#KALE I CAN’T EVEN GET INTO THIS BECAUSE MY HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE

[mickgaydolenz]

one of my sources for studying degrees in-tangent gives like these little descriptors for each degree to give a visualization as to what that degree can entail. its kind of neat tbh.

but for 3° Cancer, which is what Micky's 4th house Saturn in Cancer is in - and i've already talked a lot about it so we're aware of what it already entails - it gives this description that made me sink to the floor:

"A woman seated in an altitude of grief, her clothes disordered and her hair unkempt, holding some faded flowers in her hands; among the flowers are lilies and roses"

amongst all of that, which i dont think we need to dredge over 'cause it's honestly a bit of a downer to discuss; not ideal to feeling grief on behalf of another person for today. however, because im so cool and epic with a lot of sexy knowledge, i want to discuss the lilies and roses since i am a super sucker for symbolism in all things. it's not necessary but it's what the neurodivergency is commanding me to do and i have no say.

note: both roses and lilies have sooo many different colors and varieties to them that its hard to pin down an all-encompassing symbolic generalization for them. but my sources have tried their best at it and i think it works well.

remember that Saturn slows progress, and always brings difficulties to wherever its placed and in aspect to, so it's overall going to dampen the symbolism of these plants; hence the 'faded flowers', because that's the nature of Saturn's influence.

lilies are known to be recognized as a flower of purity and innocence -- it's a flower of sympathy. it also happens to be associated with the Moon! and i think that's incredibly coincidental considering his Moon opposes his Saturn. so, a whittling away at that purity & innocence due part to his home life, either growing up in or in trying to establish his own, is a possibility. especially since he's been working in the entertainment industry since he was a child. i don't think he ever got to experience that kind of child-like innocence and purity much in life due to that and just became part of him as he got older, quite literally tending to his inner child a lot of the time. lilies also symbolize dignity and honor, in which those things can only be accomplished through hard work, and at times through his life it seemed those things did not come into play throughout his career. his Moon is in Capricorn 10th house; he's always taken his career choices very seriously and emotionally invests himself into it to which, again, can cause problems in the home (as we've discussed before), and could struggle trying to uphold those things at home.

roses are much more recognized for their symbols of love and romance, which is the usual accepted generalization, and i do agree with that too. but roses are also known for its secrecy. the 4th house is already pretty private as it is; double that with his Saturn conjuncting Juno....someone HELP HIM dios mios. roses are associated with Venus, but Juno is pretty much a fine-tuned off-shoot soooo *nervously pulling at collar*. tbqfh "faded" is an understatement for roses here.

and you can combine the two flowers + their meaning and you get a whole fuckin' mess. someone throughout life who lacked discipline in personal relationships because of his rose-tinted glasses. he fucked around AND found out. 🧠💥🤯 (other placements and aspects can back this up too, this ain't just one speculation)

now to tie this all together: 3° Cancer.

other than the one nice thing, "an ear for music", there's also: "dependence on home, possible mother fixation", "strong feelings that over-rule reason and experience", "expects support from home without effort", and "easily influenced by the opposite sex which can cause either injury or disgrace". so, y'know. use context clues for that one.

……..i……..i………i need to throw myself off a bridge…….

[sarcastically-defensive17]

New Man - T. Holland

@starshonerose and I love Tom Holland a bunch and this kinda just exploded into my brain when I was listening to King Ed Sheeran.

Hope y’all like this! I was happy about it when I finished it but idk how y’all will feel!

Original story by Sarcastically-defensive17

Send in a request if you want! (And if you don’t mind waiting while I drown in uni work)

Anthony was... something. He was a careless boyfriend, a liar, a cheater, and just an all round twat.

Tom couldn’t help the anger he felt every time he saw his overworked, muscular arm wrapped around Y/N’s waist.

I heard he spent five hundred pounds on jeans, goes to the gym at least six times a week.

Sure, Tom worked out. A lot. He was Spider-Man, he had a physique to uphold, but Anthony was something else.

Letting Y/N go was one of the worst decisions he had made. They didn’t part on bad terms, they simply didn’t have time for each other and decided it was best to break up.

Now, he can’t help but wish he was Anthony, and wish he didn’t have to hear about her new man.

Wears both shoes with no socks on his feet and I hear he's on a new diet at watches what he eats. He's got his eyebrows plucked and his asshole bleached; owns every single Ministry CD.

The man was the definition of a douche bag, and Tom knew his only chance was to remind Y/N of the woman she was before Anthony worked his way into her life.

The type of woman that she would pride herself on being.

Tribal tattoos and he don't know what it means but I heard he makes you happy, so that's fine by me.

Being Harrison’s little sister, she was around a lot. And so was Anthony. He couldn’t deny how obviously happy he made her, and that in turn made him happy.

Sure, he was determined to get through to the woman, but if she told him to back off then he would listen to her.

Still lookin' at your Instagram and I'll be creepin' a lil'. I'll be tryin' not to double tap, from way back ‘cause I know that's where the trouble's at.

“If you are looking through my sisters Instagram again, mate, I may have to smack you,” He heard Harrison’s voice ring through their shared house.

Somehow his best friend always knew that he was creeping on the old memories they shared.

“Can’t help it,” tom mumbled. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but notice how much happier she looked when she was his. Before she found Anthony.

He can’t help but think she is faking her happiness.

Let me remind you of the days when you used to hold my hand, and when we sipped champagne out of cider cans. I guess if you were Louis Lane, I wasn't Superman just a young boy tryin' to be loved so let me give it to ya.

His heart basically stopped one night when a notification chimes on his phone. A DM from Y/N’s Instagram account. His heart raced, trying to figure out if he accidentally liked a picture from long ago.

The message was simple: You busy? I can’t stop thinking about you.

She tried to convince him to spend the night with her, and he was considering it, until he remembered that she was with Anthony. He hated the man, but he knew it wasn’t right.

This isn’t the type of person Y/N is. How unhappy is she?

I don't wanna know about your new man 'cause if it was meant to be you wouldn't be callin' me up tryin' to... 'Cause I'm positive that he don't wanna know about me.

A few days after, Harrison spent the day with his sister, consoling her after an intense argument with her significant other.

Tom didn’t know what it was about, but he was ready to pull his brown hair out in frustration when the following day the two were all over Instagram professing their love for one another.

Yet, Tom still receives messages from her, reminiscing on their relationship and subtly flirting. He couldn’t help but let his feelings flow through his fingertips and engage in the flirtatious comments.

I don't wanna know about your new man; We'll get there eventually. I know you're missin' all this kind of love but I'm positive that he don't wanna know about me.

She was so different. He noticed how unhappy she was deep down. She hid it well. How she would spend hours forcing herself to slim down. She changed her diet, he noticed that she was selling the near hundreds of books that she had read countless of times.

It was like she became a new woman for Anthony.

He had just hoped she made the changes for herself.

You were the type of girl who sat beside the water readin', eatin' a packet of crisps, but you will never find you cheatin'. Now you're eatin' kale, hittin' the gym keepin' up with Kylie and Kim.

He took the plunge and knocked on her door one afternoon. He was met with her, wearing athletic wear and a frown deeply set on her lips that he had always admired.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” He practically barged his way in. “Anthony here?”

She shook her head, following him as he took a seat on the lounge.

“He’s out with some work mates.”

He gazed around the house. It was as if Y/N didn’t live there. The comfortable quirkiness that used to inhabit every room she occupied was fading, and he hated it.

“What’s going on?” He repeated his question, eyeing her carefully as she dropped her gaze to her feet.

“Nothing? What do you mean?” Her voice was soft, and her posture radiated discomfort.

He wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and hold her like he would before.

He should never have let her go.

“What happened to my Y/N?” He was sad. He was angry. He was frustrated. He was worried.

“I’m not your Y/N, Tom. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Why’re you selling your books?”

“Don’t need ‘em.”

“Why?”

She huffed through her nose, “what is your point, Tom? I have stuff to do.”

“My point, darling, is that you are a completely different person,” he stood, placing his hands on her shoulders softly. “What is going on?”

She refused to meet his eyes, instead stalking off to the kitchen where he noticed a distinct lack of real food.

Y/N was the type of girl who loved to indulge in a greasy burger or chips from the local fish and chip shop. Now, all Tom could find was protein shakes, weight loss supplements, kale. His face contorted in confusion.

She noticed Tom eyeing the open pantry, and the grocery bags full of vegetables.

“Anthony convinced me to try this new diet. Said it wouldn’t hurt to lose a few kilos,” her voice was quiet, fearing the reaction from the brown eyed man.

“He told you to lose weight?”

She nodded softly, eyes downcast.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“If Harrison knew about this-“

“Harrison won’t know about anything tom!” She snapped, her eyes meeting his. He practically melts at the view, despite the fierce look on her face. “There is nothing for him to know because nothing is wrong.”

He pulled his brows together, frowning at the woman who he knew deserved so much better.

“Y/N, he is trying to change you! You are already so different to the person I know you are and it’s scaring me. You aren’t the type of girl to waste her time trying diets and dressing up just to post a photo to Instagram. You are the type of woman that is who she is. You’re the woman that prefers to be comfortable and happy rather than lose a few kilos and put your health at risk.” He had moved a lot closer to her now. His hands were on her face, wiping a tear away that she didn’t realize had fallen. “You’re the woman I am in love with.”

That struck a nerve inside of Y/N. She wasn’t angry, nor was she upset. She was simply confused.

She had tried for so long to move on from Tom, as they both decided they needed to focus on their own lives, especially with Tom traveling here and there to film.

She found Anthony when she was at her lowest and she can’t bear to lose another man that she had in her life. She couldn’t tell herself that she loved Anthony. She knew her heart still belonged to Tom, but she was determined to try to move on.

But Tom’s words through a metaphorical spanner in the works.

Okay, you need to be alone

And if you wanna talk about it, you can call my phone

“I-,” her voice was shaky, her mind racing to think of what to say. All she knew was that his hands on her face was conflicting her thoughts. She shrugged him off, “I need you to go. I need to be alone, Tom. Please.”

He nodded silently, moving towards the door before pausing.

“If you need me, give me a ring, Y/N. I mean it. You deserve better than him.”

I just thought I would tell you, 'cause you oughta know. You're still a young girl tryin' to be loved, so let me give it to ya.

The late nights messages stopped for a few days, until one night a simple message read: “Am I really that different now?”

His heart broke as he apologised to her. He didn’t mean to upset her that badly, he simply wanted her to acknowledge that Anthony was changing her so much. The man grew more controlling as the days went on; even limiting her from visiting her brother because of Tom and his brothers being around.

Everybody was quickly getting fed up.

Baby, I'm not tryin' to ruin your week, but you act so differently, when you're with him, I know you're lonely.

The messages ended in a phone call, Y/N’s sob filled voice flowing through the receiver and Tom whispering sweet nothings and reassurances through the device.

“Darling, you don’t need to stay with him,” he told her. He kept his voice low as to not alert Harrison to their call.

If he found out his sister was in such a tough spot with her controlling boyfriend, he sure as hell wouldn’t let it go on without his fist connecting with Anthony’s face.

“I don’t know, Tom. He loves me,” she replied, her voice as turning up in a question at her last word.

He simply sighed, “If you decide you want to leave him, you know where to go.”

He told her the same thing every time he ended a phone call.

Please remember you're still free to make the choice and leave. Don't call me up, you need to show me.

Almost a week later, a soft knock reverberated through the wooden door, and Tom opened it to revel Y/N in one of her oversized shirts and skinny jean combos that he adored so much.

She smiled wider than he had seen in the entire time she had been with Anthony.

“I broke up with him. He didn’t want me to see you anymore because he saw our messages. I couldn’t lose you again,” her voice was soft, the way it normally is. “You up for a burger?”

Tom’s beaming smile matched hers and pulled her into a bear hug.

His Y/N was back.

I don't wanna know about your new man

[themoonandotherslikeit]

What the Rain Can’t Wash Away- Chapter Eleven

*FINAL PIECE IN THE LOOK IN HER EYES TRILOGY*

Sixteen years after Lucifer rose, and Dean lost his wife he finds himself with a teenager, a Nephilim, an angel, and his brother living out a Full House rerun with some seriously dark undertones. How will he be able to raise his daughter, fight monsters, and deal with the loss of the love of his life? Sometimes moving on is the hardest part, but with the Winchester’s there’s always something harder around the corner. Isn’t there?

Chapter Eleven, I Can’t Lose You Again

Ava

"What if she hates me?"

Dean laughed and kissed the corner of my mouth. "She won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because she's my mom." He laughed again. "I know. You ready?"

I looked out the window of the Impala. She opted to come to the bunker to see us so we wouldn't have to travel out to see her. She had a room there, after all. The kids were setting up the dinner. Sam and Eleanor were going to cook. I couldn't wait to see what they'd come up with. "Give me a second."

"Hey," he whispered, tapping my chin so I would look at him.

"Hey back," I whispered, like a habit.

"Wanna have sex in the front seat?"

I laughed and gently smacked his arm. "Dean come on."

"You come on." He kissed my neck, nibbling my collar bone.

I pulled his face to mine and kissed him deeply before pulling back. "Our kid is waiting for us in there."

"I know." He ran his thumb across my jaw.

"This is weird, isn't it?"

"Which part?" He grinned.

"All of it." I laughed lightly. "Do you think Nel's school mates will think you're a cradle robber?"

"Hopefully."

"You're such a child." I rolled my eyes. "She's so grown up. You did a great job with her."

"Wasn't easy," he admitted. "But she's a great kid."

"I can tell that." I peeled my eyes from his and looked down at my hands. "What about Claire? Does she want to go to college? Settle down?"

"I don't really see that happening."

I met his eyes again. "Dean, I don't want this life for her. I've lost you so many times." My eyes stung. "And you've lost me. She deserves something normal. Something stable. She shouldn't be with a hunter."

"They're in love."

"I know what that's like," I said quietly. "I'm not a monster. I fell in love with a hunter, after all."

"You wish you hadn't?"

"I wouldn't change you for anything, Dean Winchester. You have to know that, but don't you want more for her? The apple pie life?"

"Of course I do, but she's a Winchester."

"And you have her in a private school. She's smart! She has so much potential. She could be anything, but if they stay together... she's just going to have to watch Claire go. Over and over again. Almost die, or even die. I don't want her to have to feel that pain."

"We can't stop her."

"I know."

"I don't want to stop her," he admitted, pressing his lips together in a tight line. "You haven't seen them together." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead, soft and safe. "They remind me of us."

"I can't lose my daughter, Dean."

"You won't."

"I can't lose you again. I don't... I don't like this life. I don't want to fight the devil anymore. Monsters. When do you get to rest? Why does it always have to be you? I can't lose you again, do you hear me?"

"Ave, you won't lose me. I promise." He held my face and kissed me like he meant it..

I didn't know how many times in our marriage that Dean lied to me, so as far as I was concerned that was the first. The biggest. He knowingly told me that I wouldn't lose him, when he was planning to vault himself up in the fucking ocean.

"Let's go inside."

Nothing would've prepared me for how young Mary would look. God, she couldn't be any older than Dean was. He wasn't lying when he said she was plucked straight from Heaven. I wondered if that was where I was. "Mary," I said with a smile.

"Ava." I could see her watching me. She was protective. "It's great to meet you." She finally melted and pulled me into a hug. "Sorry," she whispered. "I'm not very good at this."

"It's okay." I assured her with a tight smile. "Just be yourself."

"In front of the famous Ava Winchester? The girl who tamed my oldest? How could I?"

I smiled at that and turned to Dean. "You told her about me?"

"Of course I did."

"If Eleanor is any indication of who you are, then you must be amazing," Mary said with a smile. "That girl is really incredible."

"She is."

  Dean

The dinner went surprisingly well. Nel didn't burn the lasagna, and Sam kept kale out of the salad. We all did a cheers with our beer. I tried my damnedest not to feel Ave up under the table, and I was successful for most of the dinner.

Claire decided to give us some space and took a trip up to visit Jody and Alex. I wondered whose idea it really was.

"So, Ava," Cas said, offering a smile. "How are you adjusting?"

"Good, mostly," she said, meeting his eyes. "It's all still a little...weird."

