetheless. As I looked around and took pictures of the CBD skyline, Jackson Square from afar, Algiers, the New Orleans port, the old Domino sugar factory, the plantations in the distance and even more Hurricane Katrina ruins, we came to a stop at the Chalmette Battlefield and National Cemetery; the site of the Battle of New Orleans in 1815.

We got off the boat and walked towards an old (creepy-looking and probably haunted) plantation home known as the Malus-Beauregard House, where a man dressed in 19th-century military regalia waited for us. From there, he walked us to this spot underneath a very large oak tree, next to a small bayou, where he began to talk about the Battle of New Orleans. And honestly? I don’t know if it was the story itself or if this particular guide was just boring, but he wasn’t able to hold my attention. It was also hot AF and there were mosquitoes and dragonflies swarming all over the place, so I just took a few pictures of the battlefield and the house before making my way back to the air-conditioned, bug free boat; savoring some bread pudding while waiting things out.

Upon arriving back in New Orleans, we rushed over to Audubon Aquarium, seeking to cram in one more attraction before resting up for our ghost tour in the French Quarter. You better leave the lights on for this one.  

[dispatchesfrom2020]

2020

Week 35: August 24-26

After trying and trying and trying to condense this week into something reason, I gave up. It’s a two parter.

24: The Conservative Party of Canada elects a new leader. Erin O’Toole, a bland white man from suburban Toronto, will replace Andrew Scheer, a bland white man from rural Saskatchewan. Scheer stepped down after allegations he used party funds to pay for his six children’s private education. Scheer got in hot water, last election cycle, over lies he’d worked as an insurance agent (... who lies about that? And why?) and neglecting to tell the Canadian public he held American citizenship. O’Toole is the former opposition critic for Middle Class Prosperity. Which, honestly, sounds like a fake position. Like how my house parent used to make the most useless girls ‘plant prefects’ despite the fact our dorm only had plastic ferns.

Kimberly Guilfoyle - Don Jr’s current paramour - really committed to her impression of Rita Repulsa from Power Ranges. She shrieked her way through her speech. “The best is yet to come!” she roared. And November would prove her right - Olivier Douliery/AFP

The Republican National Convention convenes this week after multiple location changes. The gathering was originally slated to take place in North Carolina, however, when local officials made it clear they were not willing to bend COVID-related safety protocols mandating mask-wearing and banning large crowds, Trump cancelled in a huff. He had initially planned to move the event to Florida but rising cases over the summer forced the Republican Party to move to a virtual delivery instead. Many of the speakers paint the Democrats as ‘socialists’ - and play into the same racialized fears that helped propel Richard Nixon to his presidency amidst civic unrest. They even invited “Ken and Karen” - the middle-aged St. Louis couple facing weapons charges after aiming their firearms at Black Lives Matter protesters trespassing in their gated neighbourhood.

25: Africa is declared officially free of ‘wild’ polio with the announcement that Nigeria has successfully eliminated the virus. It joins the Americas, Europe, Oceania. Only Afghanistan and Pakistan have yet to fully contain the virus - though cases are quite rare. There were only 33 occurring cases of the virus in 2018.

In Kenosha, protesters mark the place where Joseph Rosenbaum and Anthony Hubert were shot and killed by Kyle Rittenhouse, a teenage supporter of Donald Trump and Blue Lives Matter - Armando Sanchez

25: There’s another shooting in Wisconsin. The small city of Kenosha has been rocked by violent upheaval since the Sunday shooting of Jacob Blake. During the day, peaceful demonstrators hold rallies and marches - but the nights are marked by considerably more violence. Dozens of vehicles at a car dealership are burned and windows are smashed at the post office, high school and local dinosaur museum. A former city alderman calls on citizens to arm themselves and take to the streets, patrolling for the Kenosha Guard - and impromptu militia organized largely over Facebook. Kyle Rittenhouse, an 17-year-old Trump support from Antioch, Illinois, kills two protesters and gravely injures a third while ‘guarding’ Kenosha. Within days he will be charged with first-degree homicide. Videos from earlier that night will show police offering Rittenhouse and other members of his militia bottled water. They thank them for coming out and showing their support. Throughout the summer, right-wing counter protesters have grown more menacing and violent. Armed to the teeth, they stare down peaceful marches and they drive into crowds of protesters gathered in the street. They’ve often done so under the ambivalent watch of local law enforcement. After all, they’re just following in the footsteps of the Trump administration, who ruthlessly teargassed protesters gathered outside of the White House and flooded the streets of Portland with secretive federal officers.

26: In the gulf coast, Hurricane Laura is upgraded to a Category 4 storm. Around the world COVID-cases are mounting and people are feeling the squeeze - schools in Myanmar are newly shut, Buenos Aires is locking down, and anti-mask protests are newly banned in Berlin. Professional athletes walk out of stadiums, courts, and arenas in response to the shooting of Jacob Blake. The Milwaukee Bucks walked out of their match with the Orlando Magic, the Detroit Lions cancel their practice, the Cincinnati Open tennis tournament delays play by a day, and baseball games are postponed. Over the course of the next few days, many sports leagues will pause as players refused to play.

After walking out on play at their August 26 game, the Washington Mystique players wear t-shirts spelling out Jacob Blake’s name. Staff wear shirts reading 7 - a reference to the number of times he was shot - Julio Aguilar/Getty Images

[drzedzworth]

For those who gives a shit

This is yet again another vent, so i won't interupt your dash

____________________

General:

Basically every day, i live day by day, trying to get though the day by just relaxing and playing games. People drink to forget their problems, sometimes they do drugs, and i honesty don't blame them, that's why i ignored my commissions for many weeks, and time goes fast, luckilly i do plushies....but it isn't easy...at all...people are vile and evil to me, every single day I'm being told to fuck off because I'm just trying to make a little living of selling plushies and making sure I pay my bills, I'm really sick of this because all I am trying to do is live my life but also help support my life as well and I'm going through so much financial troubles and because I buy Arts here and there with some of my own money I get bitched at as well, and honestly DePue pitch at me or complete other fucking idiots cuz the drink they don't bitch at the people that they're always fucking pulling their dicks at because the only people they're doing is the people who buy from fucking major artists.  people should be bitching at the fucking people who spends all of their money on OCS from fucking big ass artists instead of picking up people like me who actually look for a little artists to get a better art then the big shot artist, but what really pisses me off nowadays is when people actually have money they shake it and wave it around all the fucking want just spending it on all kinds of bullshit well I had to suffer through fucking getting hate harassed and bullied online just because I'm trying to make a fucking cell and nobody appreciates my effort or work. and so I am forced to get on stupid media's like Kik Telegram and Discord just a fucking offer my products and services in return for some funding where I could support myself and whatever's leftover and extra I can actually spend on myself because honestly I Love My OC. she means a lot to me and I love getting art of her more than my original OC. and when I think of our Humanity today I feel like you're nothing but a bunch of monkeys and sheep all they do is just Trend over each other and they are so ignorant and so I capable of thinking nowadays that they think it's okay just to go around and harass people and pull it off just as a prank. they're really disrespectful nowadays and they have no manners and they have no morals people smoke in there like 16 people where they get pregnant at 15 and honestly it's just terrible to see how Humanity has gone from the simple times to now on these bad times. especially the people on the internet who are very rude and very Cruel to me and I try not to lose my cool but I end up fighting at them because I feel like I don't want to take shit from anybody anymore but regardless I will always be doing that and I always will take it even if I don't want it.

The future:

 if I'm really honest with you I'm really terrified about the future because 2016 everyone said it was the worst year because of Donald Trump winning the election. now we are going into 2017 and we already had threats of a nuclear war in Guam from North Korea, things get political and next to you know all of a sudden there's a fucking hurricane coming to Florida. but it wasn't just one hurricane. It was 5 all around the world. this is because I feel like it's cuz of global warming and honestly during the summer time or air conditioner was broken and it was intensely hot. it was like over a hundred degrees outside and it was almost unbearable to stay outside and inside. so many nights I try to stay cool how you put ice in my room and it doesn't stay cool. and then next thing you know I hear about the end of the world. and I was really really scared for my life and I ended up breaking down in tears almost every single night. we had no power we had no air conditioner and I was always just afraid every night thinking that it might be a sound of a huge Rock coming to hit Earth. and I was scared I was shaking for a week straight. I always look down to the news to see where the meteor was coming from and what people are planning to do. And they see no I found out it was a revelation from the Bible and that Mary told somebody that is a lot of fear on the Earth. About wars earthquakes volcano eruptions hurricanes and Nixie nail a piece of the sun will land on the Earth. thinking about the extinction of mankind and everything we have and everything we have done will all become meaningless and a matter of seconds. And we would all be dead and it really brings me to tears and I was shaking because I was really scared to I lose everything. I was really depressed and I didn't even want to clop anymore masturbate or whatever silly should I do I didn't even want to play violent video games I didn't want to play anything I was so depressed and scared out of my mind. Topics about the end of the world gave me PTSD because I was too petrified about all these things that add up to the end. and now I'm scared of next year because of global warming there will be stronger storms. More fires in California. and who knows maybe earthquakes and volcanoes will erupt. then I can hear all the people in the men and children and the women crying in pain and fear. During those times I actually feel them. I feel their sorrows and I feel their pain and it made me cry as well. 2016 wasn't that bad. but 2017 has the top the worst year. but now we are going 2018 and I just pray to God that he will be merciful to us.