"Tell me about it," Mom said. "If you need anything, let me know. I've been there."

"Was it hard for you?"

"That's an understatement." I laughed, eyeing mom. Sam shot me a look, and I rolled my eyes.

"We made you something, Ava," Jack said standing up.

"Oh you did?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You guys didn't have to," Ava said, her cheeks heating up. Fuck she is so cute.

"I'll get it, Jackie," Eleanor said, going back to the kitchen. She pulled out a chocolate cake with the words Welcome Home Mom written on them. She sat it on the table. "It's a little wonky, but we made it."

Ava stood up and walked to the cake. "El, it looks amazing! I can't believe you two made this for me!" She looked genuinely happy, her lips curling up into a smile. She opened her arms for Nel and Jack to curl into a hug. Both kids smiled ear to ear.

This was what my life was supposed to be like. Birthday’s. Anniversary's. We were supposed to be happy. Sam laughed. "Let me grab the cake knife."

"We have a cake knife?" I asked.

"Of course, Dean. We need the correct utensil in order to keep the cake together. It may fall apart if you use the wrong one," Cas said, as if he was some baking genius.

They cut the cake, and Ava took a scoop of icing and stuck it to Eleanor's nose. Both girls laughed, and if Sam hadn't gotten between them they would've had an all out food war. How was I supposed to let all of this go? How was I supposed to go into the middle of the ocean now that she was back? I didn't have the answers, and it didn't really matter. There was no choice.

I went to do the dishes and Mom met me. "So..."

"So what?" I asked her, handing her a dish to dry.

"She's very pretty, Dean."

"She is."

"It's obvious that she loves you."

"And I love her." I glanced at her. "What are you getting at?"

"You haven't told her about the coffin."

I groaned and threw the dishes back in the sink. "Can you not start? I'm already getting it from all angles. I really don't need the extra heat."

"She's your wife, Dean."

"I know that. You don't think I know that? This wasn't a part of the plan," I hissed.

"Hey, does anyone want any more cake? I think Nel is gonna be sick if she has anymore." Ava laughed, coming into the kitchen.

"Nah, Sweetheart, I think we're good." I opened my arms to her and she walked right into them. She snaked an arm around my waist.

"Hey, I was going to ask. Where's John? I figured he'd be joining us."

Mom straightened up a bit and clasped her hands.

"Ave... Sorry I didn't know how to tell you."

"Fuck." She covered her mouth. "When?"

"A few years ago," I sighed. "Werewolf case. They got the jump on him."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Mom said, weakly. "We all have our time in this world. Some of us get a few times. We just have to take what we get and not live with regrets." She turned directly to me. "So you should be with the person you love as long as you can. You never know when they'll be taken from you." She forced a smile. "I'm tired. I think I'll go to bed."

I let Ava go so I could hug Mom. "Night."

"Tell her," Mom whispered against my ear, just low enough for me to hear.

  Ava 

We fluffed the pillows on the bed, adjusting it for sleep. The silence was so thick I could've reached out and touched it. "Dean?"

"Mhm?"

I turned to him, holding my pillow against my chest. "When were you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?" He asked, his voice strained. He already knew.

"About Micheal."

He sighed, resting his palms on the bed, his head hanging low. "Who told you?"

"Eleanor. She's terrified."

"Ratted out by my own kid."

"She shouldn't have to keep your secrets, Dean. Especially not from me." I hugged the pillow tighter. "You shouldn't keep anything from me."

"I knew you'd want to talk me out of it."

"Of course I do! What the fuck are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that the world can't have an A Bomb dropped on it, Ave."

"That's always the answer, isn't it?"

He sighed and sat down. He put his face in his hands. "You know I don't want to do this."

I walked around the bed and sat next to him. "But you're still going to do it, aren't you?"

He was silent. That was enough of an answer for me.

"I can't believe you... actually.. I can. You haven't changed at all." I gripped the sheets in my hands, trying not to explode. "So you're going to leave me, and your daughter?"

"I have to."

"You don't! You'll find a way... we will! We always do. It's our charm."

"Sweetheart, you've been gone a long time. We have played all the cards we have. There's no more left."

"Stop calling me fucking Sweetheart! I refuse to be complacent just because I love you," I snapped. I squatted in front of him with my hands on his knees.

He stroked my cheek, smiling sadly at me. His eyes looked so green, I could drown in them. They were like the grass right after it rained. "We keep taking turns... it's my turn to go this time."

"You're fucking crazy if you think I'm saying goodbye to you again." My voice was strained. "Dean Winchester, I will not say goodbye to you again. So if you go in that coffin I hope you're prepared for me to climb in with you."

Dean sighed and pressed his lips to my forehead. "Ave, you can't. Nellie needs you. You're so much stronger than I am. She needs her mom. She's always needed her mom."

"I won't accept this."

"Well, you will be two peas in a pod, because she said she won't either."

"I just got you back." I didn't want to cry. I was a grown ass adult. I should be able to understand, but it didn't mean I had to like it. "We are together. We can finally have our life... I've missed so much." I didn't want to cry, but I didn't have a choice. My eyes spilled over and Dean pulled me into his arms, on his lap.

"I know, baby," he whispered into my hair. "It isn't fair. But not much about my life is fair. I'm just happy I get this. No matter for how long."

"So how long do I have?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

"I didn't sign up for this, Dean."

"Yes you did. You're just angry that you did. You knew who I was when you married me."

"I was full of pregnancy hormones."

"You love me."

"I'm in love with you, Dean. There was no question about if I loved you." A tear rolled down my cheek. "I can't let you do this."

"Try to stop me," he said, seriously. "You won't get far."

  Ella

"Dad?"

He looked up at me from his cup of coffee with a weak smile. "Hey, kiddo."

"I heard you guys fighting," I said, sitting down next to him, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

"I'm sorry, Nel. We didn't want you to hear that."

"It's fine." I smiled and touched his arm. "I feel like it's what having two parents is really like."

He snorted and took another sip of coffee. "You're probably right. Still want you to have the illusion that things are good. That's my job as your dad." He reached forward and touched my nose.

"We were never like that, Dad." I took a sip of my own black coffee, and I made a face. He slid me the creamer. "You know, I used to watch Gilmore Girls when I was younger, and I thought about what having a mom would be like."

"That's the one with the kid that looks like Sam, right?"

I laughed lightly. "Yeah, that's the one. But anyway, I thought about what it'd be like to have a mom... but here's the thing... I never missed out on anything having just you. You painted my toenails, Dad. You braided my hair and listened to me talk about my first kiss. I never missed out."

"Thanks, kid, but I'm not sure where you're going with this."

"Where I'm going... Dad, listen. I know you think that me having her here is going to fix everything. I thought that, too, but I won't let you use her as an excuse to go into that coffin." I took his hand in mine. "She can't replace you. No one can."

"Eleanor." Dad put His finger under my chin. "I don't want you to worry. I love you."

"I know you do. That's the problem."

"How could that ever be a problem?"

"You spend so much time loving us that you forget to love yourself."

"Wise beyond your years, kid." His fingers left my face and he stared down at his muddled reflection in his coffee. "But it doesn't matter. Because I do love you. I love you, Sam, Cas, Jack, Claire, and fuck I love your mom so much more than myself... so I have to do this. I can't let Micheal out of my head. I can't let him hurt the people I love."

I reached forward and touched his temple. "Maybe I can hurt him."

"No. No way."

"I pulled you out.. maybe I can lock him in."

"I won't let you get anywhere near him, Eleanor." He went to push my hand away, but I swung my other hand up to touch his other temple and despite his resistance, I was in.

"Sorry, Dad," I murmured. "But it isn't up to you."

—————

Chapter Twelve, While You Were Asleep

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[pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles]

Colour Me In (Part 7)

Calum had his head down and earbuds in when he slid into the booth at the coffee shop. Eliza was supposed to meet him here so they could plan a strategy for dinner with her family. They had two days until Calum had to meet her mother, and he was dreading it.

A flash of movement across from him caught his attention and he looked up, his smile turning to a look of confusion, not recognizing the girl sitting in the booth.

“Nice to meet you Calum,” she signed as she spoke the amusement clear on her face.

“Maggie?” He blurted out as he recognized her from countless photos Eliza had shown him. The sisters had similar features. Both round faced, with full lips and slightly wide set eyes, but Maggie was thinner and taller which accentuated her high cheekbones and long neck. Where Eliza's eyes were gold flecked topaz, Maggie's were burning obsidian. Her hair was cut short, with springy dark curls escaping the white bandana she wore pin up girl style. She talked fast, rapid fire, with the ability to sign almost as fast as she spoke.

Maggie explained, “I knew Eliza would run late, and I wanted to meet you without my sister around. I think it’s  terribly unfair Kevin got to meet you first, but considering he basically busted you that wasn’t your choice really. Still. I can’t believe I’ve had to wait this long.  Eliza’s gonna be pissed when she gets here, but I don’t care. I’ve heard way too much about you, and I  had to make my own decision. I know you’re coming to dinner to meet our mother, and yes I know your scared, and yes, you probably should be. Do you know you're  the first adult boyfriend that either of us have brought home to meet the family? Eliza is not going to be able to help you. She’s going to be an absolute nervous wreck, even though mom goes so much easier on her, out of guilt or whatever.”

Calum felt breathless just listening to her, and then she stopped narrowing her eyes at him and Calum almost laughed out loud, “whatever it is, just ask Maggie” he told her. Her eyes went wide with shock.

“Your sister makes the same face when she's about to ask me something she doesn't think I'll like,” he told her and she sat back with a grin.

“Ok fine, what do you want from my sister? Why Eliza? What's your deal?” Maggie leaned forward looking him dead in the eye as she spoke, still smiling but not quite as friendly.

Calum didn't flinch or hesitate, “Eliza is the first girl I've met who likes me for who I am not what I do. She has no agenda or ulterior motive. She's not chasing fame or clout, not trying to break into the music business, or anything like that. She's just beautiful and smart and clever and looking more pissed than I've ever seen her.”

Eliza stormed up to the table greeting Calum briefly with a kiss before turning to her sister. Calum was instantly lost as they started arguing. They seemed to talk in code, using multiple languages and using a form of shorthand ASL developed just between them. This went on for a minute until Maggie told her they were being rude to Calum and Eliza turned back to him apologizing. Calum shook his head and kissed her, pulling her into the booth next to him.

“Don't be sorry, that was interesting to watch,” he signed, not yet confident in his abilities yet.

Maggie nodded in approval, she already preferred Calum to her sister's last ex, Patrick, who knew how to sign when he met her but always acted like it was such a hassle. Calum watched her so intently, trying to learn every movement and nuance. They were so obviously smitten, Maggie was thrilled to see her sister so happy.

“Mom's going to eat you alive” she told Calum, breaking the spell. Eliza glared at her and she repeated herself.

“Mom's going to take one look at you two love birds and go in on you. Who are your parents? What exactly do you do? Did you finish school? What is your relationship to God?” Maggie mocked her mother's sharp almost unplaceable accent. “Lucky for both of you,” she continued in her own voice, “I have a plan.”

“First of all I'm personally inviting Duke because I want to meet him, and Mom is a sucker for dogs. As for you Calum, you need a haircut and wear a long sleeved button up. Mom's not a fan of tattoos and she knows you have them, but you don't have to have them out right away.” Calum glanced at Eliza when Maggie stopped for breath. She nodded at him, annoyed but clearly in agreement.

“What else Maggie?” Calum grinned at her. “Tell me all the secrets I need to know.”

Calum rang the doorbell, his heart racing and in his throat. He'd followed Maggie's instructions arriving with bakery fresh box of Beatriz's favorite cookies,  and Duke.  Maggie managed to beat Eliza to the door, greeting them enthusiastically before taking Duke from Calum. Oliver came barreling into the room almost tripping Eliza. The sisters introduced their step brother Alex, who played bass guitar in jazz band at school, and was quite starstruck with Calum in the house.

“I'd love to see you play sometime, Maggie told me you were really good,” Calum shook his hand and Alex beamed, nodding like a bobblehead.

“So you're Calum Hood,” Beatriz came into the room behind him, “I'm glad I get to finally meet you.” Calum noticed the slight emphasis on finally as he turned to face her.

He almost giggled at how tiny she was, shorter than Eliza and more slender than Maggie, but she radiated strength and Calum understood why her daughters were so intimidated.

“Thank you for welcoming me into your home, Mrs,” Calum was interrupted

“Beatriz is fine,” she told him.

“Miss Beatriz,” Calum finished, “I'd like you to meet Duke.” Calum clicked his tongue and Duke came scurrying over trailed by Oliver. Duke sat right at Beatriz's feet his head tilted up patiently waiting to be acknowledged. When she bent down to pet him he flopped onto his back for a belly rub, and Cal relaxed a bit when she chuckled and played with Duke for a second.

When she stood up she noticed Calum reassuring Eliza that he was fine, just nervous.

Eliza had told her he was learning ASL, which Beatriz wanted to see for herself. He was still very clumsy, but he was trying.

He'd brought her favorite cinnamon cookies, so he was getting advice from Maggie. That her youngest daughter, so fiercely protective of her sister, was taking such a shine to Calum intrigued her. She watched for a minute as Maggie and Alex both peppered Calum with questions about the zoo trip.

Calum was getting flustered between his nerves and trying to remember all the signs for the animals without and Maggie going too fast for him.

“Acalme-se” she snapped signing calm down at the same time, “he's just got here let him breathe. Thank you for the cookies Calum, they'll go perfectly with my tea before bed tonight. I hope you can handle spicy food?”

“Yes Miss Beatriz” speaking slowly so he could find the words with his fingers. Maggie had made him practice, but he was sure he was blushing. It felt so much more awkward in front of her family, they were all so much better at it. “I can eat just about anything, and Eliza has told me what a great cook you are.”

“Really?” Beatriz was unimpressed with compliments, “what did she say her favorite dish was?”

She glanced up expecting him to freeze but he turned to Eliza “how do you say, the fish, salt, potatoes, onions,?”

“Bacalhau a Bras?” Maggie asked, knowing from her mom's face Calum was scoring points.

Calum nodded “I think so, I've only seen it in text.” He glanced at Eliza who was being oddly  

quiet.

Eliza thought she was going to faint at any minute, and was concentrating on acting calm. The second Calum walked in holding Duke her heart had exploded and she hadn't caught her breath yet. He'd gotten a haircut but left the top long enough to still have the dark curls she loved. He was wearing a white button up contrasting against his tan throat where he'd left only the top button undone, tucked into tight black dress trousers that fit in all the right ways. Eliza kept thinking back to what was underneath his clothes, and it was distracting her completely. Thank God Maggie never shut up, and she and Calum hit it off immediately.

“What's gotten into you girl,” Beatriz pulled Eliza aside. “He's doing just fine, why are you sweating?”

“I just wanted you to like him Mama,” she responded her hands shaky.

“I haven't made up my mind yet, but he's doing well so far. Having this little guy at my feet doesn't hurt.” They looked down to Duke parked patiently in front of Beatriz's shoes, as if he'd known her for ages.

“It's a good opening move” Eliza laughed, relaxing.

They sat down to eat starting with caldo Verde a Portuguese soup made from onions, potatoes and kale, cooked with garlic and olive oil served with cornbread. After that he was served olives and cheeses, bolinhos de bacalhau, salted cod and potato fritters fried golden brown with fresh lime, spicy shrimp skewers and finally Arroz de Pato, duck meat simmered in rice with brandy, peppers and spices.

Calum loved all of it and tried to keep up with the conversation. “So you're still close to your parents?” Beatriz asked him and he nodded, “I'm surprised they let you leave home so young.. Eliza told me you were what? Sixteen?” She was clearly shocked that his parents had let him leave home at such a young age. He sensed her disapproval, and Maggie had warned him this would happen. He fought back the urge to get defensive.

“It was really difficult at times,” he admitted “and I made some really dumb mistakes, but I'm glad my parents let me make those mistakes because I learned more from my failures than my success” Calum answered and Beatriz nodded. Maggie winked at him and Eliza smiled, he was holding his own.

“What is your relationship with God?” Beatriz asked him but he was already prepared.

“It's a work in progress, I wasn't raised religious but I'm learning a lot from Eliza and I've been reading more. I think it's something that takes a lifetime to truly know.” Calum hoped that was enough and she just nodded not satisfied but not willing to press at the moment.

Maggie told Calum about the internship she had applied for. It was at the U.N. and would take her to New York for six weeks in the summer. She'd gotten top honors at her last two debate tournaments and even had a letter of recommendation from a retired US senator, so she was feeling pretty confident.

Her step brother Alex interrupted asking Calum for advice on music and being in a band which irritated Eliza. Calum thought it was cute, he saw himself in Alex and invited him to come to rehearsal in a few weeks.

Beatriz watched Calum handle the questions, frequently having to turn to Eliza to ask how to say something, but she noticed her daughter could often answer before she was asked. The way he only had to lightly touch her wrist to get her attention, the way she leaned into him to watch his lips move, it was easy to see how captivated they were by each other and how comfortable they were being close.

Beatriz hated to admit she liked Calum and how happy her daughter looked in his presence. She didn't trust him, not yet at least, he was in a rock band, left home way too young, and has done God knows what with God knows who. She was unsure of his moral foundation although his close family ties and the way he spoke of his parents with nothing but love and respect was a plus. He had patience and determination, one didn't succeed in the music business without both. Calum was kind and sincere, he didn't talk unnecessarily trying to lay on the charm or give empty compliments.

“I do hope you'll come again for dinner soon Calum,” Beatriz told him as they were enjoying their after dinner coffee and biscuits.

“Anytime Miss Beatriz” he replied.

“Ah good, let's say two weeks. My husband will be back in town and he's been wanting me to make chorizo. The girls won't eat it because I've raised them their father's way and I always make too much. We'll invite Kevin, maybe you bring a friend.” Beatriz clapped her hands and Maggie laughed.

She leaned over and whispered to Calum “I don't know whether you should laugh or cry,” Calum just grinned, food drunk and happy, he squeezed Eliza's hand earning him a kiss on the cheek, a reward for when he got something down perfectly.

@kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @wildhearthood @cal-puddies @biba3434 @calumh-excess @babygirlcashton @angelbabylu @itstheholls @5sos-ficssmut @cal-pal-cuddles @1dthewantedlove @calteahood

[wanderingtrash]

Unfair Affair - Part 7

A/N: Thank you all so much for your ideas, I've considered almost all of them! Enjoy!

**

It was Friday.

Friday and every morning for the past week she had been throwing up every morning. Her nausea seemed to only worsen.

The worst part if it being that she also had trouble eating certain types of food. She couldn't stand the smell of kale. She had missed work 2 days because the smell of the sterilized clinic made her feel sick.

She had an appointment with her Gynocologist that day. She wanted to see what was wrong because quite frankly she was miserable. Sitting in the waiting room for her name to be called (Y/N) picked at her nails. The atmosphere was cold and there were only 2 pregnant ladies with her reading gossip magazines. And a TV playing a news channle softly.

The anxiousness was sending an ache in her stomach. Or maybe it was the smell of hand sanitizer and cleaning products that the clinic smelled like. Either way it made her sick.

Eva had insisted on coming with her to the appointment but (Y/N) simply told her no. Telling her that it was probably nothing and that it was useless to miss a day of work over it. Ben had offered as well. But (Y/N) told him no as well. Ben had been so great to her and she didn't want to bug him. Not with someting as little as a stomach ache.

A nurse walked out the door which made (Y/N) look up. She carried a clip board and her red hair was tied back in a tight bun. "Ms. (Y/N)?" She called out in a soft voice. (Y/N) stood up grabbing her purse and papers she had been told to fill out. She followed the nurse in the corridor until she was lead to a room. "Let's check your blood pressure and weight Honey, step on this scale for me." She asked.

(Y/N) nodded and followed with the procedure. She was kind of shocked to find out she had gained 2 pounds considering she was regularly maintained healthy options in her eating. She hadn't even eaten much, mostly because her stomach rejected nearly everything she ate.

Once the procedure was over the nurse finished filling out the paper she had on her clipboard and hummed to herself. "When was your last period Sweetheart?" The nurse asked finally.

(Y/N) froze. When was the last time she had her period? She couldn't remember.

"Umm. I believe it was the beggining of last month." (Y/N) nervously said.

The nurse nodded and wrote it down. "Okay, the Doctor will be in with you shortly, I'll take your papers and update your file with them." The nurse told her with a comforting smile.

"Yeah, thank you." Was all (Y/N) could say before the nurse exited the room. Leaving (Y/N) with all the posters about health and charts.

(Y/N) felt like her heart was going to explode. It had been a while since she had, had her period. But then again she had also changed her type of birth control and that triggered irregular menstrual cycle patterns.

She was so deep in thought that she completly lost track of time. The Doctor knocked on the door as he opened it and (Y/N) didn't even flinch.

"Ms.(Y/N)?" He asked im a rough voice. Once (Y/N) looked up she was met with an elderly man. His white hair sticking out and his glasses resting on his face.

"I'm sorry." (Y/N) blushed in embarrassment. "Just have a lot of things on my mind at the moment."

"I would guess so." The Doctor said sticking his hand out for (Y/N) to shake. "Dr. Florenz, nice to meet you" He greeted.

(Y/N) nodded and weakly smiled at him. "(Y/N), nice to meet you as well."

"So what seems to be the problem?" Dr. Florenz asked pulling a wheel stool seat in front of her to sit on.

(Y/N) swolled a lump that had formed in her throat. "Well for the past week I've been experiencing nausea. I can't keep anything down at all. I can barely eat eggs without my stomach just rejecting it. I work at a Cancer Patients hospital, we use equipment and medicine that smells, strongly smells. And I've missed nearly this whole week of work because I can't stand the smell. Just the odor of the hospital makes me sick." (Y/N) answered him with a worried tone. She was scared. More so because she had an idea of what was wrong with her. But she refused to believe it.

Dr. Florenz nodded and pursed his lips together. "(Y/N) I'm going to ask a personal question that I want you to answer honestly." He said seriously. (Y/N) nodded and waited as he hesitantly spoke.

"Have you been sexually active in the last month?"

"Y-yes I have."

"I think I may have an idea of what you might have Ms. (Y/N). We're going to run a blood test on you just to make sure. The blood results take a few days to come back so we won't know until then. You've changed thr type of birth control you've been taking as you have told us. That explains the menstrual cycle irregularities and the nausea. But we need to make sure before we take any more measures." Dr. Florenz stated standing up from the stool and walking over to type on the lap top that was in the room.

(Y/N)'s face had looked like it was drained of any emotion. She never seemed go be able to get rid of Harry. She never seemed to get rid of anything that reminded her of Harry.

What the fuck am I going to do?

**

(Y/N) walked out of the clinic soon after her blood test was done. They kept her there for a little while longer wanting to make sure she was okay to go home.

She pulled out her phone as she walked to her car and unlocked it. She pressed on Eva's contact name and called her. She should've been on her lunch break at that time.

After 2 rings Eva finally answered. "Hello?" She asked in her usual happy voice.

"Eva" (Y/N) answered worried.

"(Y/N) what's wrong? What did they tell you?"

"I might be pregnant Eva." She answered softly. Her voice fading with each word.

"What?" Eva whispered back to her harshly. "(Y/N) what do you mean pregnant?"

(Y/N) unlocked her car and got in. Slamming the door shut. She leaned her head back amd covered her eyes with her arm but kept the phone on her ear. "Pregnant Eva! I might be pregnant with Harry's baby!"

Eva looks around the break room area for amy signs of Ben. "Oh (Y/N) what are you going to do? Whag about Ben?" She whispered.

"I don't know Eva. I just, I can only hope that I'm not pregnant. There's still a possibility that I'm not." Depsite everything (Y/N) still had hope. Maybe it was her just wanting for it not to be true but hope was still there. Her and Harry had used condoms and she was always sure to stay on the pill.

"I'm sorry Babe, hey I'll go over to your place after my shift yeah? We can talk about it there in privacy. Don't stress about it now. Relax." Eva reassured.

"Yeah, you're right. Listen, I'll call you later. I'm going to try and get some errands done while I can. Might occupy my mind." (Y/N) said looking up to the entrance of the clinic.

She widened her eyes at what she saw. Two figures walked in. Their hands clapsed together and the women's head on the guys' shoulder as they walked. They looked happy as ever. The women sporting a bump.

The oh so familiar guy laughing.

Harry and Gwen

She parked near the building but was hidden from a couple of cars. So she hoped Harry wouldn't recognize her car or her.

(Y/N) didn't even hear what Gwen said as she hung up the phone. Out of all the places they had to chose her Gynocologist clinic? Out if all the fucking places. She breathed a shaky breath and just hoped she would never have to run into them in person. That's a circus act no one would want to see.

She glanced at them one last time as the disappeared in the building. Before pulling out of the parking space and driving away.

She was torn, if she was pregnant Harry had a right to know. Who was she to deny her child a father figure in it's life? The question being would Harry want to be in their life.

Of course he would, Harry is a lot of things but he isn't a low life dad.

Right?

**

Ben's shift was over. He was planning on going over to (Y/N)'s house to see her. He was realky concerned about her latley. She had told him that she wasn't feeling good and he hadn't had time to call her and ask her how her appointment went.

Just as Ben was getting ready to get into his car he was met by the petite woman standing by it.

"Ben!" She gasped out and ran to him. Her hair was a bit messy and she looked like she's been waiting for him, for a while.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"Ben I need to talk to you" She said with a smirk on her lips.

"Okay, about what?" He asked fixing his sweater and zipping it up. He really wanted to go see (Y/N) so he was a bit impatient to get the conversation over with.

"Ben, how about we go over to my house amd talk? It's a long story. But it's something (Y/N) has been hiding from you. Something you need to know. She doesn't care about you Ben. Not like I do. She's been playing with you and I, as a friend want you to see who she really is."

Ben frowned as he looked at her. "What do you mean she's lying to me? You're confusing me. How can you just all of a sudden start telling me this?

"(Y/N)'s pregnant Ben...with CEO of Styles Enterprises Harry Styles' baby. She's been lying to you." The woman said crossing her arms. "But there's much more than that. Let's go somewhere private. Look I know it's hard to believe but I have proof. She's money hungry, so she's got the bag secured with that baby."

Ben looked at her speechless. That man was a multi billionaire. And wasn't he married? Surely (Y/N) would never do something like that. She wasn't that type of person.

How did (Y/N) meet such a high end man any ways?

"Okay, um I'll drive us there. So your place then Eva?"

[myaekingheart]

I had just about the most fucked up night’s sleep last night, so of course my dumb ass had fucked up dreams to match. 

For context, I fell asleep at 8pm which never happens, woke back up around 11pm, tried to fall back asleep for an hour before realizing it was useless, tossed and turned in misery and boredom on my phone with my fiance backed up against me on one side and my cat backed up against me on the other so I had damn near no room whatsoever, and then ultimately passed out again around 3am, was half-awake around 8am-ish, and then didn’t actually wake up and get out of bed until almost 1pm. 

Yeah. I’m screaming, too.

I can’t remember at what point in my broken sleep that any of these dreams happened, or between which intervals of waking up, so we’re just going to run with it.

The first was that I was in what was meant to be David Bowie’s house. It was a huge house, but not exactly fancy. If anything, it was kind of basic. Kind of reminded me of a childhood friend’s house from kindergarten back in, like, 2002. So just imagine what an ideal big suburban house looked like in 2002 and you’re pretty much there. The most striking part of the house, however, was the staircase. It was really wide and angled with large platforms at each turn. About halfway up there was a tall wall against the front of the house with a massive window and a fat windowsill the perfect size to sit on (though that wasn’t the primary function). And all along the stairwell, straight on the walls, were paintings that David Bowie had done himself. He wasn’t a spectacularly talented painter or anything but the audacity of just painting straight onto the bare white walls of what was likely a very expensive house was super ballsy. I remember I was on one of the platforms of the staircase, laying in what looked like a very cheap, very low-to-the-ground wooden bed. Like envision a homemade doll bed out of planks of wood but size enough for a human woman to fit (not that I’m very tall so it wasn’t even that long and I remember being a little scrunched up anyway). It had a thin little mattress and a thin white sheet that I was covered with, and I was trying to sleep. And David Bowie saw me and inspiration must have struck because he then began to paint me just like this on the wall that I was facing, on the right side of the large window. And again, he wasn’t a spectacularly talented painter so the little thing he did of me was not a masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination. If anything, it looked kind of like the paintings I used to try to do when I was younger with shitty anatomy and wonky facial features. But he was so proud of it, I didn’t dare say anything to damper his happiness. The one thing I did question, however, was why it appeared like my head was poking out of both ends of the blanket. He went on to say that the one “head” was actually my head and the other “head” at where my feet ought to be was actually him trying to include my cat curled up at the end of the bed. Which made sense once I realized that the cat “head” had orange-y brown and white fur like Tex does in real life and my “head” had black hair. 

An interjection real quick just to say that the fact that Tex was laying at my feet in my dream is very accurate because when I woke up at, like, 1am, he was literally laying right between my calves so that I had absolutely zero leg room whatsoever. 

The second dream was the one that got me really upset and fucked up in the head. My fiance and I were in Walmart and we were accompanied by a girl who I knew back in elementary school. She looked exactly the same as she did back then, with long blonde hair down to her ass and bright blue eyes and a certain sense of confidence that was almost condescending. The background of this was that apparently my fiance and I were taking a crack at polyamory and she was the third in our relationship. She was, however, unfortunately extremely controlling. She took over the entire shopping trip and insisted that she control what we bought and what we were going to eat. Some of the contents i remember her grabbing were a plastic container of fresh, pre-cut mixed vegetables (I think it was probably carrots and kale and some other stuff, so basically like a salad mix), a tan cardboard container of a dozen frozen eggs, and clear goose milk in a very fancy glass bottle super similar to a bottle of Sheridan. My fiance went along with it, claiming that we needed to start eating healthier anyway, and he seemed relatively content with this girl’s new role in our life. I, however, was quickly spiraling. I began feeling as if my fiance liked this girl more than he liked me, or that he felt she was better for him than I was or something, and her outward, dominating nature not just in general but around him specifically was just really starting to rub me the wrong way. I started falling behind, dragging my feet through the store, I think I was also hugging the only thing I had a say in getting to my chest as if in an effort to keep my heart from breaking through my ribs and exploding across the fucking linoleum floor. At one point I’m pretty sure my fiance stopped and pulled me aside for a moment alone and asked me what my problem was, and I said something along the lines of this being a mistake and that “I’m too competitive to be in a polyamorous relationship” or something. He kind of expressed a sentiment along the lines of it being too late now or something, and I remember standing in the register line beside my fiance watching this woman ring up all of this stuff that I didn’t want nor was I going to eat and just kind of having an existential crisis about it all. I think at one point I even likened her to the personification of my eating disorder, in a way? Like her being super controlling and telling me what I was and wasn’t allowed to eat and making me feel like I was unworthy and unlovable and not good enough or something. Though there are aspects of the whole thing that don’t actually make any sense in the ED allegory but still, whatever. It was a thing.

Another interjection to note, though, that this also makes a bit of sense in terms of the eating stuff since my ED has been kicking my ass hardcore this week and especially last night because I skipped dinner so I was starving when I woke up in the middle of the night but wasn’t about to get up and get food despite the fact that all I had to eat yesterday was a handful of chocolate chip cookies and a goddamn fucking fruit cup. 