Other shit

 I'm not one to be religious but surprisingly the fact that I have my OC on PornHub and I draw clop, not to mention buy clop.  but I am actually a member of the Mormon church and I don't really go there as I should but people that are the only honest Church Christians whatever in the world. they have an organisation they also help people and they even feed the Homeless and they're doing so much as he sings and yet people don't even know what Mormon is and they even make fun of them even if they knew. and people who think that religion is stupid or fake honestly in my opinion they can be ignorant because I've witnessed evil before and I heard that the devil's greatest trick is to make people think he doesn't exist. because if there's not a devil there's not a God but there is one. I tested my faith in many practices before. I watched as I planted my seed and watch her grow fruit and I harvested that fruit as blessings to keep me fed. I helped people before and I've been blessed for it. And I testify that it's true because if I do something for God God give something back to me. Sunday I gave 40 bucks to the church and I told my mom to do it for me because I skipped out on Church. next thing you know today I actually had one of my customers pay off their plushie and I was surprised and I even yelled out my prayers have been answered because I have been blessed. you can't tell me that it's a coincidence that if I hadn't donated and give money to the church that will help people then I couldn't have receive a blessing today. but honestly I'm scared to think about the second coming and Jesus and everybody else because it'll be chaotic and if I die it would not be the end. just like everyone else I will be judged on all my actions that I have done on a scale of all the evil things I have done and all the good things I have done. and honestly I think I'm going to hell. I really try my best to be a nice person not because I am afraid of going to hell or I want to gain something from it. I actually couldn't help myself to not help anybody. I feel so bad for them because honestly right now I'm begging for help from you guys. and some of you guys actually listen and help me and I love you for that. so it's my turn to give back and when people ask me for help of course I say yes because it's only fair. then again I just clop every single day...at least it's not porn. That is pure evil and costs me problems....believe me.

Last shit

From what I have experienced really concerned about the small things in my life and the big things in life in general. I'm scared about the world but I'm also scared about myself going homeless and I'm also scared about my own health because my face was feeling numb the other day and I was worried I might have a stroke maybe I still can or maybe I'm sick either way. I'm really overweight because I stress eat a lot and I get cravings and I take more than two portion. I honestly worry too much because I don't know how to stop things and I don't know how to do anything really. I dropped out of high school because my dad took away my mother's company and because of that shit I am basically in poverty. I'm really poor and I actually feed my dog cereal but just because I buy Club every now and then. Doesn't mean that you shouldn't help me out because of some of the things I do. I try to get my commissions out and with those commissions that's where I can buy my art for my OC. but for plushies I give most of that money to help pay the bills and to help pay whatever Necessities we need. But I'm just hoping that good things will come. Maybe we learned that Congress or government or people who have authority will turn out to be good people and they will have a change of heart and show kindness. But I also hope That my financial situation will soon disappear and then I will have a happy wealthy life and whatever treasures and riches I get. I will use it to help the poor and make sure that all the people around the world that are sick hungry homeless and said that I will be there for them to help because nothing makes me more sad to see our reflection of myself but same time I have the ability to do something and I just don't do it. that's how I feel about people's right now. They are rich and they are having fun with all their money gambling and spending it on really really expensive things well people like me Don't get any of that and we're forced to suffer poverty. I used to draw for free but I can't afford that because I need money to sustain everything in life. So I do not know how things will turn out but all I can do is pray and wish for things to get better but the cold truth is rather than worse is coming or the best is coming and right now it looks like the worst but I'm going to hold on to my faith And hope for the best.

 if you people are read the entire thing. I would like to thank you so much because you actually took time and effort to read this thing.

 it would also really mean a lot if you would leave your thoughts in the comment section below. Fucking how I sound like a damn YouTuber. Funny thing is I actually wanted to be one but I don't think I'm ready for anything yet

But Thank you so much!

[zeroviraluniverse-blog]

The U.S. women's hockey team hasn't won gold since 1998. Will the spell be broken in South Korea?

Visit Now - http://zeroviral.com/the-u-s-womens-hockey-team-hasnt-won-gold-since-1998-will-the-spell-be-broken-in-south-korea/

The U.S. women's hockey team hasn't won gold since 1998. Will the spell be broken in South Korea?

Passion forming with every tighten of the lace

Years of the same routine perfected today

Rituals that are practiced and shared behind locker room doors.

— Kacey Bellamy

It could have been a disaster.

Hurricane Irma was on a path toward the Tampa, Florida, area on Sept. 9, and authorities were bracing for a direct hit. As it happened, the best women’s hockey players in the United States had just begun training in Wesley Chapel, a few miles north of Tampa International Airport.

Even though the NHL’s Tampa Bay Lightning had decided to evacuate its players, Team USA decided to shelter in place at the Saddlebrook Resort, where they were staying. One agent who was worried about his clients told USA Today, “Why isn’t the women’s team evacuated? Is it because they are just girls … to me this is stupid, they are our Olympic team.”

But Reagan Carey, the general manager for the team, had thought it through, even going so far as to find out the number and the strength of the steel trusses in the shelter area at the Saddlebrook Resort. So on Sunday morning, Sept. 10, the team members abandoned their apartments for the shelter, joining other evacuees to wait out the storm, which lost steam from its original designation as a Category 4. Still, 80 mph winds howled outside the building as Irma passed over. The women played cards, visited with Hilary Knight’s bulldog puppy, Winston, in a separate pet area, and made hockey fans out of their fellow refugees. Captain Meghan Duggan later called it “a big sleepover,” and by the next morning, they were able to return to their quarters and their lives.

“We were kind of scared,” said Kacey Bellamy, the veteran defenseman and one of six players who are in Pyeongchang for their third straight Olympics. “But the negative turned into a positive. It was a great bonding experience for us, the kind of thing that brings a team closer together. Plus, I learned how to play [the card game] euchre.”

By Tuesday, they were back to practicing and helping out in the community. Irma faded into a metaphor for a team that has had to weather a lot of storms over the years.

There was the crushing loss to Canada in the gold-medal game in Vancouver eight years ago. And the devastating 3-2 overtime loss in Sochi in 2014 that gave Canada its fourth straight gold medal. And the battle with USA Hockey last spring, when the women threatened to boycott the 2017 IIHF world championships if they weren’t given living expenses, travel accommodations and medal bonuses befitting representatives of the United States of America.

Not only did they win that battle, but they also went to Plymouth, Michigan, for the world championships and beat Canada 3-2 in overtime in the final — earning the team’s fourth consecutive title. “We’ve been through a lot together,” said Bellamy, now an assistant captain on the team. “I think that’s made us stronger.”

Resilience is part and parcel of hockey, but for female players — who often start out playing with the boys, who give up the comfort of home, who fight off waves of challengers and adjust to a succession of coaches all to pursue their Olympic dreams — well, you just bounce off the boards.

You might even write a poem about the sport you love.

World champ and Olympian Kacey Bellamy (22) watched the gold medal slip away from her team to archrival Canada in two consecutive Winter Olympics. She’s looking for gold in Pyeongchang. AP Photo/Julio Cortez, File

Actions that are defined as the norm within the team

Replaying the past of one game, one play, one second

That has triggered one year of training against that one team.

It was a disaster.

What happened in Sochi’s Bolshoy Ice Dome on March 6, 2014, is excruciating to watch, even four years later. Team USA had a 2-0 lead on Team Canada late in the third period of the gold-medal game. But with 3:26 left in the game, Canada’s Brianne Jenner fired a shot that would’ve gone wide had it not ricocheted off Bellamy’s right leg and past goalie Jessie Vetter. Coach Katey Stone clapped her hands and told the team not to panic, that they were OK.

As time wound down, Canada pulled goalie Shannon Szabados, and Team USA’s Kelli Stack got off a clearing shot that headed for the empty net … and bounced off the left side of the left post. “When those things start to happen in the game of hockey,” Stone later said, “you start to wonder if it is your night.”

It wasn’t. Just 55 seconds away from finally beating Canada for the gold, Marie-Philip Poulin tied the score at 2-2 to send the game into overtime. Team USA had its chances in OT — the left-handed Bellamy almost ripped one past Szabados — but then the refs made some questionable calls, leaving the U.S. short-handed at just the wrong time. At 8:10 of overtime, Poulin fired the game winner past Vetter.

Imagine what it was like watching the Canadians celebrate and then waiting around to accept your silver medals.

“All that work, all that hope,” said Bellamy. “Gone just like that. It took me five months to get over it. March, April, May, June, July. I’m big on watching videos of games, but I didn’t look at that one until August. I needed to get my motivation back.”

Part of that motivation has to do with the team that beat the Americans, the team that always seems to beat them. USA vs. Canada in women’s hockey is one of the greatest rivalries in all of sports. It started way back in 1916 and captivated the world when women’s hockey debuted as an Olympic sport at Nagano in 1998. The U.S. won that gold-medal game, but the Canadians have won every Olympics since.

The rivalry is so intense that 10 fighting majors were handed out in one 2013 game, resulting in six U.S. players and five Canadians crammed into the penalty boxes. But they are also friends who share a love of the sport and often play on the same collegiate and pro teams. Caroline Ouellette and Julie Chu, one-time captains of Teams Canada and USA, respectively, first met at the Salt Lake City Games in 2002 and are now coaching at Concordia University in Montreal together while raising Liv Chu-Ouellette, born to Caroline last November.

After 20 years of rivalry, if it boils down to these two for the gold medal in Pyeongchang, who will have the edge?

Do Jordan Greenway and the NHL-less U.S. men have enough firepower to fend off Canada, Finland and OAR? And will the American women gain revenge on their archrival and strike gold for the first time since 1988? Here’s who will take home the hardware.

After helping Team USA to two world championships and a silver medal in Sochi, and then overcoming a crippling concussion, Amanda Kessel has her sights set on gold at the Pyeongchang Olympics. But off the ice, her future is a little more complicated.

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Both shielded by different armor

Separated by a simple borderline

Sharing the same frenzy for the sport and rivalry

Colors, countries, teammates

All united on the same ice

Bellamy, a women’s studies major at the University of New Hampshire, likes to write poetry in her spare time. “They’re mostly about nature and people,” she said. “But I did write this one about hockey.” In fact, USA Hockey used the poem for a video to promote the “Bring On The World” tour before the last Olympics.

That’s Bellamy’s voice narrating her words in the video, an ode to the challenges of the sport in general, and the rivalry in particular. There is a depth of feeling to the poem that explains why and how Bellamy and the other five three-timers have stayed at the top of the American team for so long, through three different coaches (Mark Johnson, Stone, Robb Stauber) and all the ups and downs.

“Eight years ago, I was just a rookie with my eyes wide open, in awe of where I was, who I was playing with,” said Bellamy. “Now I’m 31 and still in awe of the responsibility. The Olympics is about more than the rivalry with Canada. It’s about representing the country. It’s about showing people how beautiful women’s hockey can be. It’s about the little girls with sticks, the little girls we used to be.”

Two years ago, Bellamy wrote a powerful “Letter to My Younger Self” for The Players Tribune. Addressed to 15-year-old Kacey, she recalled leaving behind her family and friends in Westfield, Massachusetts, to attend the Berkshire School and how the first two weeks “are going to be the worst two weeks of your life.” She told her about the friends and coaches who changed her life, about getting her heart broken when she was cut from USA Hockey’s under-22 team, about using the rejection as motivation to make the senior national team.

“You’re going to play for the U.S. team for a long time,” she wrote. “But never take anything for granted. Make the most of the opportunities you have.”

Each playing for the crest on the front of the jersey

And sticking up for every name on the back

Relax. Just like in Tampa, it might not be the disaster they’re predicting.

Some people who care deeply about Team USA worry that Pyeongchang will be as much a disappointment as Sochi or Vancouver or Turin or Salt Lake City were. They wonder why Stauber, a former NHL goalie who assisted Stone in Sochi, didn’t name any female assistants to his staff. And while he did coach the team to the world championship last April, and beat Canada 5-1 to win the Four Nations Cup on Nov. 12, Team USA has lost the past four games to Canada in its pre-Olympic warm-up.

A 2-1 overtime loss to Canada at the Xcel Energy Center in St. Paul, Minnesota, on Dec. 3 was particularly painful because the tying goal was scored by Poulin and the winning goal by Jenner, their Sochi nemeses. And it happened in front of members of the 1998 USA Olympic team, who were honored between periods for the United States’ only gold medal.

Afterward, Stauber said, “For us, it’s not necessarily about the 20 years, but more about, ‘It’s time.’ We’ve got to bring home a gold medal. We’ve got a pretty good vision. We’re sticking with it, and we like our direction.”

That direction included the addition of three players since Irma: defenders Cayla Barnes and Sidney Morin and forward Haley Skarupa. When the final roster was named after the second period of the Winter Classic at Citi Field on Jan. 1, veterans Bellamy, Duggan, Knight, Monique Lamoureux-Morando, Jocelyne Lamoureux-Davidson and Gigi Marvin were on it, but forward Alex Carpenter, Team USA’s leading scorer in Sochi, and defender Megan Bozek were not — leading some to speculate that they did not buy into Stauber’s system.

Stauber stresses a controlled possession game that sometimes takes the puck back into the neutral zone. As for the lack of a female coach, he does rely on his veterans to help the younger players. Bellamy has been working with the 18-year-old Barnes, who had been getting ready to play for Boston College when she was asked to report to Wesley Chapel. “She’s wise beyond her years,” says Bellamy. “Very poised … she’s just wonderful to have around the locker room.”

While the recent results against Canada have been disappointing, it’s worth keeping in mind that in the American men’s last exhibition game with the Soviet Union before the 1980 “Miracle on Ice” game, Team USA was crushed 10-3.

In Pyeongchang, both archrivals beat Finland and the Russians in the first two games of Group A play — though there was some hand-wringing as the U.S. got off to slow starts in the first period of both games. It was Bellamy who broke the ice at 8:02 of the first period of the victory over the Russians, stepping into the attack off a pass from Jocelyne Lamoureux-Davidson and firing a seeing-eye shot past Russian goalie Valeria Tarakanova. Team USA then put the game away in the second period, thanks to a more aggressive mindset and two goals by Lamoureux-Davidson within six seconds — an Olympic record.

By winning those first two prelims, Canada and Team USA assured themselves of a place in the semifinals, meaning that their game tomorrow means nothing… and their next one everything.

“We’re starting with a clean slate in South Korea,” says Bellamy. “This time will be different.”

Or, as she once wrote:

Mistakes lead to success

Errors lead to victory

Pride leads to gold

[cassiecantyousee]

Golden Calves and Golden Guns

On Valentine’s Day, something all too familiar happened in America: children were killed while at school. And then, some people, many of them Christians, became more worried about their guns than about the lives of the children themselves.

Look, America has a lot of problems. Racism, greed, sexism, pride, you name it, we've got it. But you know what our biggest problem is? Idolatry. And nowhere is this more clear than in discussions about gun control.

Americans, and especially white evangelical Christians, idolize guns.  

(Brief aside and disclaimer: I technically AM a white evangelical Christian, and someday I may write a post discussion what that means and how it's been co-opted and how I've been having an extended identity crisis about it for years, but today is not that day. Anyway, moving on.)

I'm sure you're all familiar with the Ten Commandments. They're a pretty big deal. Central tenets of how Christians are supposed to live their lives blah blah blah. No politician/advocate/pundit/lobbyist who calls themselves a Christian is going to come right out and say they don't support the Ten Commandments. The first two are about idolatry. When we think about idols, we’re usually thinking about the second commandment, which talks about not making images of things to worship. For a refresher, please refer to this excellent meme:

We often expect idols to be literal golden statues in our yards, but it doesn’t always look like that. The first commandment reads: "You shall have no other gods before Me." Now, when discussing Christian theology, that doesn't mean that it's cool to worship other gods as long as GOD God is first on the list. It's not "before me" like you're standing in a line, it's "before me" as in "in front of my face at all." If you're talking about importance in your heart, it's not enough for God to just win the contest. God needs to be the only competitor. Anything that you're even allowing on the playing field with God is an idol (sorry for the badly executed sports metaphors, it's Olympic season).

So we're all clear on what idolatry is, yeah? No worshiping things other than God. That's a big no-no.

When pro-gun folks talk, you often hear a lot of the same talking points. "It's our right." "It's in the Constitution." "We need to protect ourselves." “It’s about freedom.”

So let's look at those claims. First of all, "it's our right." Is it? According to who? Not the Bible, certainly. No mentions of guns in there. That would be impossible, since gunpowder wasn't even invented until the 9th century (and invented by the Chinese, not by "Westerners," for the record). Often the full phrase is "it's our right as Americans." Which, come on Christians, really? Americans aren't God. Christians in America aren't more connected to God or somehow more "special" than Christians in other countries. So let's dial back the sense of self-importance, yeah? And the Bible REPEATEDLY tells us to put down our weapons or not fight back. Turn you swords into plowshares and all that (Isaiah 2:4).

Then people bring up the Constitution. Even setting aside the fact that one of the central tenets of the Constitution is that it's modifiable; this is still a crappy argument for a Christian to make. Are you saying the Constitution is infallible? Are you saying a document OTHER THAN THE BIBLE is the indisputable word of God? I sure hope not.