The third and final dream was luckily probably the most uplifting, especially after the polyamory thing. I was at a hotel with my parents, my fiance, and my mother in law. We were packing up to leave, so I remember going through the room and carrying things down to the truck and just the overall back and forth of it. And I remember the staircase up to our room reminded me of my university’s old student union--they had an outdoor staircase encased in brick with a large window that looked out to where the old union used to be. So I remember stopping for a minute there to look out this window and kind of reminisce for a second before going back up. I also remember grabbing my two childhood baby dolls from the nightstand by the bed (which is where I actually keep them in my own bedroom in real life) and thinking to myself that I needed to take extra care with packing them and ensure that I was putting them someplace that was not going to damage them. This was all very basic until I went back into the hotel lobby for another round but suddenly the method was different. The lobby was very big and everything was painted a dingy gray-tan and dark gray-brown and there was crunchy carpet and coffee-colored linoleum and warm aesthetic lighting shining on what looked like some sort of stage even though it was actually further into the ground instead of raised. And there was a winding, walled off ramp leading down toward the “stage” that was filled with a queue of people. The whole thing essentially reminded me of the former version of what is now the Epcot Experience building in Epcot, back when it was tan and kind of rundown and hosted like special booths for Food and Wine or guest services for annual passholders and shit like that. It just overall very much had the same sort of vibes, as well as the same feel as waiting in line for it’s a small world at Disney World just with the way the ramp lead down into the main attraction below. But anyway it turned out that now in order to get back up to my hotel room, I was going to have to wait in this line and brawl the other people there for permission or something? Though this rule also seemed to have zero effect whatsoever on my parents, my mother in law, or even my fiance. It seemed this was only applicable to me. I think I had just come back from standing in line and then going upstairs to cart more of our stuff to the car when I reentered then, and I had only really taken five minutes but in that span of time, the line had grown exponentially. There was also a gate now at the line’s entrance, and a perky blonde girl about my age was standing at a podium tracking everyone who stepped in line. I almost turned around and gave up because I didn’t think it was worth waiting in line, but the girl called me back over and encouraged me to get in line anyway. I walked up to the podium after someone else, who entered after telling her that their number was 17. I guess people had been assigned numbers before they got in line, maybe in an attempt to organize who was going to brawl who or something. Either way, it felt a lot like when you pull numbers at the deli or the DMV. So I walked up to the girl at the podium after the person in front of me was granted entrance and she asked me what my number was. I told her I didn’t have one. She said “Well, what number comes after 17?” and I hesitantly replied “Eighteen...?” which evidently was not the right answer as the girl then started exclaiming about “Why not one??? Why not one?!?!”, though not in an angry way but more like an “incredulous laughter, this is ridiculous” sort of way? And then there was a tanned guy in a neon t-shirt who was way too enthusiastic for his own good, and also kind of buff, who cut his way through the crowd and appeared next to the girl. I suppose he was maintaining the line and calling the next challengers up to the plate or something. He insisted that I was, in fact, number one and then grabbed my wrist and began weaving back through the crowd guiding me to the front of the line. We had to squeeze past a shit ton of people, some of which I remember being extremely fat and insistent on not making room for us to get past, until we reached the very front of the line. He placed me as the third person in line, behind an unidentifiable person in spot one and my best friend’s best friend in spot two. Standing behind me in spot four was my childhood best friend who seemed super confused as to what was going on. She kept looking at me like she was trying to understand a language she didn’t know. And the guy simply explained to her, and this was his exact quote, “Sometimes someone comes along who is faster and stronger.” And my childhood best friend just immediately went “Oh, it was [myaekingheart], wasn’t it?” as if now it all made perfect sense, like no wonder I was the one butting ahead in the line because I was apparently supreme and superior and so it made sense that I was given special treatment and allowed to skip the entire line, though this was not said in a condescending or rude or bothered manner but rather a simple show of ultimate comprehension. But really, the only reason I can think of for my actually getting brought to the front of the line was that I remember it was already nightfall out as we were packing up the car and my dad had mentioned something about needing to get this done quick so we could get a start on the drive back home and be back before it got too late because he had to be up at, like, 3am for work in the morning and I hated the thought of being the reason why he could get hurt at work the next day because of sleep deprivation because I was the one taking too damn long to get a job done. But, like, despite all of this, it was also kind of comforting/reassuring to hear this exchange between this guy and my childhood best friend about my being strong and supreme and shit, especially after the legitimate blow to my self esteem that the weird polyamory dream had on me. 

[featheredskeptic]

Are science and spirituality mutually exclusive?

My answer would be...yes. I’ll explain why in a second. 

However, there are some people who would disagree. I’ll be analyzing an argument by one of these people today.

This is an article by Kalee Brown from collectiveevolution.com claiming that spirituality should be married with science. Let’s see what Brown has to say.

“Quantum physics is verifying what Buddhists and other spiritual practitioners have been saying for years, helping people to accept their inherent spiritual nature all around the world. We are fundamentally connected to everything around us, and science is finally proving that.”

Do you have any peer reviewed studies to back up your claim? No? It would really help prove your case...oh well. I guess they haven’t published the study that proved Nirvana and reincarnation yet. What a shame! It’d be an interesting thing to read!

The next part of the article relies heavily on the Dalai Lama’s opinions. It strikes me as an Appeal to Authority. “Look! The Dalai Lama is a spiritual leader and he says that spirituality can be scientific! You should believe it too!” 

I’ll skip ahead to the next notable thing in the article. Long story short, the Dalai Lama has an interest in science that had started when he was a young adult and he studied it quite a bit. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t seem to have a college degree in the field of physics or quantum physics. 

“About 15-20 years ago at some meeting, the Indian physicist Raja Ramanna told me that he had been reading Nagarjuna and that he’d been amazed to find that much of what he had to say corresponded to what he understood of quantum physics. A year ago at Presidency College in Kolkata the Vice-Chancellor Prof S Bhattacharya mentioned that according to quantum physics nothing exists objectively, which again struck me as corresponding to Chittamatrin and Madhyamaka views, particularly Nagarjuna’s contention that things only exist by way of designation.”

Nothing exists objectively? Let me find more about this quote.

The first results I see are all about the Dalai Lama and spirituality. I don’t have a good feeling about this. Who is this Vice-Chancellor anyway?

I’m seeing a lot of economics and not a whole lot about physics. It’s almost as if someone wanted to use the words of a person with credibility in another subject to mislead people into believing something...

“What the Dalai Lama is recognizing is that the ancient knowledge within these Buddhist texts is now being proven by quantum physics. Physicists are actually catching up to what these texts revealed centuries ago, but only now can it be verified by more modern science.”

I looked through Google Scholar to see if any peer reviewed studies confirming science proves knowledge found in ancient Buddists texts, but most of the articles I found don’t seem too relevant.

One article requires me to pay money to see the rest of it. Darn.

I’ll go ahead and take a look at its references to see if I can get more information.

So far, this is starting to look biased. Most of the other references are based on philosophy and religion. You can take a look for yourself if you’d like. I should have expected that from an article by the Journal of Religion and Science. 

The next one I found is an excerpt from a book talking about the war between psuedoscience and science.

Nothing about proof for Buddhism here. 

Maybe I’m not searching hard enough. Or maybe spirituality through quantum physics is pseudoscience that doesn’t fully understand quantum mechanics at all.

Sorry. I shouldn’t attack this ideology just yet. After all, I haven’t even gotten to the lesson on quantum physics! Let’s learn more about quantum physics as explained by Kalee Brown.

“Quantum physicists discovered that physical atoms are made up of vortices of energy that are constantly spinning and vibrating, each one radiating its own unique energy signature. Therefore, if we really want to observe ourselves and find out what we are, we must recognize we are really beings of energy and vibration, radiating our own unique energy signature.”

Unique energy signature? 

Hmmm...

“If you focused in closer on the structure of the atom, you would see nothing, a literal void. The atom has no physical structure, thus we have no physical structure, and physical things really don’t have any physical structure! Atoms are made out of invisible energy, not tangible matter.”

Classic composition/division fallacy. This would be as logical as a child believing they were invisible because atoms are invisible. Just because things are made of atoms doesn’t mean every physical thing has all of the qualities of atoms. Nice try though.

“Physicists are being forced to admit that the universe is a “mental” construction. Pioneering physicist Sir James Jeans wrote: “The stream of knowledge is heading toward a non-mechanical reality; the universe begins to look more like a great thought than like a great machine. Mind no longer appears to be an accidental intruder into the realm of matter, we ought rather hail it as the creator and governor of the realm of matter.” “

Here is the rest of the paragraph- and the article, if you’re interested.

The 1925 discovery of quantum mechanics solved the problem of the Universe’s nature. Bright physicists were again led to believe the unbelievable — this time, that the Universe is mental. According to Sir James Jeans: “the stream of knowledge is heading towards a non-mechanical reality; the Universe begins to look more like a great thought than like a great machine. Mind no longer appears to be an accidental intruder into the realm of matter... we ought rather hail it as the creator and governor of the realm of matter.” But physicists have not yet followed Galileo’s example, and convinced everyone of the wonders of quantum mechanics. As Sir Arthur Eddington explained: “It is difficult for the matter-of-fact physicist to accept the view that the substratum of everything is of mental character.”

I wonder why that part in particular was left out. What a predicament!

“Quantum physics has also shown that the present can change the past, that time is an illusion, and that an after-life exists. Quantum mechanics is essentially the science of consciousness and spirituality, proving just how connected we are to everything in existence, which is all an illusion.”

I’m not a physicist, but I’m PRETTY SURE there’s no scientific proof that a person can literally change the past and an afterlife exists. From my research, quantum physics has nothing to do with spirituality or consciousness and you’re just making things up to sound smart to the people who don’t cross reference or evaluate bogus claims. 

I’m getting a little bitter again. Sorry about that!

The article ends with a link to Collective Evolution’s take on quantum physics and a quote by Neil deGrasse Tyson that was probably taken out of context.

“The atoms of our bodies are traceable to stars that manufactured them in their cores and exploded these enriched ingredients across our galaxy, billions of years ago. For this reason, we are biologically connected to every other living thing in the world. We are chemically connected to all molecules on Earth. And we are atomically connected to all atoms in the universe. We are not figuratively, but literally stardust.”

The only source they give is goodreads.com , which I’m guessing isn’t the original source. I can’t find the quote in context, but here’s an article where Neil deGrasse Tyson talks about how science and faith are compatible. Whoops.

TLDR; spirituality through quantum physics falls apart once someone does their research and evaluates claims that seem too good to be true. There’s no science backing up this belief system and filling the gaps in our knowledge with spiritual beliefs isn’t scientific at all.

[funface2]

101 Funny Quotes — Hilarious Quotes to Make You Laugh – Parade

Whether it’s a play on words, a funny observation about everyday things or old witty sayings, comedy has a way of making us realize we’re all going through the same stuff in this crazy life. These funny quotes about work, love, friends and family will have you saying, “So true!” because, well, they are. Others will have you remembering hilarious, meme-worthy movie and TV moments.

Take a much-needed break from your day to check out the 101 funniest quotes we found in stand-up comedy, books, plays, celebrity Twitter and interviews, as well as movies and TV shows, guaranteed to give you a quick chuckle. 

1. “I’m sick of following my dreams, man. I’m just going to ask where they’re going and hook up with ’em later.” —Mitch Hedberg

2. “Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here. This is the war room.” —President Merkin Muffley (Peter Sellers), Dr. Strangelove

3. “My mother always used to say: The older you get, the better you get, unless you’re a banana.” —Rose (Betty White), The Golden Girls

4. “Halloween is the beginning of the holiday shopping season. That’s for women. The beginning of the holiday shopping season for men is Christmas Eve.” —David Letterman

5. “Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you criticize them, you are a mile away from them and you have their shoes.” —Jack Handey

6. Bob: “Looks like you’ve been missing a lot of work lately.” Peter: “I wouldn’t say I’ve been missing it, Bob.” —Bob (Paul Wilson) and Peter (Ron Livingston), Office Space

7. “Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence in society.” —Mark Twain

8. “Before you marry a person, you should first make them use a computer with slow Internet to see who they really are.” —Will Ferrell

9. “I love being married. It’s so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.” —Rita Rudner

10. “Ned, I would love to stand here and talk with you—but I’m not going to.” —Phil Connors (Bill Murray), Groundhog Day

11. “When your mother asks, ‘Do you want a piece of advice?’ it is a mere formality. It doesn’t matter if you answer yes or no. You’re going to get it anyway.” —Erma Bombeck

12. “I want my children to have all the things I couldn’t afford. Then I want to move in with them.” —Phyllis Diller

13. “Never follow anyone else’s path. Unless you’re in the woods and you’re lost and you see a path. Then by all means follow that path.” —Ellen DeGeneres

14. “Insomnia sharpens your math skills because you spend all night calculating how much sleep you’ll get if you’re able to ‘fall asleep right now.’” —Anonymous

15. “Breaking up is like knocking over a Coke machine. You can’t do it in one push; you got to rock it back and forth a few times, and then it goes over.” —Jerry (Jerry Seinfeld), Seinfeld

16. “I’m not superstitious, but I am a little stitious.” —Michael Scott (Steve Carrell), The Office

17. “I walk around like everything’s fine, but deep down, inside my shoe, my sock is sliding off.” —Anonymous

18. “I haven’t spoken to my wife in years. I didn’t want to interrupt her.” —Rodney Dangerfield

19. “I used to sell furniture for a living. The trouble was, it was my own.” —Les Dawson

20. “There’s nothing wrong with you that an expensive operation can’t prolong.” —Surgeon (Graham Chapman), Monty Python’s Flying Circus

21. “Someone asked me, if I were stranded on a desert island what book would I bring: ‘How to Build a Boat.’” —Steven Wright

22. Ted Striker: “Surely you can’t be serious.” Dr. Rumack: “I am serious. And don’t call me Shirley” —Ted Striker (Robert Hays) and Dr. Rumack (Leslie Nielsen), Airplane!

23.“There is no sunrise so beautiful that it is worth waking me up to see it.” ―Mindy Kaling, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?

24. “You know you’ve reached middle age when you’re cautioned to slow down by your doctor, instead of by the police.” —Joan Rivers

25. “Truth hurts. Maybe not as much as jumping on a bicycle with a seat missing, but it hurts.” —Lt. Frank Drebin (Leslie Nielsen), Naked Gun 2½: The Smell of Fear

26. “My Mama says that alligators are ornery because they got all them teeth and no toothbrush.” —Bobby Boucher (Adam Sandler), The Waterboy

27. “I never feel more alone than when I’m trying to put sunscreen on my back.” —Jimmy Kimmel

28. “Marriage is like an unfunny, tense version of Everybody Loves Raymond, but it doesn’t last 22 minutes. It lasts forever.” —Pete (Paul Rudd), Knocked Up

29. “Being a mom means never buying the right amount of produce. Either everyone suddenly loves grapes and a week’s worth are eaten in one afternoon, or fruit flies are congregating around my rotting bananas.” —Lessons from the Minivan

30. “I’m not insane. My mother had me tested.” —Sheldon Cooper (Jim Parsons), The Big Bang Theory

31. “There are only three ages for women in Hollywood: babe, district attorney and Driving Miss Daisy.” —Elise (Goldie Hawn), The First Wives Club

32. Usher: “Bride or groom?” Wedding guest: “It should be perfectly obvious I’m neither!” —Four Weddings and a Funeral

33. Stan Fields: “Describe your perfect date.” Cheryl: “That’s a tough one. I’d have to say April 25. Because it’s not too hot and not too cold. All you need is a light jacket.” —Stan Fields (William Shatner) and Cheryl Frasier (Heather Burns), Miss Congeniality

34. “I saw a study that said speaking in front of a crowd is considered the number one fear of the average person. Number two was death. This means to the average person, if you have to be at a funeral, you would rather be in the casket than doing the eulogy.” —Jerry Seinfeld

35. Lucy: “There’s just two things keeping me from dancing in that show.” Fred: “Your feet?” —Lucy (Lucille Ball) and Fred Mertz (William Frawley), I Love Lucy

36. “Common sense is like deodorant. The people who need it most never use it.” —Anonymous

37. Coach: “How’s a beer sound, Norm?” Norm: “I don’t know, I usually finish before they get a word in.” —Coach (Nicholas Colasanto) and Norm (George Wendt), Cheers

38. “If I woke up tomorrow with my head sewn to the carpet, I wouldn’t be more surprised.” —Clark Griswold (Chevy Chase), National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation

39.“There’s nothing simpler than avoiding people you don’t like. Avoiding one’s friends, that’s the real test.” —Dowager Countess Violet Crawley (Maggie Smith), Downton Abbey

40. “If I’m not back in five minutes, just wait longer.” —Ace Ventura (Jim Carrey), Ace Ventura: Pet Detective