Now on protection. I understand wanting to protect yourself and your family, I do. The world can be a scary place, and "taking back control" definitely feels good. But Christians are supposed to know better.  You say you speak for "God-fearing America," but you rely on weapons of death and destruction to protect yourself. You're correct that one of us doesn't trust in the Lord, but I don't think it's me. When a colleague of the Olympic runner and missionary Eric Liddel (of Chariots of Fire fame) was offered a gun to protect himself, Liddel responded: “Don’t touch it! If you have that in your pocket you will depend on it rather than God and I would refuse to travel with you.” Sums it up, honestly.

If this were all, if this were the whole discussion, there would already be a solid case for idolatry.

But.

BUT.

It’s not all. Supposedly Christian pro-gun advocates have gone so much farther than this, and it should deeply horrify us. At the most recent CPAC meeting, only a few days after the tragic events in Parkland, the executive president of the NRA, Wayne LaPierre, made a statement that honestly made me want to throw up. He said that the constitutional right to bear arms “is not bestowed by man, but granted by God to all Americans as our American birthright.” What. The. Actual. Hell. This isn’t right. His worship of guns is obvious. Are Christians really okay with this kind of rhetoric? Should we really be supporting the NRA as they continue to double down on this level of theological perversion and gun worship? I definitely don’t think so.

The Bible teaches us that the wages of sin is death, and we can see this clearly in American gun culture. People would rather hold on to their earthly possessions than allow children to attend school safely.

So let me be perfectly clear: American gun culture is idolatrous. The NRA is an idolatrous organization profiting from the deaths of Americans, many of them children. Christians, why aren't we more upset? Like, honestly, I don't get it. It's so clear. It's so obvious. IT'S KILLING CHILDREN.

Now, I’m not the first person to say any of this. Nor am I the smartest. Christianity Today published an editorial stating that “fear and idolatry are our real gun problem” in 1999, after Columbine. In 2014 Patheos asserted that the idol of fear is at the root of American gun culture. After the massacre in Las Vegas, John J. Thatamanil wrote a great piece of the “American gun cult.” In an episode of one of my favorite podcasts, Impolite Company, Amy Sullivan and Nish Wiseth do a deep dive into the connection between white American evangelicals and guns. And finally, the documentary Armor of Light and the associated movement follows Reverend Rob Schenck, who begins to question if it is really possible to be pro-life and pro-gun. So if you don’t want to listen to me, you can listen to these much smarter people. And thanks for letting me get all this off my chest anyway.

I want to conclude with a personal story. As most of you know, I have been living and working in Florida for the past few years. A month or so ago, I Skyped with a middle school in South Carolina to teach them about the Florida Keys ecosystem, and discuss the effects of climate change and Hurricane Irma. The teachers were great, and the kids paid attention and asked good questions. Overall it was a great day at work. Then I got back to my regular list of tasks, and I essentially forgot about it.

Flash forward to last week, when I turned on NPR on my drive home and heard about what happened in Parkland. I was horrified, sickened, angry, and above all, devastated and sad. As someone who works in Florida, and whose job frequently involves education and outreach, I was knocked emotionally flat. I went to work the next day feeling numb, depressed, and hopeless. And then after lunch, I got a package. It was from the middle school in South Carolina. They had written me an incredibly nice note thanking me for talking with their students, and requesting that we talk again in the future. They had also sent me a school t-shirt, a mug, a key-chain, and other school gear. Friends, I burst into tears at my desk. Our students, and our educators, deserve so much better. In the midst of all my grief, students and teachers who I have never even met in person gave me such a moment of pure hope.

School is supposed to be about learning and growing. Not worrying about whether or not you’ll survive to the bus ride home.

[wsmith215]

NCAA tennis champion Estela Perez-Somarriba has unfinished business at Miami

Across the NCAA, seniors were left asking “What if?” in March, after the coronavirus pandemic canceled the remaining winter and spring sporting events. Here are the stories that show the sudden, complicated, controversial and emotional endings athletes have been coming to grips with over the past few weeks.

On the morning after the NCAA announced it would allow seniors playing spring sports to return for an additional year following the cancellation of the remainder of the season due to the coronavirus pandemic, Estela Perez-Somarriba woke up in her apartment in Coral Gables, Florida, and knew what she wanted to do. She was going to return home to Spain, self-isolate with her family and prepare for the start of her professional tennis career.

But by that afternoon, after a few hours to let the weight of her decision sink in, Perez-Somarriba had changed her mind. As the defending NCAA singles champion, she thought she had unfinished business to take care of. She loved her time at Miami and wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to the team or the school.

She was going to stay. Perez-Somarriba became the school’s first athlete to announce her decision to return with a letter on the athletic department website. She hasn’t second-guessed the decision since.

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“It was a challenging decision, but I’m really attached to UM, and finishing my college career the way I always dreamt of is important to me,” she said. “There’s still so much I want to give to this program. I think only student-athletes could relate to this, but when you spend so much time with your coaches and your teammates and representing the university, it means so much and is just so special.

“I was also concerned about all of the uncertainty [at the professional level] right now, and there are so many questions about tournaments, traveling, sponsorships and my own family being quarantined in Madrid. I realized it was going to take quite a while to go back to normal. So I thought, I’ll use this time to get better, to keep practicing and keep improving. I’m pretty sure I made the right decision and am excited about next year.”

Now the 21-year-old will have one more year to expand upon her prolific collegiate career, which has already cemented her in Hurricanes lore. Perez-Somarriba became the second Miami player to win an NCAA title last spring (Audra Cohen in 2007 was the other), and with a 141-23 record in singles play, she has the most wins in school history (a record she broke in January). She’s a two-time ACC Player of the Year, a four-time All-American and the 2019 recipient of the prestigious Honda Award.

While she says she tries not to get too wrapped up in accolades, she does hope to repeat as NCAA champion next season and admits that she feels some motivation when she knows a record is on the line.

Head coach Paige Yaroshuk-Tews knew Perez-Somarriba was a gifted tennis player when she first arrived on campus as a freshman, but the coach admittedly didn’t think Perez-Somarriba was capable of being the best in the country. Yaroshuk-Tews had some concerns about Perez-Somarriba’s fitness but was immediately impressed by her work ethic and willingness to improve.

“I remember when she first came in, we had the whole team line up at the Watsco Center to run sprints,” Yaroshuk-Tews said. “And she made it back to the line and didn’t look very good. She was gassed, and her face was so pale, I was just about to tell our strength coach to let her sit the next one out. But then he blew the whistle, and she just took off. She went from looking like she was about to pass out to sprinting past everyone. We still joke about it, but that’s [the] thing with her. Once the whistle blows, she’s ready to go, no matter what.”

Estela Perez-Somarriba is the second player from Miami to win the NCAA women’s singles title. Manuela Davies/USTA

That drive and never-quit attitude have been the hallmarks of Perez-Somarriba’s time at Miami, and she has tried to soak up everything she can from the school. She is lauded by the coaching staff for her tireless efforts, on and off the court, and for doing whatever she can to improve her game. With Perez-Somarriba one of two seniors on a team otherwise entirely made up of freshmen, Yaroshuk-Tews asked her to step up as a leader. In typical fashion, she more than responded to the request.

“For the past three years, she’s understandably been focused on herself, but she was able to step out of that box and develop herself as a leader and become one of the better leaders that I’ve ever coached,” Yaroshuk-Tews said. “The girls really respect her and listen to her, and her personality started to rub off on them in an amazing way. It will be fun to see her get another year with them.”

Like most schools across the country, Miami closed its campus, including athletic facilities, and switched completely to online distance learning in March. Perez-Somarriba stayed at her apartment off campus, where she has been the past two months. She completed her bachelor’s degree in economics (with a 3.928 grade point average) and will graduate at the school’s delayed ceremony in December. She has been staying in shape with frequent runs and by using a stationary bike and some dumbbells she bought for her apartment.

She has been reading, cooking, Facetiming with her family in Madrid, finding new plants for her apartment and indulging her curious nature by researching anything she finds interesting online. A self-professed homebody, she hasn’t minded the downtime or being on her own. Yaroshuk-Tews says it’s Perez-Somarriba’s maturity and focus that have allowed her to continue to thrive, despite the unprecedented circumstances.

“She is the only kid that is asking during the pandemic to get into the equipment room to get some kettlebells and is setting up a personal gym in the living room of her apartment,” Yaroshuk-Tews said. “She is not the most talented of all the kids I’ve coached in terms of athleticism, but her work ethic and her approach to her practices is honestly like nothing I’ve ever seen in my life. I don’t think I’ll see anything like it again, either. You typically don’t see players that are as successful as she is but that are as humble and grateful for every single thing that’s given to them. When you mix that with her level of work ethic, the results are exceptional.”

Although the tennis courts on campus remain closed, a public court nearby has opened up as Florida eases its restrictions, and Perez-Somarriba and two of her teammates have been using it several mornings a week. The team has stayed in contact with frequent Zoom meetings, and Yaroshuk-Tews knows she can count on Perez-Somarriba to keep everyone’s spirits high with her positive attitude (and is appreciative that there is guaranteed to be at least one student-athlete on the call who didn’t just roll out of bed.)

Although so much remains in flux, Perez-Somarriba is determined to carry on as usual and is viewing her fifth year as the perfect opportunity for transition. She will look to defend her NCAA title (and break a few ACC records on the way) and complete a master’s degree in sports administration, but she also hopes to play in some professional events in the summer and fall, if and when the season resumes, to bolster her ranking and give her much-needed match experience against a higher level of competition.

As most of the players on the WTA tour skipped the collegiate level to turn professional as teenagers, Perez-Somarriba knows her résumé will be slightly different than those of many of her peers, but she has watched other college-stars-turned-pros, such as Danielle Collins, Nicole Gibbs and Kristie Ahn, succeed in recent years, and they have provided her a blueprint of what’s next. Still, she has modest goals to begin her career.

“I would like to make it to the top 100,” Perez-Somarriba said. “I just want to work hard every single day and just know that I gave it a shot, and I tried my best, and I did it the right way. If it works, great. If not, it doesn’t work. I just want to know I did everything the best I could to make my dreams come true.”

Perez-Somarriba got a taste of that dream when she played teenage phenomenon Coco Gauff at a sold-out homecoming exhibition match in February in Delray Beach, Florida. Gauff, then 15, was weeks removed from her fourth-round run at the Australian Open, in which she knocked off defending champion Naomi Osaka, and Perez-Somarriba was thrilled about the opportunity to play her.

Perez-Somarriba was coming off a win with her team at Georgia Tech, and her teammates and many of her friends were in the crowd to cheer her on against Gauff. She says she wasn’t intimidated by the moment and was excited to have the chance to gauge her skills against someone such as Gauff. Perez-Somarriba lost 6-3, 6-3 in 75 minutes, but she was pleased with her performance, and it fueled her belief that she could play at the next level.

“This is going to sound crazy, but I learned from that match that I could play against anybody,” she said. “Coco is such a great player, and she’s so young, and she has so much potential, but the fact that I was playing against her and kept it pretty tight, and I never felt as if I didn’t belong there. I actually felt comfortable and relaxed in that scenario and environment, and that has motivated me a lot. It gave me a lot of confidence, as well as exposing some of my weaknesses, so I left knowing some things to work on, and I’m still trying to improve [in those areas].”

For Yaroshuk-Tews, who watched proudly, the match was an incredible reminder of how much Perez-Somarriba has improved in her four years at the school.

“I just sat in the stands and took it all in. I just kept thinking, ‘Here’s a kid that came to the University of Miami, and I thought she, at best, would maybe be a No. 3 player for us, and now is out there playing Coco Gauff in front of a sellout crowd.’ The environment was unbelievable, and Stela more than held her own. It was just amazing to see how far she’s come.”

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God is Good in the Affliction

I have been itchy all over my entire body for the last 3 months, if not more. The week before hurricane Irma hit landfall in Florida was when it started. I do not recall any drastic changes spiritually, physically, situationally or anything that may have caused the itching to begin. I have been to many doctors in attempt to find out whether it is allergies, stress related, biological, etc. I have been seeking answers. 

After much prayer and rebuking of my itching on Friday night, it went crazy. I had never been so itchy and it was all over. There was no escape. Finally, I decided that it must be the Lord afflicting me for some reason, but He is not revealing why at this time. I texted my closest friend and lead disciple about what was going on. She prayed and sent me some verses she ran into while praying. What I interpreted through these verses was that rather than praying for my affliction to be removed, I should begin praying for endurance. 

When I arrived home from spending this Saturday with my family, I pulled up to the house as a song was finishing. A turned the car off and felt led to acknowledge my affliction and verbally accept it and the challenges it would bring. In doing so, I began to speak the Gospel to myself. 

Going into great detail, I began to verbally preach the Gospel to myself as if I were speaking to someone else. Specifically, I spoke as if the other person shared in some form of affliction that they felt they could not endure or desired to be removed. I began to speak about what Jesus had done. It went something like this:

Jesus Christ lived a perfect life. He never sinned. He followed every single command of the Father without hesitation or question. He lived for us. 

Jesus Christ was treated in ways He did not deserve by humans. His own creation, because He is one with the Father, treated Him so wrong. Because mankind is sinful, there is no way we could have treated Jesus as He deserved. Jesus suffered for us. 

Jesus Christ was taken by Roman soldiers and beaten so badly. He was tortured beyond what any person should endure. Remember, He was innocent. Jesus was blamed for crimes that were not true and that He did not commit. He allowed these men to whip Him until His flesh was ripped away. Jesus allowed these people to drive nails into His hands and feet. With every single hit of the hammer, Jesus knew that He was allowing this for their own good. 

Side note: The palms of our hands and the tops of our feet are so sensitive. If we compare these to other parts of our body, can we imagine the pain this must have caused Jesus? He endured physical pain for us. 

Jesus Christ took on the beating for doing what was right because the world lost sight of what was actually right. He had to go into the world that was supposed to be created for His glory and endure the pain of His creation treating Him so horribly. 

Jesus Christ felt the separation of the Father. He went into the outer darkness and was separated from the Father. The absolute worst pain and absence of anything that could ever be is this very separation...

When I reached this point, I began to realize just how well Jesus can relate to my lowest point. I began to go through my testimony...

When I try to recollect anything from the past, I have to think very hard to remember. Specifically, I cannot remember much of high school. However, there was one day that I can never forget.

My freshman year of high school, I gave away my purity to my boyfriend. In the midst of the act, I acknowledged the presence of God. I knew what I was doing was not okay. This was the one thing that I never imagined I would be capable of doing. I acknowledged that the Lord was telling me that I was not being obedient and I refused to change my course of action. 

I remembered that my boyfriend’s mom made us chocolate chip pancakes that day. The fact that I remember that minor, and quite irrelevant detail proves as to how big of an impact this day had on my life. 

When I was getting ready for bed that night, I thought that I should cover up my sin by reading some scripture or a devotional of some sort. I could not focus on any of the words that I was reading. Eventually, I gave up and went to sleep. 

In the middle of the night, I got up to use the bathroom. I sat down, looked down at my feet and I went empty. I began to breathe heavily. I began to panic. I tried to think. I tried to pray. I could not grasp the feeling. I was completely empty. My heart was pounding slowly. I did not know what had happened. 

I have been given revelation of what exactly happened in that moment over the years. The only way I can describe if that God took His presence away from me. He did not forsake me. He did not leave, but I was no longer able to feel His presence. I could not experience the Holy Spirit. 

The conviction I was experiencing was the deepest I have ever felt. There was no lower point. There is no point in my life that will ever be worse than that exact moment. Being separated from the presence of God is the worst experience any person could ever have. 

Jesus Christ was separated from the presence of God for us. 

Jesus Christ went to hell and endured the horrible place of the absence of God. People think that hell is the worst earthly experiences possible, but it is actually so much worse. It is the entire separation from God for all of eternity and there is no chance of ever having a choice to return to His presence. Absolute separation from God for all of eternity is the worst experience anyone could ever endure. That is exactly what hell is. Jesus endured that for us. 

Jesus Christ overcame death and separation. He was resurrected and came back to earth for us. He witnessed to people of His sacrifice and His love for us. He shared His wisdom with people so that they could share with each other. Even though we are not capable of being perfect, we can still share Jesus’ perfection with others. 

Jesus Christ ascended into heaven to sit next to the Father and represent us and intercede on our behalf. When we sin, we are unable to seek that Father fully because we have chosen to separate ourselves. When we repent, Jesus is the sacrifice that God sees. He does not see our sin. He sees that Jesus has died and atoned for our sin. 

God called for living sacrifices of animals to atone for sin. These animals had to be free of blemish. How much more perfect was Jesus as a human sacrifice who was free of any blemish? God placed Himself within a human to sacrifice Himself for our atonement. 

Not only did He die, but He was resurrected and came back to life. Jesus Christ returned to life and eventually ascended back to heaven. He promised He would see down His Holy Spirit to dwell within those who believe in all He has done. 

The fact that the creator of existence itself sacrificed Himself for the sake of mankind is beyond imagination. To even begin to describe the very being of God is impossible. He just is. He is the I Am. He is so Great. 

Once we have fully contemplated the entire truth of the Gospel, how can we possibly complain? How can we possibly feel the need to desire anything other than Jesus? How can we do anything except worship God?

God is good. In my affliction, I can endure because He has endured far greater affliction.

[elsevierstudentlife]

Surviving Hurricane Irma and Nursing School

By Kate D., Elsevier Sponsored Ambassador

I have lived in Orlando, Florida for about seven years.  Prior to living in Florida, I lived in Arizona, where we have almost no natural disasters.  When I moved to Florida, I barely knew how to drive in the rain, let alone ride out a hurricane.  Hurricane Irma gave me a huge wake-up call about living in an area prone to hurricanes.