41. “The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize.” —Clairee Belcher (Olivia Dukakis), Steel Magnolias

42. “I’m at a place in my life when errands are starting to count as going out.” —Anonymous

43. “A good rule to remember for life is that when it comes to plastic surgery and sushi, never be attracted by a bargain.” —Graham Norton

44. “I’m not good at the advice. Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment?” —Chandler (Matthew Perry), Friends

45. “Here’s all you have to know about men and women: Women are crazy, men are stupid. And the main reason women are crazy is that men are stupid.” —George Carlin

46. “When I’m in social situations, I always hold onto my glass. It makes me feel comfortable and secure and I don’t have to shake hands.” —Larry (Larry David), Curb Your Enthusiasm

47. “As you get older, three things happen. The first is your memory goes, and I can’t remember the other two.” —Sir Norman Wisdom

48. “That’s why New York is so great, though. Everyone you care about can despise you and you can still find a bagel so good, nothing else matters. Who needs love when you’ve got lox? They both stink, but only one tastes good.” —Midge Maisel (Rachel Brosnahan), The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

49. “Here’s some advice: At a job interview, tell them you’re willing to give 110 percent. Unless the job is a statistician.” —Adam Gropman

50. “Does it disturb anyone else that ‘The Los Angeles Angels’ baseball team translates directly to ‘The The Angels Angels’?” —Neil DeGrasse Tyson

51. “I never forget a face—but in your case, I’ll be glad to make an exception.” —Groucho Marx

52. “Here’s something to think about: How come you never see a headline like ‘Psychic Wins Lottery’?” —Jay Leno

53. “A day without sunshine is like, you know, night.” —Steve Martin

54. “My therapist told me the way to achieve true inner peace is to finish what I start. So far I’ve finished two bags of M&Ms and a chocolate cake. I feel better already.” —Dave Barry

55. “Never do anything out of hunger. Not even eating.” —Frank Semyon (Vince Vaughn), True Detective

56. “What do you mean, he don’t eat no meat? That’s okay, that’s okay. I make lamb.” —Aunt Voula (Andrea Martin), My Big Fat Greek Wedding

57. “You know you’re getting old when you stoop to tie your shoelaces and wonder what else you could do while you’re down there.” —George Burns

58. “To call you stupid would be an insult to stupid people!” —Wanda (Jamie Lee Curtis), A Fish Called Wanda

59. “Instead of the mahi mahi, may I just get the one mahi because I’m not that hungry?” —Shelley Darlingson (Anna Faris), The House Bunny

60. “Accept who you are. Unless you’re a serial killer.” —Ellen DeGeneres

61. Francois: “Do you know what kind of a bomb it was?” Clouseau: “The exploding kind.” —Francois (André Maranne) and Inspector Clouseau (Peter Sellers), The Pink Panther Strikes Again

62. “My ability to turn good news into anxiety is rivaled only by my ability to turn anxiety into chin acne.” —Tina Fey, Bossypants

63. “There is one word that describes people that don’t like me: Irrelevant.” —Anonymous

64. “Why do they call it rush hour when nothing moves?” —Robin Williams

65. “I remember it like it was yesterday. Of course, I don’t really remember yesterday all that well.” —Dory (Ellen DeGeneres), Finding Dory

66. “I don’t have to take this abuse from you; I’ve got hundreds of people dying to abuse me.” —Dr. Peter Venkman (Bill Murray), Ghostbusters

67. Police officer: “Pull over.” Harry: “No, it’s a cardigan. But thanks for noticing.” —Harry Dunne (Jeff Daniels), Dumb and Dumber

68. “I grew up with six brothers. That’s how I learned to dance: waiting for the bathroom.” —Bob Hope

69. “If we’re going to pay this much for crab, it better sing and dance and introduce us to the Little Mermaid.” —Claire Foster (Tina Fey), Date Night

70. “I prefer not to think before speaking. I like being as surprised as everyone else by what comes out of my mouth.” —Anonymous

71. “Never put off till tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow just as well.” —Mark Twain

72. “Woke up today. It was terrible.” —Grumpy Cat

73. “Eggs are fantastic for a fitness diet. If you don’t like the taste, just add cocoa, flour, sugar, butter, baking powder and cook at 350 for 30 minutes.” —Anonymous

74. “I can’t end my messages with Love, Shaq because the B-52s ruined that for me.” —Meme attributed to Shaquille O’Neal

75. “My husband and I fell in love at first sight. Maybe I should have taken a second look.” —Halley Reed (Mia Farrow), Crimes and Misdemeanors

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76. “Thanksgiving dinners take 18 hours to prepare. They are consumed in 12 minutes. Half-times take 12 minutes. This is not a coincidence.” —Erma Bombeck

77. “Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops.” —Mortimer Brewster (Cary Grant), Arsenic and Old Lace

78. Brian: “Look, you’ve got it all wrong. You don’t need to follow me. You don’t need to follow anybody. You’ve got to think for yourselves. You’re all individuals.” Crowd: “Yes, we’re all individuals!” Individual: “I’m not!” —Brian (Graham Chapman) and cast, Monty Python’s Life of Brian

79. “Why can’t you just be happy for me and then go home and talk behind my back later like a normal person?” —Lillian (Maya Rudolph), Bridesmaids

80. “Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.” —Oscar Wilde

81. “What they could do to make it easier is combine the two, real estate and obituaries: Mr. Klein died today leaving a wife, two children, and a spacious three-bedroom apartment with a wood-burning fireplace.” —Harry (Billy Crystal), When Harry Met Sally

82. “The key to faking out the parents is the clammy hands. It’s a good non-specific symptom; I’m a big believer in it. A lot of people will tell you that a good phony fever is a dead lock, but you get a nervous mother, you could wind up in a doctor’s office. That’s worse than school. You fake a stomach cramp, and when you’re bent over, moaning and wailing, you lick your palms. It’s a little childish and stupid, but then, so is high school.” —Ferris Bueller (Matthew Broderick), Ferris Bueller’s Day Off

83. “I like my money where I can see it: hanging in my closet.” —Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker), Sex and the City

84: Cal: “You are really pushing my buttons today.” Becky: “Which one is ‘mute’?” —Waitress, the Musical

85. “The worst part of online shopping is having to get up and get your credit card from your purse.” —Anonymous

86. “People say, ‘But Betty, Facebook is a great way to connect with old friends.’ Well, at my age, if I want to connect with old friends I need a Ouija board.” —Betty White

87. “My therapist says I’m afraid of success. I guess I could understand that, because after all, fulfilling my potential would really cut into my sitting-around time.” —Maria Bamford

88. “From the ages of eight to 18, me and my family moved around a lot. Mostly we would just stretch, but occasionally one of us would actually get up to go to the fridge.” —Jarod Kintz

89. “Money cannot buy health, but I’d settle for a diamond-studded wheelchair.” —Dorothy Parker

90. “The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat. So people who don’t know what they’re doing, or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self.” —Joe Fox (Tom Hanks), You’ve Got Mail

91. “Good parenting means investing in your child’s future, which is why I am saving to buy mine a hoverboard someday.” —Lin-Manuel Miranda

92. “I love airports because the rules of society don’t apply. Eat a pizza and have a glass of wine at 7 am while in track pants. Nobody cares.” —Anonymous

93. “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.” —Groucho Marx

94. “I’m one stomach flu away from my goal weight.” —Emily Charlton (Emily Blunt), The Devil Wears Prada

95. “My perfect beautiful miracle baby? Never slept. Ever. Never. Twelve years later the memories of those nights, of that sleep deprivation, still make me rock back and forth a little bit. You want to torture someone? Hand them an adorable baby they love who doesn’t sleep.” —Shonda Rimes

96. “I’d like to have a kid, but I’m not sure I’m ready to spend 10 years of my life constantly asking someone where his shoes are.” —Damien Fahey

97. “Why yes, I can carry on a conversation made up entirely of movie quotes.” —Anonymous

98. “I’m sure wherever my Dad is, he’s looking down on us. He’s not dead, just very condescending.” —Jack Whitehall

99. “I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me.” —Noel Coward

100. “Trying is the first step toward failure.” —Homer Simpson, The Simpsons

101. “I have a lot of growing up to do. I realized that the other day inside my fort.” —Zach Galifianakis

Want more great quotes? Check out… 50 Thinking of You Quotes  150 Good Morning Quotes  100 Wedding and Marriage Quotes  50 Friday Quotes  50 Monday Motivation Quotes

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Bài viết 101 Funny Quotes — Hilarious Quotes to Make You Laugh – Parade đã xuất hiện đầu tiên vào ngày Funface.

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Comedian John Early Doesn't Love Working With Tahini - Grub Street

“I love Pequeña so much. They have mastered the frozen margarita, so much so that I order one even though I have therapy immediately after.” Photo: Scott Heins

Two years ago, actor and comedian John Early moved from New York to Los Angeles for a television show, and while the project fell through, he stayed and planted roots. Now, when you do see him over on this coast, it’s to tape his TBS show Search Party, in which he plays Elliott, or for various other projects, including next week’s Padma Puts on a Comedy Show at the Bell House, benefiting the Movement Voter Project. Though Early didn’t have as much opportunity to cook this week as he’d like (“I became obsessed with making pasta at a very young age”), he still found time for copious amounts of cold brew, homemade burgers with radicchio buns (“they are divine”), and pizza passing itself off as an hors d’oeuvre. Read all about it in this week’s Grub Street Diet.

Thursday, October 11 I like to start every day with a cold brew and a Propecia. The cold brew comes from Primrose, my neighborhood coffee shop while I’m in town shooting the zero-time Emmy nominated Search Party. It’s these temporary pillars of familiarity that create some much-needed structure amid the formlessness of my bicoastal lifestyle. #theunbearablelightnessofbicoastiality #bicoastalvisibility

For breakfast, my boyfriend and I salt some watermelon — just like my very southern dad does, except he’s never heard of Maldon™. I’m a little too proud of how meager this meal is. It’s no coincidence that this is my very first entry. My daily cold-brew-induced panic begins, and I find myself immediately paralyzed by the performative nature of the whole endeavor. Will I accurately represent myself as the passionate eater that I know myself to be? Will I bring attention to the restaurants and small businesses that truly need it? Is it braggy to talk about my boyfriend? It feels so transparent to include him (“I, too, am loved!”), but dishonest to leave him out!

Did I mention he’s an artist? We take the train into Tribeca and stop by the iconic the Compleat Sculptor to get him some modeling clay for a project. We are starving and a block away from Trader Joe’s, so we pick up some premade salads and a peanut-butter-cookie Lärabar. I can already feel the walls of my hard-earned gourmand identity crumbling around me. I vigorously shake my salad in its plastic container to dress it. I consider lying and saying that we were beckoned into “the most unpretentious red-sauce Italian place by its adorable elderly owner.” The salad explodes in my lap.

For dinner, we drunkenly pick at a tray of falafel toppings with our bare hands at a reception for a friend’s photography show. Damn.

Friday, October 12 I get another cold brew from Primrose and take a Propecia. My boyfriend makes me a smoothie of frozen berries, banana, green apple, and kale for breakfast, and I wonder, Is it 1998? I keep it to myself because the smoothie is truly good, and ultimately I resent diet trends that look down on them.

I pace around the apartment rehearsing what I’m going to say on a very confrontational call that I have to make at the end of the day. I willfully enter into conflict about once every 400 years. A truck could be driving on the wrong side of the road, barreling toward me, and I would not honk. I am so nervous that I forget to eat lunch (so chic), and around 3 p.m. I throw together all that is left of our groceries: a Monsanto apple and banana, and some curried chicken salad that I bought on the previous day’s Trader Joe’s trip but didn’t mention here because of y’all’s relentless judgment.

I make the call. No one dies. I go to Roman’s in Fort Greene with my boyfriend to $elf $oothe. It’s worth the goddamn bill — perfect Martinis, orange wine, gorgeous fava-bean purée, radicchio with anchovy and Parmesan, tortelli with a butter and sage sauce, chicken al diavolo, panna cotta, and chocolate sorbet. I swear to god Keri Russell is eating at the bar just like us. I’ve heard rumors that she lives in this area. It’s definitely not her, but for that split second I feel that life in New York can feel as good as an episode of Felicity.

Saturday, October 13 I am hungover. I pop a Propecia and drag my gay ass to Primrose for a cold brew on my way to shoot a short film by a friend from college. When I get to set, I eat a truly exquisite whole-wheat everything bagel with cream cheese. It helps a lot even though I’m trying to “cut back on grain.”

The catering on set is Frito pie with vegan chili, chicken-salad sliders, and other such church-camp delights. The thematic cohesiveness of the meal is a little oppressive, but I soldier on.

After the shoot, my boyfriend and I go to a play called Slash by Leah Hennessey and Emily Allan (of Zhe Zhe glory) at MX Gallery. The show is astonishing and perfect, and we ride our cultural high to Kiki’s, a Greek restaurant in Chinatown. We have lemony potatoes, smoky eggplant dip, orange-peel sausage, lamb fricassée, and a waitstaff that doesn’t care for my jokes.

Sunday, October 14 I chomp down on a Propecia and head to Primrose where my boyfriend and I collect a free cold brew, having loyally filled our card with the required nine stamps. I playfully tell the cashier that I wish there was a little more ceremony — a siren, confetti, etc. She, too, doesn’t care for my jokes, and my boyfriend generously reassures me on the walk home that she’s probably a Pratt freshman consumed by her new life in Brooklyn.

We get some groceries and make burgers with pepperoncini, avocado, caramelized onions, mayo, Dijon, and radicchio buns (LOL). I laugh out loud, but they are divine. If you can pull off a radicchio leaf without tearing it, it’s very cuplike. And Goddamn it, reader, I swear if you caught me on a different week you’d be shocked by my cooking. I started early. What’s nice about being a gay boy is, before you become cripplingly self-aware about your gayness, you have no shame just following your mom around the kitchen and asking her questions.

In the afternoon, we go to the premiere of Can You Ever Forgive Me, thanks to tickets from queen Dolly Wells, who is in the movie and is characteristically genius in it. While sitting BEHIND JUDGE JUDY AND IN FRONT OF JOEL GREY (!!!!!), we eat popcorn and a couple of bourbon-flavored chocolates. At the after-party, we piece together a free dinner of mediocre mushroom and prosciutto cut-up pizza (“flatbread”) hors d’oeuvres, and marvel at the grace with which Judge Judy interfaces with her adoring public.

Monday, October 15 The usual cold brew cut with Propecia. I have to work today, but only for a couple of hours starting at 4 p.m. My schedule is so easy breezy this season that I wonder if I’m like Valerie Cherish slowly being phased out of Room and Bored. But I’m secretly loving the domesticity. I pick up some groceries and make some lunch for my boyfriend and me. A baby-kale salad with sunflower seeds and a tahini, olive oil, lemon zest, and juice dressing. I’m so bad at “working with” tahini. Why is it always so fucking chunky? I thought I added enough water to smooth it out. Maybe the citrus curdled it? I can feel the ghost of Kate Berlant, my comedy partner and undisputed tahini queen, cackling over my shoulder as I whisk to no avail. The salad is still pretty good — the flavors are all there, gang! — and I serve it with some scrambled eggs and a side of grilled preserved artichokes.

I go to Search Party to take some sort of photo that will be used as a prop in the show. I get to my trailer and am horrified to find no costume, but sweatpants, a hoodie, and big boxers. This can only mean one thing: partial nudity. I react to the horror by eating half of one of those god-awful RXBARs and some Earl Grey tea with almond milk. I imagine this is what Carey Mulligan does when she’s “feeling peckish.” As usual with this show, the partial nudity is truly worth the joke. I am made up like a cherub, my body is oiled, and I pose with a lyre. It’s extremely funny, and I also leave feeling a stronger sense of connection to Anne Geddes, which is frankly something I’ve been after my entire Goddamn life.

For dinner, we order (“We … we! I’m still getting used to saying it!”) some Neapolitan-style pizza — one with soppressata, the other a classic margherita — from a place that truly does not need my help. My boyfriend makes a salad with the leftover radicchio and a vinaigrette with minced pepperoncini and the juice from the jar. It’s really major.