About a week prior to Irma hitting, Floridians went on preparation mode.  I walked into a Walmart to purchase bottled water, and the store was set up like Black Friday.  There was a line that tangled throughout the store, where people stood in line to get water from the next shipment when it arrived.  Hurricane snacks and nonperishable food were in displays across the store.  People piled their carts high with bread, peanut butter, candy, snack foods, and spam. (To be honest, I have never consumed spam, and decided Irma wasn’t going to be my first go-around, so I skipped that selection.)  

Even though all of Florida was in emergency preparation mode, businesses and schools continued as usual.  Hurricane Irma was set to hit on Sunday/Monday, and we had classes all the way up through Thursday.  One minute, the eye of Irma was projected to run right through us, and then it would shift and the news channels would say we were going to dodge a bullet.  However, about six hours before Irma was set to hit Central Florida, it was confirmed that the eye of the storm was coming straight for us.

There was no way to project the damage that Irma was going to do to Central Florida.  Before everyone hunkered down to ride out the storm, schools said they would be closed through Monday and then would make their decisions based on the damage to the schools and safety for their students.  I was lucky enough to have a test scheduled for the Thursday after Irma and clinicals the day after.  Luckily, our professors canceled clinicals for Tuesday, but our class was prepared to take our first exam of the semester three days after Irma hit.

My husband and I boarded up our house, filled sandbags and sealed our entrances, and headed to a Disney resort to ride out the hurricane with our two children and dog.  My children are young and we knew we would lose power. Luckily, Disney resorts have large generators that can power electricity, and most importantly, air conditioning.   So, we hunkered down with Mickey Mouse, and hoped for the best.  I brought along at least twenty pounds of books, study materials, and flash cards with high hopes of somehow studying for our nursing exam.

Our mandatory curfew started at 6pm on Sunday evening.  For twelve hours, the city officials asked that everyone remain in their homes or shelter.  Twelve hours does not seem like a long time, but when you know you are preparing for a huge potential disaster, the minutes inch by.  Also, you instantly become aware of the hurricane snacks and water that you have purchased to last for up to a week without power.  By 8pm, my son had finished an entire box of fruit snacks and I had consumed at least 8 bottles of water.  

Irma was a Category 4 when she made landfall in the keys, but had weakened to a Category 1 by the time she reached Orlando.  The best way to describe a hurricane is loud.  The winds were around 85 miles per hour as the storm blew through Central Florida.  It sounded like there was a freight train above our room.  The noise is intense and very scary.  My four-year old is still frightened of another hurricane and talks about Irma daily.

When we first stepped outside after the storm, it looked like the wind had picked us up and played a Wizard of Oz trick on us.  There were trees down everywhere, branches, and random trinkets (see picture below). It did not look like the resort we checked into.  When we returned to our house, we sustained some roof damage and lost some of our plants in the yard. Lucky for us, our power returned quickly.  

Our school was closed until Friday, so our class was allotted an extra week of studying.  (I think there was a gigantic sigh of relief from our entire class when that was announced through the news channels).  As a community, we have come together to put our lives back in order, lend a helping hand to our neighbor, and began to assist other communities that were hit with much more destruction than Orlando.  I am proud of the nursing community in Orlando for stepping up to care at medical shelters, stay long hours at the hospital, and work through such an intense storm.  My thoughts and prayers go to all that were affected and am hoping that we make it through the rest of this hurricane season without any further storms. 

[trentteti]

There Were A LOT of Horror Stories from the September 2017 LSAT

Imagine this: You, a proud Idahoan, have spent months preparing for the LSAT, which the Law School Admission Council said would be held on Saturday, September 16, the year of our Lord Kellye Testy two thousand and seventeen, and would begin promptly at 8:30 am, Mountain Daylight Time. You purchased a not-inexpensive admission ticket, which again repeated the precise time at which you would report to your testing center at Boise State University. You studied vigorously to prepare for the test.

The process of studying was a good deal more challenging than you anticipated. However, a lifetime spent amongst the orthogonal lines of the Boise crop fields and in the flat topology of the Midwest instilled in you a hardened pragmatism that helped you engage in the sober logical thinking required for the exam. In the end, you felt prepared.

You woke up on September 16, ate a breakfast of boiled potatoes, and drove to the testing center, passing the famous cobalt blue football field at Bronco Stadium. You wondered why coastal elites continued to demean Idahoans by insisting birds constantly dive bomb into the turf, mistakenly believing it is a body of water. This thought is an omen.

You reach the check-in location LSAC told you to find by 8:30 am. However, once you reach the location, you realize that you, and hundreds of similarly prepared law school hopefuls just like you, will not be let into the building. The doors to the building, the gates that would open for you a legal career, are locked. No one gives explanation. After several hours, you drive home, defeated, pondering why the Lord Kellye Testy has smote you. Days pass, and eventually you receive an email from LSAC. “Sorry ’bout that, fam,” it reads. “I guess you can take a make-up test on October 14.”

Or, worse still: Imagine you, a resolute and determined denizen of Savannah, Georgia, have planned your entire summer around studying for the September LSAT. You put aside the frivolities of your peers during the months of July, August, and September. The summer will not be a time for strolls through the gothic drapes of Spanish moss, enveloping branches of live oak, or blooming white flowers of magnolia in Savannah’s historic district. It will be a time for study.

Studying is a difficult process. But you look to the rivers and tributaries that wrap around Savannah like tentacles of the Atlantic and give the Savannah wetlands their rich biodiversity. You imagine them as founts of knowledge, logical acumen being pumped into you from these riparian sources. You look eastward to the Isle of Hope and it gives you the resolve to learn how to diagram a syllogism, how to strengthen arguments, and how to approach a Reading Comprehension passage.

You wake-up on September 16 feeling as prepared as you will ever be. You opt out of enjoying a breakfast of your mother’s famous but insalubrious biscuits and gravy, instead washing down a peach and a handful of boiled peanuts with a Coca-Cola. You drive to Savannah State University. Unlike your spiritual foil in Boise, you are permitted to enter your testing center. You take your exam. Yes, Reading Comprehension was more difficult than expected, but you know you that you vanquished the Logic Games section. You hand your test packet to the exam proctor, who has sworn a sacred oath to guard and protect your test packet through its transit to LSAC headquarters.

But most importantly, you are finished with the LSAT. The night becomes alive with possibility. You are invigorated. You spend your evenings with your friends, imbibing sweet elixirs with reckless abandon. Ailing mornings are spent with Netflix, allowing the “Next episode starts in” timer trickle down from 14 to 1, time and time again. Your mind, previously sharpened to fine point through your studies, begins to dull from disuse.

Eventually you check your email. You find a harried message from LSAC. “Yo, don’t hate us, it’s actually kinda funny and maybe one day you’ll laugh about this lol,” it begins, inauspiciously. “So that test booklet with all your answers and work that you gave to your proctor? Uhhh we kinda lost it. Yeah, for you and everyone at Savannah State. So we can’t score your LSAT. Yeah dude we don’t know what happened either smdh. But we got u! We’ll let you take the exam again in a couple weeks on October 14, or you can take it again in December. And no worries, you don’t have to pay again. Cool, our bad!”

These things actually happened to students who took (or attempted to take) the September LSAT at Boise State University and Savannah State University. And they weren’t alone. Hurricane Irma closed many testing centers in Florida, and although some of the testing centers were opened in time for students to take a make-up exam the following week on September 23, many students had to wait until October 14 to retake. Oh, and in what is yet another sign that the end is nigh for this little American experiment of ours, test takers in Richmond, Virginia couldn’t take the LSAT because a bunch of white supremacists decided they had to protest the removal of confederate statues, weeks after Charlottesville.

So there are a lot of — one thousand, according to LSAC’s estimates — students who couldn’t take the test as planned, through no fault of their own. This, as you imagine, has left a lot of students quite angry. Just take a look at this Reddit thread about the Savannah State snafu to get a glimpse of student response. And lest you believe this is an isolated incident, there have been many past horror stories as well. For the December 2015 test, they lost a bunch of exams from the UC Santa Barbara testing location. In 2012, the same thing happened in Tampa (apparently LSAC has trouble collecting tests from coastal inlets). And this is to say nothing of the typical issues test takers face, from clueless proctors to bad testing centers.

And this really isn’t a good look for LSAC right now. They’re already losing ground to the GRE, with the count of law schools accepting the GRE now up to six, and many more promising they’ll do the same. Can you blame these schools at this point? These poor test takers in Savannah had to dedicate their summer to studying in what I can only assume were rooms made swampy and dank by Southern humidity, only to find out it was all for naught. They then got the choice to try to cram for the LSAT over the next couple weeks or undergo the same study process all over again for the December exam. Of course they’re going to be pissed. Their blood would boil faster than a Georgia peanut. And I don’t think they were consoled by a free admission-ticket to take the exam again on October 14 or in December. So of course they’re going to look to the GRE, which you can take whenever you feel like it, as a more alluring test.