Tuesday, October 16 I should mention that I’ve been trying to make my own cold brew recently to avoid spending so much money and using so much plastic. I can’t figure out the right grind though, so I throw back a Propecia and once again head to Primrose. Love brazenly making choices like these in the face of recent climate science!

I come home, and while absolutely soaring on cold brew, I see that there’s a 50 percent off sale on the Criterion Collection website. A mere two feet away from my boyfriend, I order six titles that I will never watch and a $30 Blu-ray player off of Amazon Prime, and I don’t tell him because I know this behavior is unhinged. This is why cold brew is bad. Once, while drinking one during a meeting, I told an executive that I was the “Robyn of comedy” with zero irony.

I go to Pequeña for a late lunch after my manic purchase. I love Pequeña so much. They have mastered the frozen margarita, so much so that I order one even though I have therapy immediately after. I also get my favorite menu items: the pork burrito and the chicken soup.

Their margarita truly packs a punch, and I put on a great show for my therapist (that’s what therapy is for, right?). I meet the great Nicole Spiezio in Madison Square Park. We share a weed gummy because we are going to see A Simple Favor starring Blake Lively and everyone’s favorite Scrappy Little Nobody, Anna Kendrick (or as my boyfriend calls her “Anna Kendricks”). We eat at Shake Shack, naturally. I eat a double Shack Burger with fries and order my cheese sauce on the side. We get to the theater for the 7:45 showing, and the edible kicks in right as we receive the news that the screening is sold out. Maybe it’s the edible, but the stakes feel so high that I feel like we’re in Argo, which I’ve never seen. We get in a cab and head to the Kips Bay AMC to try to make it in time for the 7:55 showing, but there is only one seat left. I beg the woman at the box office, “Is there anything you can do?” She looks at me like I’m crazy — obviously, there is nothing she can do. We are stuck in Kips Bay, high as hell, but still wanting to hang. We are beckoned into the most unpretentious Mexican place by its adorable elderly owner. Everyone in the restaurant seems to be on straight Tinder dates that aren’t going well. I drink a tequila on the rocks.

I go back home and eat frozen raspberries while relaying this story to my boyfriend. It does not land.

See All

Source: http://www.grubstreet.com/2018/10/comedian-john-early-grub-street-diet.html

[unrequitedmime]

How dare you?" Kale's deep voice booms through the glass office as he strides through in front of Gretel, his body a storm of golden silk and shaking forests and rippling lightning. Gretel keeps up with his every step, watching him carefully as he unleashes his wrath upon the Director, seated calmly at his desk. "Well," the bald headed man sighs, spinning in his chair to face Kale, "It's certainly nice to see you too, Captain-" Kale slams his hands down on the glass desk, and everything rattles. The Director, despite the alarm burning in his endlessly black eyes, doesn't flinch. He simply narrows his eyes in annoyance, flicking his eyes to Gretel; a silent demand to still the desk should Kale smash it with his temper. Gretel does no such thing. Kale slowly leans towards the director, his expression livid, as he invades the Director's personal space to look him dead in the eye. "How dare you threaten a member of my team? How dare you risk her safety and health just so that you could send a message to us? There was no need to be so gods damned dramatic, Lucien, we would have come anyway," his eyes burn, "Where is she?" The Director's eyes shine with rage at the mention of his name in Kale's mouth. At the insult Kale slung at him by using his birth name to address him instead of his title. "Your ice girl," the Director spits with venom, a tone sharp enough that Gretel activates her power, "Is in the wards. News of your arrival will be reaching them now. The healing process can begin." Kale doesn't move away from the Director, still glaring. He shakes his head in anger, "You could have killed her-" "But we didn't," the Director interrupts, his voice deadly calm; dangerous. "So be grateful for that small mercy." Kale's eyes widen, and anger sparks in Gretel's blood. How dare they threaten Noora like that? How fucking dare they- "What do you want?" Kale snaps, stepping back and crossing his arms. A pillar of warrior strength and wrath. "Mind your tone, Kale," a familiar voice sounds from the corner. Gretel's head whips towards the source of it, and she fights the urge to sigh in relief as Grolen steps out from the shadows that he conveniently created. The sight of his jet black hair and wide shoulders release a tension within her. She missed her old guard. His deep green eyes find hers, and something within his gaze loosens as he finds her in one piece. She frowns slightly. There are more lines in his face than last time she saw him; this new job is weighing down on the thirty year old guard. One of the best warrior's known amongst the Golds. Kale's eyes flicker to his brother for only a moment before turning back to the Director. Gretel tries not to sigh. So, Kale definitely still hates Grolen. Damn, maybe next time. Grolen steps closer to the two men, and Gretel follows his lead, trying not to lean in towards his reassuring scent; fresh snow. She finds her place beside Kale, but doesn't dare grab his hand. Many at HQ know that they belong to each other, including the Director, and she will never shy away from showing the world that Kale is hers, but the boy she loves is lost in his rage, and she must let him find his own way out. "Why did you drag us here, Director?" she asks with a sigh. His beady eyes flick to her, examining her body with appreciation, inspecting her not just as a warrior, but as a woman. Kale growls at the middle aged man, demanding his attention, ripping it away from her. Her skin crawls under his old gaze. Grolen frowns slightly at the Director, whether in disgust or disapproval, she cannot tell. "I brought you here to inform your team that you will no longer be kept together." Gretel's heart stops. "What?" Kale breathes, his chest shuddering. "You heard me," the disgusting man quips back, his foul face twisting into a wicked smirk. Her hands tremble with restraint. Oh gods, she wants to rip those smirking lips off his damned face. "Your team is not effective enough as a group, and you will be distributed among the centre to work in a variety of occupation fields." "What the hell do you mean?" Gretel snaps, fear burning bright in her core, "We're the best team you have." "No, you're not." "Yes," Kale growls, "We are. We take down the most Red Guards, infiltrating bases and burning through their numbers without hesitation. Our entire team has survived every single suicide mission that you've sent us on, ridding the world of Red blood without a whisper of rebellion. We have never tested you; never fought back and never refused a mission, not matter how hard. We work exquisitely together, and we have some of the most powerful Golds in the world. There is no way in hell that we're not effective enough, Lucien." Gretel lets out a soft breath at his words. The sound of his voice calms her down like nothing else can, and his speech, his reasoning...  That's why he's captain.   "I didn't stutter, did i?" the Director asks with mock confusion, his eyes gleaming with a cruel glee as he looks up at Kale. "No, I didn't. Now tell your team immediately. You are all to pack your bags and move to the permanent residential wings of the centre. The occupation wing." Gretel gapes, "You mean to tell us that we will become workers?" she asks slowly, her voice trembling. "Director," she snaps, "We are powerful Golds-" "And your talents will be appreciated in occupational areas of the centre, Miss Harmeonia," he snaps back. "There is nothing you can do to fight this. If you try to find another counciller, I will send you to the Bin. If you try to escape, I will send you to the Bin. If you try to defy me in any way, shape or form, I will send you to the Bin. Do you understand?" The Director leisurely picks up a glass sphere from his desk and admires the object in his palm with a feral glow in his eyes, letting the threat sink in.  Kale gulps. The Bin. The most dangerous prison for the most dangerous Golds. Deadly conditions and even deadlier occupants. A punishment worst than death. Kale's body burns with helplessness and loss; grief and anger and despair burning in every part of his soul. She can feel his power buzzing through the air, electrifying the molecules of the room. Her hair zaps against her skin, and she tries not to wince as she glares down at the Director. She tries her best to control her own power; tries to stop it from shattering the entire room into glass shards. Everything her team has worked for, every single mission and fight and extra training session; was all for nothing. Nothing at all. They are very well the best team in the whole gods damned institute, yet they're being packed up for no reason. The Director isn't a stupid nor oblivious man. He'll send each member of the team to different parts of the occupation strip, spreading them far and wide. He might even go to the extent to keep those with close bonds away from each other; to prevent scheming and to rattle their hope. Morrie will get sent out to the testing fields; a invincible test subject with his stone skin. Lacy will be thrown in the opposite direction; a healer in the ward. The only times she will ever cross paths with her best friend will be if he gets injured enough to receive healing. He won't; his hard skin ensures hardly any pain. The thought of Lacy without Morrie and Morrie without Lacy takes Gretel's breath away. Blade and Angel will be separated; Blade sent to the metal work sheds and Angel to the outer walls of HQ, trained maintain the protective barrier around the centre at all times. Cameron will be sent to Blade, luckily, to work on melting the metal. Cameron wouldn't survive without Blade, thank the gods she'll be with him, at least. Joshie will most likely work in the cleaning department; his speed providing fast work. He'll go insane as a cleaner. Joshie can't last a day without being outdoors. Benji will be a messenger between the council, carrying not only envelopes but significant people to and from council meetings. Helena will see Benji every now and then, as she'll be appointed an overseer in council meetings and prisoner interrogations, delving through minds and detecting lies non-stop. Long years of corrupted minds and wicked acts.  Noora will be sent to the kitchens, working long hours around the cold meat and vegetables. Gods, the thought of Noora trapped in a bustling kitchen makes her want to cry as much as laugh. They won't waste a Gold with power's as strong as Gretel's. No, they'll use Gretel for hard field jobs. Solo missions. Assassinations, tortures.   And Kale... Well, Kale will be chosen to work in the wastes. Constantly shovelling dirt and scraps and a mess of other shit into trucks all day every day. And maybe, if he keeps his temper in check, he'll someday be appointed a guard of a lesser council member.  The thought of being kept away from Kale...  The glass sphere shatters in the Director's hands.  He yelps and throws it away from him, spluttering curses as blood drips down his forearm. His glare could slice necks as his eyes meet Gretel's, snarling. She's never seen such a vicious look on someone's face, and Kale spots it too, because he growls in warning.  Wordless, but still clear; touch Gretel, and he dies.   Her body trembles under her suit, and she clenches her fists to halt the shakes and gain control over her power. It took all of her self control not to explode the entire room apart; to instead throw her focus on the glass sphere in front of her.  Kale grabs her hand, and she is comforted to know that lightning zaps under his skin, too. She looks down at their joined palms; a public act of support, of love, of bondage. Kale loosening his image of wrath to calm her down is a statement to the Director and to all of those watching through the security camera's in the walls.  Wordless, but still clear; Kale and Gretel. Stronger than the gold in their souls.   Her knees nearly buckle as he strokes small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb, soothing the buzzing power out of her hands. He doesn't take his eyes away from the bleeding Director.  Grolen stands beside the Director's desk, watching the man try to stop the bleeding. His green eyes finally shine with emotion; hatred. It flickers in and out, only lasting for a moment before they glaze over with indifference, but Gretel sees it nevertheless. For a split second, Grolen and Kale look like the brother's they're supposed to be, glaring down at a common enemy with wrath in their green eyes; their mother's eyes.  "Get out of my office you disgusting bitc-" "I'd watch my tone if i were you," Kale interrupts too quietly, his voice calm as he holds a dozen bolts in the palm of his right hand, "And the way you speak to her."   The Director stares at the bolts, a his void eyes burning with a hatred so bright that it nearly blows her off her feet.  "I said," the Director repeats slowly, venom dripping from his words, "To get the hell out of my office. You are stripped of your titles," he spits, and Gretel feels Kale's heart stutter slightly in his chest, "You are nothing. Worthless. Get out."  It's Kale's turn to tremble with barely controlled anger and power, swirling together inside of him. Gretel tugs on his hand slightly, taking a stumbling step back, her legs weak. Everything shakes in her vision. Everything she has ever worked for in her life is gone. Just like that.  She is nothing.  She can feel the sobs building up in her chest, but she shoves them down with a gulp, instead, letting a killing calm take over her body. Everything stills, and the world stays that way as she shuts down every single one of her racing thoughts.  Everything hurts.  She swallows again, hiding away the last of her tears.  She is broken, but she doesn't have to show it.  She tugs on Kale's hand again, harder this time, and he takes a step back with her. His eyes meet Grolen's one last time. The brother's stare at each other for what feels like years, unspoken messages and conflict and pent up emotions flowing between the last two Delion's. Grolen blinks blankly, his black hair falling over his face slightly as he stares at his own little brother with a blank face. No recognition in those eyes, no acknowledgement of their history together.  Kale's own eyes burn with despise and resentment as they burn into his older brother's. Kale, at last, turns away, and something seems to release in Grolen's face as he loses eye contact with his little brother. He lets out a subtle breath.  Kale strides forward, out of the room, holding onto Gretel's hand for dear life. Her hand is probably the only thing keeping him sane right now; the only thing keeping him from crumbling apart to nothing but white lightning and echoing roars. They leave the office behind, but still Kale marches on. His gaze is clear, burning with hatred and panic and fear. With sorrow, guilt, sadness.  "Gretel," a deep voice calls from the end of the hallway.  Kale halts slightly at the sound of the voice, and Gretel takes that as permission to talk to her old guard. She spins, not losing grip on Kale's hand, and faces Grolen as he walks down the wide, empty corridor.  He reaches Gretel, and extends a hand full of envelopes to her.  "I wrote to you," he says roughly, and Gretel fights the urge to frown.  He wrote to her? Why? They had only been gone a week. Grolen and Gretel used to write when he was her guard; a grumpy 28 year old charged with a juvenile and snarky 16 year old. At first they hated each other. He resented her for wasting his time and job by being a rebellious and immature teenager, and she despised him for being a constant authority figure in her life, having more power over her actions than she did. Eventually, after long months of late night conversations and mindless protection in times of crisis, a friendship bloomed; a powerful one. When they had to hide their friendship, Grolen wrote to her about his life and his past, and she wrote back, pouring away her secrets and life to the brother she never had. They wrote because they had to hide.  They haven't written to each other for two years now; so why is he writing now?  Confusion rises up within her, but Grolen trained her better than that. So she doesn't miss a beat when she smiles softly down at the envelopes, allowing tears to come to her eyes. Let the cameras believe she's simply a young Gold with a shattering life, and the small act of kindness tears something within her. Don't let them realise that she doesn't understand what is happening, that her mind is analysing everything in Grolen's face for hints.  "Thank you, Grolen," she says quietly, gently grabbing the envelopes from his hands, studying them with affection. Her eyes meet his again, "But writing letters won't make everything better," she says, her voice cold, "These letters won't change what happened in that office."  He doesn't flinch, but his eyes shutter for a moment as the insult stabs deep. She doesn't say anything else to him as she turns on her heel and walks away, the envelopes heavy in her hand.

unrequited 

[thegirlsinthefirehouse]

Descendants, Chapter 22

----- When Abby woke up again, it was dark in the living room. 

She blinked, slowly at first. Holtz and Erin were both gone, but she could smell something cooking. She looked over and saw Erin standing in front of the stove, stirring a steaming pot. Abby shivered a little after unwrapping herself from the blankets and sat up.

“What time is it?” she asked groggily.

“You’re awake,” said Erin, turning around. “It’s 6:32.”

“Geez, I slept that long?” groaned Abby. She felt of her forehead, grimacing. “I should have called for an appointment.”

“Well, Holtz did,” said Erin. “Once you kept sleeping. Turns out, both your doctors’ offices were closed for the holidays. So you would have to go to one of the 24 hour care clinics or to the hospital. Bad weekend to be sick on.”

Abby rubbed her temples and nodded. She had a little bit of a headache, more than likely from sleeping so long on the couch and not having eaten. The wiggling going on in her abdomen she figured was from the latter as well.

“Yes, I know. No one has paid attention to you or fed you all day,” she said, softly chuckling. She rubbed a hand across her abdomen. It delighted her when she felt a kick at her hand. She rubbed another spot and felt another kick.

“Hey Erin, come here,” said Abby. She didn’t look up but felt her best friend flop lightly down on the couch. Abby took Erin’s hand and rubbed a spot. Erin gasped softly when she felt what she thought was either a little hand or a foot touch back.

“There they are,” she breathed. “Hi baby.” She rubbed another spot and was absolutely delighted when she felt another kick and moved to another spot.

“Okay little one, I think that was my kidney, not your Aunt Erin’s hand,” said Abby, grimacing. Erin laughed.