So what should LSAC do? Well, it is in the opinion of this humble blogger that LSAC should accelerate ever-faster towards doing the LSAT digitally and year round. These Luddites can’t seem to handle paper test booklets anymore, so maybe it’s time to enter the digital age. Plus, administering the LSAT just four times a year (and, eventually, six times a year) forces students to plan large chunks of their year around the test. Which puts way more pressure on LSAC to make every testing location flawless, which, well, is demonstrably impractical.

If the LSAT goes digital, LSAC can fix a ton of these problems. The test can be administered like the GRE, allowing students flexibility with their schedule. If something goes wrong with a testing center, that would still suck, but at least the student would be able to take the test again within the next few days when she still felt practiced, prepared, and ready to go. Instead of relying on proctors to transport the scores to LSAC, the score could be given instantaneously. Students wouldn’t have to spend the several weeks between test day and the infamous “grey day” (wherein the boxes on their LSAC account go grey, signaling that the score is about to be released) stressing out and wondering if they’ll have to take the exam again in several months.

So let’s get to it, LSAC. Reports from digital test pilot centers have mostly been positive, with most claiming there are only a few kinks that need to be ironed out. So, let’s remember those Boiseans, Savannahians, Richmonders, and Floridians, and give them a test they can actually take.

There Were A LOT of Horror Stories from the September 2017 LSAT was originally published on LSAT Blog

[twentytwentynews-blog]