“Perhaps perfect coordination is not in their future.”

“With three nerds as its parents, I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Abby.

“What is it like now that they’re moving more?” asked Erin, knowing she was just repeating herself, but she didn’t care. “I know Patty brought a whole stack of pregnancy and fetal development books, but--”

“Reassuring,” said Abby. “That they’re alive and growing in there.” She rubbed a spot, hoping she could get another kick or punch for Erin, but someone had quieted down. “And maybe a little annoying because they’ll move and kick at the oddest times. The other night they were moving from side to side when I was trying to sleep. If Holtz hadn’t been asleep next to me, I would have thought she was trying to get the baby to have a dance party with her.”

“I’d imagine that will happen sometime in the near future,” smiled Erin.

“And I’ll be the one with the bruises,” said Abby. She changed positions on the couch and pulled a blanket up over her lap.

“What are you doing cooking? And where is Holtzmann?”

“Downstairs,” said Erin. “She wanted to be up and moving around for a little bit.”

Abby nodded at that before sneezing into her elbow.

“I hate being sick Erin.”

“I know,” she said, handing Abby a box of tissues. “You’ll just have to power your way through it. Unless that fever stays up, then you’ll have to go to the doctor.”

Abby went on a sneezing fit and Erin got back up off the couch.

“I need to check on dinner.” She headed over to the kitchen area. Abby blew her nose, feeling way too congested for her liking.

“I can’t believe Holtz has got you cooking.”

“She didn’t. I volunteered after we watched a second movie. I’d be sitting at home basically doing nothing, so I thought I’d stay.”

“Thank you,” said Abby. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, but then you wouldn’t have any of my special soup.” She brought Abby a bowl.

“I want you to try it before you say a word.”

“Well, it looks delicious,” said Abby. Erin handed her a spoon. Abby tried to get a bite of everything.

“It’s like a really good pasta dish.”

“It is a jar of marinara mixed with vegetable stock, a three cheese tortellini, smoked sausage, and kale. I was trying to follow a recipe once and I didn’t have any crushed tomatoes, so I improvised.”

“Didn’t we used to say that kale belongs in the garbage?” asked Abby, picking up a tortellini with a spoon.

“I don’t know why. They make really good baked chips, and it’s got a lot of nutrition. Which is what your body needs right now.”

“Still green.”

“Yes, it even ended up in our book, if I remember correctly,” said Erin, shaking her head. Abby laughed.

“It’s delicious, really Erin.”

“We all needed something hearty, and this will do it.”

“You two haven’t eaten?” frowned Abby. “After being here all afternoon?”

“Two bad hangovers,” said Erin. “We’re getting old Abby. These things last longer than they used to.”

“I wouldn’t know, it’s been a while,” said Abby. She rubbed her abdomen. “I think it’s a good trade off.”

-----

Holtz came back upstairs and found Abby wrapped up in the blankets on the couch, an empty bowl sitting beside her. Erin was nibbling on a tortellini and the two of them were talking about something and there were books and notebooks spread out across the coffee table, along with a few pens and sticky notes. She could tell her wife was really tired by the look in her eyes. Erin had noticed it too as she glanced at Holtz, nodding.

“I made you a present babe,” said Holtzmann. She patted the object in her hands.

“It’s not going to explode, is it?” asked Erin, looking dubious at it.

Holtz rolled her eyes at Erin. “It’s a humidifier,” said Holtz. “I’m gonna go set it up in the bedroom and get it going. It should help you breathe better.” She headed off in the direction of her and Abby’s bedroom.

“I probably should be getting home,” said Erin. “I could use a shower and some quiet time.” She gestured to the books. “We’ll come back to this later.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” said Abby.

“No, I think I’ll let Holtz have the honor of getting you through this for a day or so,” smirked Erin. “You need to rest Abby.”

“I’d rather discuss theory,” she pouted.

“Soon,” Erin promised. “Tell Holtz I’m gone.” She started downstairs. Abby took a couple of deep breaths, hating how congested she felt. And it had consistently felt worse as the evening wore on. She really could tell she was sick by how her body was not protesting to the amount of time she was spending on the couch. Holtzmann came back out of the bedroom.

“Erin left?” Abby nodded. Holtz went over to the couch and started unwrapping the blankets around her wife.

“Bed,” she said at Abby’s questioning glance. “You are really tired Abs.”

“I feel it,” she said with a sigh. Holtzmann helped her up and Abby leaned into her as they walked. The blonde rubbed her shoulder and nudged Abby forward to the bedroom. Once in, Holtz went back out and came back with the extra blankets and pillows off the couch and piled them on the bed. Abby got comfortable under the covers and pulled the body pillow closer that she had been sleeping with the last couple of weeks. It had been a lifesaver some nights with trying to get comfortable. She spied the thermometer sitting on the side table. She took her temperature, grimacing as it was still elevated more than she would like.

“You want anything?” asked Holtzmann.

“I think you’ve got it about covered,” said Abby, looking at the side table which was now loaded with tissues, her phone, tablet, water bottles, a pack of Dayquil/Nyquil pills, and cough drops. With a box of crackers and a few small bottles of Sprite still sitting there, it was a mess.

“Have you and Erin been busy while I was asleep?”

“Someone’s got to be when you’re running a fever and feeling sick,” humored Holtz.

“And cold and tired,” said Abby. She looked up at Holtzmann. “I’m sorry.”

Holtz looked surprised as she turned around from their closet.

“What for?”

“Being selfish earlier.”

“I think you’re allowed once in awhile Abs,” said Holtz. She threw a set of pajamas at her wife, hitting Abby in the face. A second pair soon followed. Holtz grinned and leaned against the door frame of the closet.

“I thought you might want to get comfortable.” Holtzmann was hit with the second pair, which happened to be her boxer shorts and a tank top.

“The lady doth protest,” said Holtz, coming over to the bed and laying her clothes on it.

“Just yours,” said Abby. Holtz climbed into bed and slid her arms around her wife. She nuzzled her neck and kissed her cheek.

“Now there’s the way of getting ALL the germs, Holtz.”

“If I had to choose between the flu and not kissing you, I’d choose the flu every day.”

“That’s sweet, but please don’t let the both of us be sick at once.”

“Nah, I have to incubate first.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing already?” smirked Abby.

“Yes, you are incubating Egbert.” Holtzmann paused.

“Has Erin ever wanted kids?”

Abby thought for a moment.

“We didn’t talk about it much in high school. I think we were having too much fun being dorky idiots and having fun. I think in college perhaps she might have mentioned it a time or two when she started having a serious boyfriend. If you can call your philosophy professor a serious boyfriend. I don’t think it’s ever been a real big priority. Why?”

“Just girl talk,” said Holtz. “You know, while we did each other's nails.”

Abby picked up Holtz’s hand and looked at the short nails, eyeing her wife.

“Alright, we just chatted. Revenge gestation and Nobel Prize wins. You have to share yours with Erin, I’m afraid.”

“I’m not surprised if it has anything to do with our research. And what the heck is a revenge ges-- never mind.”

Holtz grinned at that while Abby grabbed a tissue and sneezed into it. A wastebasket had been pulled close to the bed and she threw the tissue into it.

“Do you think Erin wants or doesn’t want kids?” asked Abby, sitting up on the bed.

“You know I’m the last person to really ask on that subject Abs. I think she thinks one thing and wants another.”

“That has always been sort of an Erin problem,” sighed Abby. “She still needs approval. I think being around us has helped her a lot. But...”

“Say no more,” said Holtz. “I know the song and dance.”

“Good, because I’m not up for the choreography.” Abby rubbed Holtzmann’s cheek, making her lover smile. She kissed Abby’s temple. “I’m going to go grab something to eat and start working on some baby furniture. I need to get my hands on something.”

“Go have fun,” said Abby, standing up and changing into her bed clothes. “I think I’m going to go back to sleep.”

“You should,” said Holtz. “Not much you can do right now really. You don’t need to be up doing too much with that fever.” She got off the bed and headed towards the kitchen as Abby nodded and closed her eyes after settling back down into the bed. She took off her glasses after a moment and laid them on the side table. Holtz turned off the light as she left the room.

-----

Abby woke up again somewhere around two. She got up, really wanting a cup of tea. She made her way to the kitchen and turned on the light. Knowing her English ancestors would probably disown her, she stuck the water in the microwave anyways, not wanting to have to use the kettle for just one cup. She rubbed her arms, still feeling a little cold after getting up. She added honey and some lemon juice for her throat, enjoying the first sip of the tea and the warmth coming from the mug. She wrapped her hands around it, letting the feeling wash over her. She headed towards where the only main light in the living quarters was on -- the baby’s room. She rested a hand on her abdomen as she approached. Holtz was on the floor with one of her toolkits and part of what Abby thought was the changing table, music playing softly. She took a drink of her tea, smiling at the scene. Their little one was up and about too. She had felt them stretching their limbs and rolling a little while she had been sleeping. But then they had settled down a little bit, probably lulled to sleep. And now that she was up, they were moving about. She poked at a foot, which made her laugh when she got a double kick back. Holtz looked up at the noise.

“Abby,” she said, turning off the radio beside her. “Something the matter?”

“No, I’m just awake,” she said, feeling the congestion coming back after the tea had seemingly made her nose feel clear. She cleared her throat.

“And so is someone else.” Holtzmann smiled at Abby’s baby bump.

“Guess they heard Mommy banging around in their room.”

“Must have,” smiled Abby. “With auditory and optical functions now, they could probably see you too if they could.”

“Then they’d just see the mess their bedroom is in,” said Holtz. “Not much of a space to put them.”

“There’s time,” Abby said. “14 more weeks.” She looked around at all the boxes and bags they still had to go through. It seemed like a small task, but very daunting at the same time. They’d be bringing home a kid to use all this with. Having a kid was definitely harder than writing a book, she had to admit. And they didn’t even have the kid home with them yet.

Holtz adjusted her goggles before picking up a hammer. “Three more months of holidays with family, childbirth classes, meeting with the Mayor, finding ghosts, and training newbies.”

“It’s going to be busy,” agreed Abby. She walked over to Holtz, who automatically stood up and felt of Abby’s forehead.

“You should be in bed.” Abby gestured to her warm cup of tea.

“May I enjoy this at least before I and the kid have to return to my cell?”

“You have free roaming privileges at least,” said Holtz, putting a hand on Abby’s abdomen. “This one is stuck in utero.”

“And there he or she should stay. They’re only about as big as a head of broccoli,” said Abby. “We don’t need them coming anytime soon.” Holtz nodded.

“Yes, they don’t get free roaming till they can crawl.”

“I would have thought absolute free roaming privileges didn’t kick in till 18.”

“25 if they want to rent a car.”

“There’s that,” smiled Abby. She sighed. “We’re going to have a 25 year old kid someday, Holtz.”

“That can rent cars,” Holtzmann smirked, pushing up her glasses with a wrench. <– Prev | Next –>

[whatkatetoldme]

Don’t say the g-word

"College is cool because if you relax for 5 minutes you’re suddenly failing 11 classes...even though you’re only taking 5.” -Everyone

I sit at my laptop, fingers poised over my keyboard, unsure of how to reintroduce myself to the world. I'm Kate, I'm a blogger; a connoisseur of wit if you will. So why has it been so difficult for me to write?

I think a lot of my recent writer's block is due to the looming cloud over my head. This cloud isn't your typical, fluffy white cloud. Perhaps this cloud has a silver lining somewhere, but at times its hard to find. I call this cloud "College Graduation" and it's threatening to explode with precipitation.

I started my blog in September of 2012 when my worldly knowledge was at its infancy stage. It can be argued that I am still, at 22, an infant of knowledge but I feel I have come a long way since my sweet sixteenth birthday party (which, to go on record, was subpar and not MTV-worthy). 

But alas, it's this damn cloud that's been following me everywhere I go - to class, to the bar, to the bathroom (like, can I have 5 minutes please?). Like many of my peers, I've tried the senior-approved methods of coping with my pending graduation. I've ignored it (didn't I just move into my freshman dorm?), embraced it (I can't wait to be Carrie Bradshaw and have a cute city apartment!), and dreaded it (I have more loans than friends...). But throughout the whole process of getting my undergraduate degree, I have yet to question WHY this graduation cloud is so ominous and heavy with precipitation. What am I afraid of? 

Well, to be completely freakin' brutally honest, I'm afraid of everything. I did as I was told - go to college, get good grades, make lasting relationships, and don't get pregnant. Four years and $200,000 later, here I am, and what I have to show for it is a cracked iPhone and more questions than answers. 

College is (was?) great, don't get me wrong. My experience at a small private university in costal Rhode Island was likely much different than John Doe's experience at Beerpong State University in the midwest but college is college and regardless of size, athletic teams, or ability to drink in public without the threat of immediate expulsion, we're all in the same boat. 

I often find myself trying to find answers to life's complex Sudoku games. But this time, instead of attempting to answer these ominous questions, I'm going to ask them. If High School Musical taught us anything (besides the horrifying fact that Troy Boulton's father is more attractive to us now than 16-year-old Zac Efron is), it's that we're all in this together. 

^(But really, look at that smirk. Zac looks like he raided the guy from Blue’s Clues’ wardrobe and had a fight with a bottle of Jergens self tanner.)

So without further ado, here is a comprehensive list of 22 things that we, the "sensitive Millennials" constantly have on our minds in recognition of our looming graduation. 

(Note to fellow Millennials: you're not alone).

1. How am I supposed to get a job if entry-level positions require 10 years of post-educational experience and 7 PhDs?

2. Why do we pay upwards of $50,000 a year for a piece of paper that basically pats us on the head, throws our tennis ball, and says "who's a good boy!?"

3. Why am I STILL being tested on my ability to regurgitate information from an overpriced textbook?

4. How in God's name do I go through socks SO. DAMN. QUICKLY?

5. Do calories count when I'm overwhelmed? No, right?

6. We have a gym at school????

7. (Someone says 'graduation') "YOU HAVE TO TAKE A SHOT YOU SAID THE G-WORD" *twitches*

8. Shit, I have to find a dress/suit/flask for the g-word ceremony.

9. Is it too late to drop out?

10. I know I'm not Catholic, but can I just give up for lent?

11. (At the bar and it's actually fun for once) OMG I LOVE COLLEGE I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE.

12. (Gets screwed over by ANOTHER guy) OMG I HATE COLLEGE I NEED TO LEAVE.

13. Why do all the boys here look like extras for a commercial on preteen acne?

14. Why do all the girls here act like extras for a commercial on friendzoning?

15. Why do I look like an extra for a commercial on Xanax?

16. I think it's time for a change. Maybe I should cut my hair 10 inches. Or no, maybe I'll just shave. Yeah, that's change.

17. Does it count as drinking the entire bottle of Riesling if I use a straw?

18. Why can't someone just stroke my hair, rub my back, and feed me pizza?

19. What in GODS NAME is a KALE CHIP and why am I so ANGRY about it?

20. Shit I need to get in shape for commencement ball. Can I burn calories by crying? How about napping? 

21. These freshman have no idea what this shit is actually like.

22. (Watching cat stress over red dot) My cat is so lucky. _________________________________________________________

We bitch and moan about college (are you actually in college if you don't bitch and moan?), but we really need to give ourselves a massive pat on the back because college was hard. We discovered SO much about ourselves (maybe too much at times) and we conquered countless obstacles.

People always liken things like college graduation to "turning a new page," or going on to the "next chapter" in life. But I think we're going to a completely new book. The setting has changed, the plot has thickened, and characters come and go.

For my proverbial post-college book however, the heroine remains the same. *flips hair, cues Diva by Beyonce, then instantly takes a nap*.

[recentnews18-blog]

New Post has been published on https://shovelnews.com/the-man-behind-overheardla-is-responsible-for-those-funny-af-conversations-on-your-feed/

The Man Behind OverheardLA Is Responsible For Those Funny AF Conversations On Your Feed

In a post-Kardashian world, every millennial thinks they have what it takes to go viral, but few consider what that online fame actually looks like in a person’s daily life. In Elite Daily’s new series Life Behind The Likes, we speak with the people you know on the internet — from the people behind major Instagram accounts to the Daaaaamn Daniels of the world who went viral for one remarkable moment of their lives — to meet the people behind the screens.