Passion That Can’t Be Denied

LaVerne Roxby, Contributor We sank to the floor and gave in to the passion that had been building between us for weeks.  Yes, we knew it was wrong! We had tried to deny it, but, NO!  we couldn’t – the sexual tension was too strong. We became one as we yielded to our basic animal sexual instincts, all the time saying, “this can’t be happening, but it is” and other stuff like that. After “it” was over, we went for hamburgers and cokes and never saw each other again . . . not for many years, and then we did. I looked up and said, “Ari?” at the same time he said, “Lola?” Damn, he looked good. Call it karma, call it fate, call it what you will, but there is no denying that when our eyes met once again, the fire that we had long ago extinguished had returned.  It was like a roiling boil on a hot stove.  My heart literally melted as I hit the go button on my scooter and raced across the dollar store to embrace him, flinging a great-grandchild off my lap as I went. He, wearing thick glasses and using two canes, ran to me, oblivious to the fact that he had knocked over a whole display of $1 a can peaches.  It was at that moment that I wished I wasn’t wearing a Depends, but I knew he would understand.  Love is like that;  never having to say you’re sorry. We met in the center of the dog food section, and it was there, on top of a 50-pound bag, that we took care of our long unfinished business as my granddaughter yelled at me for racing and for dropping HER child, and for not stopping to pick up HER child, and while the store manager called the police.  As we were being led away to separate police cars, I made the little sign with my finger that means “call me” and he blew me a kiss.  As the police car door was closing, I yelled to my granddaughter: “Don’t forget to get me that chocolate pudding that I like; you hear me now?” Hurricane Crazies The day of the “big” hurricane, the one we had always feared, was upon us. She was ‘a comin!! My in-laws, plus granny, descended on my house like a herd of migrant workers. The next thing I knew, granny was filling every bottle in the house with water; I’m not kidding – we had to clear a path to get from the kitchen to the living room. Next, she scrubbed the tub and filled it, too.  Oh, well – nobody was much interested in taking a bath anyway; plus, if this baby was as big as they said she was, we were all going to get plenty wet anyway. Suddenly, my mother-in-law started dragging blankets out of the linen closet – at first, I thought it was to pad the area where the sliding glass doors were (if you live in Florida, sliding glass doors are a must-have) but, no, she was settling in on the couch and my father-in-law was wrapping himself up and getting comfy on my loveseat. (Did I mention that we were in FLORIDA where blankets are only for show?  – you never take them out and actually use them.) About that time, my father-in-law yelled: “When are we going to eat?” Feeling the need to escape,  I ran into the dining room – that’s when  I heard a loud thumping noise against our  bay window – were we being bombarded by huge limbs from those high winds we were told were headed our way? NO, it was our stupid horse banging his head against the glass – even he wanted in!! I had a few words with him and then I shut the drapes. I yelled to my husband, “Who let the damn horse out – let me guess.” He said he had read in a book that that is exactly what you should do in a situation like this – let the animal run free.  I knew I was losing “it” so I took off for the family room (big mistake) where I came upon one of our two teenagers – the female one. She was walking around in short shorts and was barefooted (you can get away with that 24/7 in Florida, even when a hurricane is coming). She was pouting because we wouldn’t let her use the phone while it was lightning, and she said she was bored. I said, “Get me a gun so I can kill myself.” About then, I heard a loud thumping at the front door. I looked through the peep hole and, you guessed it – it was “the horse” only this time I was looking at his rear end (always a pleasant sight.) Upon closer inspection,  I realized that he was making a deposit, if you know what I mean. I yelled out, “Did you let the damn pig out so he could run free, too? I knew by the look on my husband’s face that, yes, he had. I was in a dad gum loony bin. I took off for my son’s room where I found him sprawled out on his king-sized waterbed (people are really into water down there) reading a surfing magazine, snacking and listening to a mellow Bob Marley song. Always Mr. Cool, he looked up and said, “What’s up, ma?” I said, “Move over and hand me the chips – there’s a bunch of crazies in the house.” The Virtues of Colon Cleansing Being a person who is into rituals, on a glorious Sunday morning, I brewed my coffee and picked up my low fat granola bar before leisurely seating myself at the computer to check my emails.  I immediately saw where two high school classmates had left me messages on Facebook. I excitedly clicked on the link only to discover that their messages were the same:  both  were extolling the virtues of colon cleansing. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have that on my to-do list, but only in about 100 years.  In fact, colon cleansing is sitting right up there next to begging my dentist for a root canal. I know that my classmates only care about what is best for me,  and they certainly didn’t know that I would check my messages while eating my breakfast, but having a discussion about colons, period, is just not what I do on a social networking site. I prefer to keep it light out there – I mean, I have participated in discussions  about minor health issues, and the repairs that go with them,  but colons are something that I think are best kept as discussions between patients and doctors,  if a discussion is even necessary. In fact, my primary doctor doesn’t even ask, “how’s your colon?” unless it’s time for the dreaded, un-fun, drink that nasty drink beforehand, colonoscopy.  We have, I think, an unwritten agreement that she will not bring it up again for 10 more years because I recently went after she talked me into it.  I remember very well our discussion when I first agreed to undergo the  polyp check. She brought out a giant  (like 4 x 6 foot) diagram showing the large intestine and the path  the “see all” tube with the giant camera would travel  during the colonoscopy process.  Whoa! I had no idea of all the  activity that goes on in that area -  It looked  like a bustling little city. After 5 minutes of watching the path she was tracing with her long stick, I covered my eyes and said “ I really don’t need to see this – can I have the drug now that takes me out of this nightmare? “ Anyway, I am happy to report that I got an “A” on the colonoscopy experience and I now pretty much ignore anything that has to do with colons, except the punctuation kind. Now, if my former classmates want to start a campaign to cleanse the English language of that type of colon, I will jump right in and offer my opinion.  However,  I prefer to pick on the semi-colon because there’s only half as much to clean - and less chance of polyps. Grudges Some people hold grudges, and I don’t think it’s a good thing. “Get over it!” is what I say. Here’s one example: Fifty years ago (yes, 50!!) I did one small thing wrong and got my whole Girl Scout troop (Troop 354) in trouble. Even now, after  all these years, I can’t go home to Florida without having one of them say: “Remember that time when LaVerne got us all in trouble at the Coca-Cola plant?” They also usually bring up the other little incident, which happened at the local Air Force base, but that is another story entirely (definitely). Anyway, here’s what happened at the Coke plant: All of us were loaded up in the back of the troop mother’s station wagon – back then, you could do that – just tell everybody to climb in; if a few heads got knocked around, like up against the window glass, that was okay, it toughened you up for what life had in store for you later on. Anyway, we were merrily cruising along, with all the windows open, when the troop mother spotted a woman in another car that she needed/wanted (whatever), to talk to. She pulled over to the curb in front of the Coke plant (a big mistake) and so did the other woman. She left our car and, of course, told us to “stay right there.” Well, that was fine for about 5 minutes, and then it got HOT IN THERE. I suggested, in a sweet way, that perhaps we should go in and tour the Coke plant while she was busy talking and ignoring us. After all, we WERE wearing our uniforms. All of us formed a nice straight line (me in front) and marched in. I calmly told the receptionist that we were here for our tour. She looked in her little appointment book and said she didn’t see a tour scheduled for us. I looked at her and said, “There MUST be some mistake; we are supposed to be here NOW.” She asked where our leader was and I told her that she would be inside in a few minutes and that we had been instructed to begin the tour immediately as time was an issue.  The next thing I knew, we were on our way. I, of course, was leading the group. About 7-8 minutes later, as we were watching the bottling process (for you younger ones, this was back when Cokes came in glass bottles), and I was really enjoying myself,  I heard a small commotion, and then the troop monster (at this point, from the look on her face, I didn’t think she should be called “mother” anymore), had me by the arm and was  pulling me away from all the fun. She marched me, and all the rest of the troop followed, straight to the car. She was quite upset, and so was I – I did not get the free coke that I had been promised!!! Neither did the other girls, and that’s why they are still carrying a grudge today, I think. One of my troop members is now a psychologist. The next time I’m back home, I’m going to ask if I can lie on her couch and talk things out. It would really help me and, maybe her. You never know. Hazel Brooks As I got up to leave, she said: “I wish we had known each other when we were younger. I think we would have been the best of friends.”  Her name is Hazel Brooks and she is 80 years old. We sat next to each other  on my recent flight from Grand Junction, Colorado to Dallas. I had been up since 2:00 am and had planned to sleep, but she and I ended up talking the whole 3 hours. She told me she lost her husband of 62 years this past April – she said they had a wonderful life. I love the story she told me of how they met. She was working in a restaurant in Texas and a lady came in and asked for a table. The lady said she was expecting her son who was home on leave from the war and asked Mrs. Brooks  to look for him – she said he was tall, dark and handsome and would be wearing a uniform.  Mrs. Brooks said he came in, she directed him to the table where his mother sat, and their romance began that day. They married 2 years later. They had three children – two daughters and one son. She also has 8 grandchildren and 10  great grandchildren.  While we were talking, she opened her wallet and showed me  photo after photo – the first one was of her handsome husband in his uniform. She knew the name of each person and age he or she was when each photo was taken.  She also told me where each one of them lives today.  She said she now lives with one of her daughters, who is blind, near Houston.  Her own home is up for sale – she and her husband lived there for  over  50 years.  She said it was hard to move out.   I told her I understood. As we talked, she told me about her life. When she was a young girl, and her father was ill with cancer, the family went in two covered wagons from Texas to Arkansas and back – a trip that took 3 months – so her father could soak in the hot mineral springs in the hope of a cure.  He died a few weeks after they returned home – he was in his early 40s. She also told me about her oldest brother, nicknamed “Son.”  She remembers him being in horrible pain for several days before he died at 16  – it turns out that his appendix had burst.  Her eyes misted over as she told me about her brother and her father, both dead all these years. I thought about my own father, who died at 52. There was no miracle cure for him, either. I listened as she told me about her crazy aunt – the one who had a daughter who couldn’t stand up straight so she put her on a table and ironed her back. She told me the hot iron caused horrible blisters and holes in her back and that her aunt then poured kerosene on the whole area, which also brought terrible pain.  I asked her what the family did when they found out – she said they tied the aunt up in the barn. We moved on to another topic so I found out little more except that her cousin grew up with a straight back. I wish we had known each other when we were younger. I think we would have been the best of friends. On Bass Tournaments I love to talk. Sometimes I say the wrong thing, at the wrong time, to the wrong people. My husband, Al’s, big bass tournament was no exception. Here’s what happened: We went to Charleston, SC for a MAJOR tournament – we’re talking big names in fishing. There were 12 fishermen on each team from seven southern states. Anyway, I was milling around with at least 80 other women as the men were coming in on the last day of the 3-day tournament to weigh their fish. I was “lookin’ for muh man” just like the other wives – I was there to support him because he was “muh man.” One of the big sponsors of the tournament, chewing tobacco producers, was handing out samples (as in whole boxes) of their product to all wives.  I politely declined when I was asked if I would like some “for muh man.” Anyway, the crowd was getting larger all the time – the anticipation was building – we were about to have ourselves “a champyon.” The next thing I knew, a microphone had been stuck in my face and I was asked: “Little missy - have you got a man out there on the water today?” I answered, “yes.” The man then said: “What’s his name and what team is he on?” I responded, “Al Krakatos – Alabama.” Next, he said, and I’m not making this up: “Why ain’t you got yourself a box of that ‘baca for yur man?” I said, “Because it causes cancer and there are lots of children here today who see these tobacco-chewing bass fishermen as their heroes.” Well, you could have heard a fishing rod drop – they had a very good loud speaker, and I have a very big mouth. The large crowd suddenly got really, really quiet. About that time, “muh man,” he done come in, and I reverted to being the quiet little wife I was supposed to be but, funny thing is, we were totally ignored at the hoedown that night, which was sponsored by the tobacco people - imagine that. When we got back to the motel later, Al  whined, “The least you could have done was get me one of those brass spittoons that they were giving away with the chewing tobacco.” Knowing now what I didn’t know then (about the future state of our relationship), I should have gotten him at least five boxes of that ‘baca, and encouraged him to chew it. Live and learn. No More Chubby Cheeks Like many others, as the last new year approached, I decided to make some major life changes. You know the ones: eat better, eat less, exercise more, drink more water, etc.  I decided to work on all four at once because that’s the kind of person that I am. I hopped out of bed on day 1,  ate three grapes, drank a gallon of water, and prepared for the exercise phase.  Step 1 is to dress for it. I found my exercise clothes in a large bag from the 1960s, dusted them off, and put on what still fit, which was basically the bag. (I have heard that simply putting on your exercise clothes will automatically cause you to lose 1 pound, and I believe it.) Once I was dressed, I headed to the gym.  Step 2 is to go into the gym and actually use a piece of equipment. I entered the gym trying to appear as if I had been in one before, and casually surveyed the equipment.  Some of it looked like it belonged on an X-rated website, not that I have ever visited one.  I finally found a machine that looked like a bicycle, except it had a special torture gear. The minute I started pedaling, my legs began to tingle. Because it was such an unusual, uncomfortable feeling, I decided not to overdo it and hurt myself. I only pedaled until I had burned 10 calories and then I stopped to rest. After 5 minutes, I decided to go again. I pedaled to burn 10 more calories and then I knew I needed a major rest. I decided to lie down on the carpet by the bicycle from hell until I felt well enough to walk. While I was down there, I rose up on one arm and looked around. What I saw was a sea of chubby cheeks (both kinds) and some hairy armpits (mostly on men).  The cheeks motivated me to get up and head to the weight room while the hairy armpits motivated me to get up and move, period.  Once in the weight room, I approached a piece of equipment that had a sign stating  that I needed to use enough weights to equal my actual body weight. Well, there was a good-looking guy standing nearby so there was NO way I was going to use the correct amount of weights. I fudged by 30 pounds as he looked on. However, after I grabbed the overhead bars and put my feet on the lower bar, the jig was up: my whole body slammed down and the weights hit the floor.  He was kind enough to turn his head the other way. Step 3 is to face reality. As I hurriedly left the weight room, I told myself that it was ridiculous to think I could look like a Hollywood starlet after only one gym visit – I needed to pace myself.  I therefore stopped in the lounge area and watched a little TV.  After a couple of shows, I felt re-energized and I completed my exercise regimen by watching other people work out while I drank a frappuccino.  All in all, it was a good first effort to get in better shape. After all, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Fun at Grandma’s Sometimes, when I was a child, I was downright evil – not evil like Linda Blair in The Exorcist where her head was spinning around as she was spewing out green split pea soup, but evil nonetheless. Take the incident with my cousin, Samantha, for example, when we were both about 12 years old. It was summertime and we were at our grandparents’ home in North Florida. They had an outdoor shower located a good 20 feet from the back of the house. The shower sides were covered with tarpaper and it was open at the top. Samantha decided to take a shower in the middle of the day, and this is where the evil side of me took over. Knowing that she was deathly afraid of “rain frogs,” (small green frogs that sort of stick to your skin when they make contact), I decided to take full advantage of the situation. Once she was inside the shower, this is what I did when the bad LaVerne took over:            1.  Locked the back porch door            2.  Grabbed nine or 10 frogs and put them in a Mason jar 3.  Quietly removed her clothes and towel from the top of the shower where they      were hanging 4.  Climbed up on a ladder and poured the frogs on her. Approximately 5 seconds later, all hell broke loose. Samantha ran screaming out of the shower, buck naked, and headed for the back door which was, as I said earlier, locked. She then threw open the lid on the wringer washing machine on the porch and grabbed some dirty towels, which she used to cover herself. I, meanwhile, ran around the side of the house and hurriedly got up on the front porch and sat in a rocking chair. All the adults were busy running to the back porch to see what the screaming was about so I felt sure that I was in the clear. Little did I know that one of my other cousins, a little brat about 6, had seen what I had done and he ratted me out. My grandfather, a wiry little man, gave me a few good swats with a hickory switch, and then all the adults went back to doing whatever it was that they were doing before.  What did I do? I calmly went back outside and beat the crap out of that bratty little cousin. This time, I made darn sure there weren’t any witnesses. 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