While I’m all for FOMO-inducing, scenic Instagrams, nothing makes me stop scrolling and start “liking” like a post more than a hilarious AF meme. Instagram may have started as an image-based gallery, but comedic account @OverheardLA — a collection of overheard conversations from people just going about their day — is a perfect example of why there’s nothing better than a parody of regular citizens. Chances are that not only do you follow this account and have enjoyed a few chuckle fests with friends over the totally bizarre submissions, but that you might have submitted one or two gems of your own. So, who’s the face behind the multi-million follower Overheard brand? Unsurprisingly, you may have never heard of him, and he prefers to keep it that way.

Unlike many who’ve pursued the elusive but totally covetable title of Instagram influencer and the fame that goes with it, Jesse Margolis wasn’t looking to get his name out when he started his breakout account, @OverheardLA, back in August 2015. In fact, up until a few years ago, Margolis kept his identity under wraps. He tells Elite Daily in an exclusive interview that going viral was completely unintentional, and that he was “never into social media.” (He actually credits his friends for making his original Instagram account for him.)

A native New Yorker who was raised in Los Angeles, Margolis was at an L.A. health food store back in 2015 when he unexpectedly caught wind of a completely satirical moment (it apparently involved a conversation about vegan foods, freezing eggs, and tanning).

“I heard these two women having the most absurd conversation in history and I posted that on my personal account, and I noticed that instead of getting 14 likes, it got 30 likes,” he recalls. Just a few more days and viral posts later (Ireland Baldwin reshared his post on her Instagram), Margolis knew he was on to something, although he wasn’t aware of what the account would become at the time.

He says, “The effect was immediate. I knew that there was something about it that resonated with people, the way that it didn’t use photography on a visual platform and the way it didn’t take itself seriously. The way it never uses hashtags in a serious way.”

Even then, Margolis saw himself as an anti-influencer, originally thinking he might run the account for only a few months.

“I thought to myself, as someone who doesn’t really engage in that world, to have a platform can’t be a bad thing,” he remembers. “So even if I just do this for a few months and it has 50,000 followers, you could then use that for something else.”

It was only after a year of continued success and the launch of sister account @OverheardNY that Margolis realized that the project was here to stay and was only going to get bigger.

“It took me about a year to figure out that it was a brand and what that brand could be and what the potential of Instagram was,” he explains. “Once Instagram brought in the Story feature and we launched our second account in New York, I started to really have a vision for it being something.”

That vision included disassociating himself as the curator of the account, which now has 1 million followers and counting. Margolis hoped that the anonymity would take out the individual personality of an account and instead make it a living and breathing space where Angelenos could come together to make light of the oft bizarre frivolities and eccentricities of L.A. life. In fact, he believes that @OverheardLA becoming a “faceless part of the city and not attached to some personality or ego” has led to its enduring popularity.

“I feel really lucky because I feel like I have a really incredible platform, but I don’t actually have to be some cheesy Instagrammer who people really like for a year then hate,” he admits. Margolis seems grateful he’s been able to navigate his way behind the scenes as an influencer.

Since posting his initial eavesdropping venture to the account, it’s exploded. If you head over to @OverheardLA today, you’ll see the ~struggles~ of life in the city of excess (like wearing white jeans, modern dating, and choosing your spin class membership over toilet paper because #priorities) are all captured. Eavesdropping denizens send their hilarious submissions over to Margolis and his team (he has separate editors for his accounts all around the world) for a chance to be featured and read by his million followers, which includes a significant celebrity following from stars like J. Lo, Ireland Baldwin, Vanessa Hudgens, and Mandy Moore.

While he’s seen Los Angeles evolve and grow up over the years, he believes “it still is the playground for extreme, absurd lifestyle and behaviors,” and he is still fascinated by people like the “Burning Man-outfitted, health food store warrior” that you might not see anywhere else. However, with Overheard accounts now in San Francisco, New York, and London, Margolis says that while L.A. tends to be more “absurd,” he’s definitely noticed more overlap with metropolitan centers in recent years.

“I think a lot of major cities like Sydney, London, have this sort of similar first world bubble that’s both so entertaining to make fun of and interesting,” he explains.

With thousands of successful posts under his belt and a small team to help sift through the countless submissions, the founder has figured out what works, and he’s used the same comedic formula (no politics, no religion, and no gossip) to attract new followers and keep things fun for everyone. So, how does a submission catch his eye?

He doesn’t have to think twice about it. “Originality,” he says. “It’s so hard to spot true originality, and once in a while you get a submission that’s so, so good. It’s not about kale or avocados or Xanax, like something truly original.”

He continues, “The ideal submission is something where you read it, and 10 different people will have 10 different ideas about what actually happened and who those people were.”

Judging from his continued aversion to fame (Margolis refuses to be photographed to avoid being identified), it’s not surprising that he’s shifted his focus from the inane everyday conversations that you just can’t help overhearing into a multi-million-follower-strong Instagram cult with ties to branded accounts like Bumble, Uber, and luxe perfumerie Labo.

In the future, Margolis hopes to harness the idea of “overhearing culture” by releasing city guides, and starting an interview series to eventually grow into a “comedy slash media platform.” On Oct. 9, 2018, his book We Only Dated For 11 Instagrams (titled after his favorite submission ever) was released. It’s clear that he’s come a long way from posting his initial eavesdropping venture.

Still, some things never change. For Margolis, Instagram fame isn’t as glamorous as it might seem on paper. He definitely considers posting on Instagram “work” (although he admits that it’s a lot of fun), and considering the hundreds of submissions he receives per day, there’s definitely a share of “horrible submissions that are so bad that you can’t believe someone sent them in.”

Still, bad submissions aside, it’s something that he wouldn’t choose to change for the world. He reflects, “It’s changed my life in the fact that I realize how much opportunity there is in social media, and it’s a really amazing feeing to be able to press a button and make people laugh.”

Caroline Wurtzel/Elite DailySource: https://www.elitedaily.com/p/the-man-behind-overheardla-is-responsible-for-those-funny-af-conversations-on-your-feed-12013340

[fashiontrendin-blog]

A Chronicle of All the Fashion Shows I Saw, Missed and Loved

http://fashion-trendin.com/a-chronicle-of-all-the-fashion-shows-i-saw-missed-and-loved/

A Chronicle of All the Fashion Shows I Saw, Missed and Loved

I’ve tempted fate one too many times during past fashion weeks and skinned a few too many of my teeth in the almost-late process. It finally caught up with me. On the rainy morning of Monday, September 10th, late to Wes Gordon’s debut at Carolina Herrera and got locked out of the show.

I was pissed. The show was at the New York Historical Society, which I wanted to see the inside of. On top of that, I’d planned to cover Carolina Herrera, and not being there in person to experience the lights and the sound and the general ambiance made me nervous I’d have no real feelings about it.

Turns out I am the rainbow cake girl from Mean Girls this week, because I had plenty of feelings about it, and about a few other shows I didn’t actually attend…and I managed to save some for the shows I did sit at! Details below.

Monday, 10 a.m.

Carolina Herrera Spring 2019

I look at fashion shows the way I read magazines: back to front. So when I got to the office after my commute of shame and opened Vogue.com, my first impression of Wes Gordon’s Carolina Herrera really started with look #43: a four-tone stripe tent (compliment) with an off-the-shoulder ruffle and a flower exploding its own petals in a fit of “loves me, loves me not.” Then came look #40, with a curved arc up toward the clavicle and molten sunshine satin fabric melting below. As the collection subdued, ever so slightly, toward the technical front, I imagined a Carolina fan in the audience’s excitement growing as she liked what she saw — especially, unexpectedly, the knee-high boots with embroidered flowers — but had no idea what to expect next. We’d meet somewhere in the middle, around look #24, perhaps, lock eyes at the marigold gown covered in a leopard-spot-print of red flowers, simultaneously register our appreciating for the menswear-esque top’s silhouette (a nod, maybe, to her classic white shirt-plus-ball-skirt combination) and proclaim together, “Yes!”

Wes’s version of Carolina no doubt leans a just a little bit younger (the blazer-coats, the shorts, the mini skirts) but if youthfulness is a state of mind and the numbers are just for candle-adorning purposes, than these clothes are for his customers of all ages. I think they’re going to be very excited.

11 a.m. – 3 p.m.

I’m at the office. I write some emails, eat a kale-bowl thingy with sweet potato hash and a poached egg, drink half an ice coffee, attend a short meeting, do some work-work, and then OFF I DASH, en foot, to 3.1 Phillip Lim, located in a high school about a 15-minute walk from our office.

3 p.m.

3.1 Phillip Lim Spring 2019

We’re on the roof of a high school, which is giving me flashbacks, and reminding me that everyone, including another Philip (Philip Ellis), has been telling me to watch To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. It’s my main plan for this evening.

And now, a two-sentence review of Phillip Lim: The slight drizzle that steadied during Phillip Lim’s Spring 2019 collection was weirdly perfect given that he’s going one step past the bucket hat and full-on into fisherman headgear. As for the clothes, they’re perfect for a summer city staycation, but they wouldn’t mind if you brought them (the silver coat in particular) to Burning Man.

4 – 7 p.m., back to the office

Hello! Here I am, back in the saddle. I picked up a weird salad on my way back from Lim. It was weird because it was more bacon than lettuce, so also kind of a blessing. I can’t focus on work yet, so I use this time to catch up on Rodarte and Chromat online.

Set in a graveyard on a rainy Sunday, Rodarte’s Spring collection show looks like it would have given me goosebumps had I been there in person. There was a beautiful, romantic melancholia to the whole production that carried over into the photos (either everyone who posted on Instagram caught the hazy effect of light and water just so, or there’s a new Huji in town), but pulled away from the wonderful drama, I could see any of these pieces worn by the happiest of person, like a bride, on the happiest of days, like a wedding — or an attention-grabbing attendee! Or someone very excited to pick up their unicorn’s groceries. Either way, it was a lesson in pure candy fantasy. And a really nice work break.

Out of the woods and into the water: Chromat. In addition to her fantastic casting that, season after season, proves to the industry there are 8 million ways to be beautiful and make clothes look aspirational, she turned the self-conscious coverup beach tee on its head, then soaked it in water, confidence and sex appeal. She told Vogue it was a reimagining of “throwing a ginormous shirt over your swimsuit at the pool because you’re too embarrassed to be seen … to take that moment of vulnerability and make it something to be proud of.” If you’ve ever wondered what the “point” of a runway show is, I’d say Becca’s makes the case for the importance of a stage.

7 – 11 p.m.

Home to watch To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before and eat pizza from this gluten-free pizza place called Wild. The pizza is AN HOUR AND A HALF LATE (way worse than my timing to Carolina, okay) and I’m starving so I eat an entire bag of full-gluten everything bagel chips. The movie is perfect. I, like every other person on this planet apparently, am in love with Noah Centineo.

Tuesday, 6:30 a.m.

Oh look, it’s morning! Nothing to see here folks, other than my Artist’s Way morning pages, 15 minutes of not very good meditation, teeth brushing, varied attempts at writing a few stories I have do (writer’s block has been at an all-time high this week, bad timing) and other general boring morning stuff.

At 9:55 I haul ass to the 1 train, stand too close to the platform because I’m impatient and can’t get it out of my body that leaning into the dark abyss won’t make the train come, when a woman I don’t know gently scolds me (lovingly, or as much as a stranger can muster) for doing so. She’s right, though! I vow to be a changed woman.

10 a.m.

Oscar de la Renta Spring 2019

Time for Oscar de la Renta, which was partially a lesson in How to Look Really Chic While You Travel (with a blanket and socks in your carryon if you get cold), but largely a reminder that glamour is alive and well — or it could be if we all stopped wearing workout clothes to dinner and spent more time inside the heads of Laura Kim and Fernando Garcia. Their take on Oscar de la Renta this round isn’t 100% what I associate the house with, and from watching Monse a few days earlier, it’s clear they’re two designers who are growing and changing. But that’s what fashion is about, right? And how boring would it be if all they did was the same old thing?

Some of the dresses were so dramatic that I almost felt redeemed for missing Carolina yesterday (I’m not going to Paris, so this is just in case there’s a glamour quota I was supposed to be hitting during fashion week). Also alive and well, I am so happy to say, are little straw hats for your little square handbags, and flat sandals with raffia fringe all around, like that of a deconstructed straw hat brim. Shuffle, shuffle.

Now off I go, to the 1 train, back home.

11:30 a.m.

I’m eating last night’s leftover pizza and chugging water while working. Get lost in an email black hole. And then, like it’s groundhog day, I leave my apartment, get back on the 1 train, get off at the same stop, and head to the same studio that Oscar was in, this time for Tome.

1 p.m.

To quote our one-sentence review (which, don’t forget, has its own Highlight on our Instagram!) of Tome: “Dip-dyed and faded sherbert-colored happy sunny sweet breeze clothes to combat a rainy mood, or, to dream about for next summer.” Okay I’ll take it.

2 – 3 p.m.

I have traveled far and wide to reach these parts by subway and my feet hurt. These old boots are not (here comes a joke you’ve never heard before) made for walking. I’m sitting at Coach and thrilled that the bench is a little too high, so my feet are dangling. It feels like sweet relief and makes me think of T. Wise’s bit about dangling feet:

“This obviously makes me think that it doesn’t matter how big or grown or serious a person might be: If they sit in a place where their feet don’t touch the floor, they look absolutely adorable. There are no exceptions to this rule: Football players, supermodels, soldiers, reverends, rappers, I don’t care. Adorable.”

I couldn’t see so well from my seat, but upon close online review, I’d call the collection a cross between West World meets your favorite childhood cartoons that says “PrairieCore isn’t going anywhere, but it might get a lot less sweet and a little more everyday-vampire.”

4 p.m.

They gave us popsicles after the show. I eat mine on the subway ride home, change into sweatpants upon arrival, clean up my apartment that got weirdly messy out of nowhere, and start writing all of this.

9 PHOTOS click for more

Feature image by Slaven Vlasic/Getty Images for NYFW: The Shows. Photos via Amelia Diamond.

[amplesalty]

Day 2 - Santa With Muscles (1996)

On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

2...4 inch pythons!

Once more WWE is neglecting their duties of providing me with suitable Christmas related movie releases so I'm forced to look further afield to fulfill my wrestler vehicle requirements. In general they seemed to have slowed down in the last few months, that Sleight movie did pretty well and they had a whole bunch of stuff out in August but nothing since. Note to self; need to see Surfs Up 2: WaveMania and that's Jetsons crossover. Maybe that Hasshlehoff movie too, that seemed like it could be pretty dumb.

Things start out at a local orphanage where little girl #1 is very sad because a nasty man is trying to shut them down. If only Santa would come along and save them.

Forget Santa, Hulk Hogan is already decked out in army fatigues and is sneaking through someones flower bed. He spies all sorts of henchmen walking around with machetes. Well shit, this movie is gonna be over pretty quickly isn't it?!

Whoever this guy is, he has some pretty dedicated staff on site. They all set upon Hogan with their weapon of choice befitting their role. The chef jumps him with a meat tenderizer, the driver with a tire iron...at the least the gardener has something halfway menacing when he pops up with a hedge trimmer. They all come out screaming like banshees as well.

But surprise, this isn't the villains lair. It's just Hogan's daily exercise routine before enjoying his morning wheat grass smoothie with extra kale. Exercise my arse, he's kicking the shit out of everyone. He gorilla press slammed one guy from his patio.

Then again, maybe they deserve it. Pretty sure it must have been one of these guys that talked him into this line of protein shakes instead of the mean, lean, grilling machine! He even tells his butler to get rid of some charity collectors, but they can take some of his carb bars. They weren't selling anyway. Hey, even in the 90's people were trying to cut carbs out of their diet.

Hogan is playing Blake Thorne, wealthy entrepreneur who enjoys spending his free time engaging in a spot of paint balling with his buddies. Seems one of them makes the error of clipping a cop car with his dirt bike as he makes a sick jump, causing the feds to think there's a whole bunch of terrorists on the loose.

Rather than pull over to the side of the road and accept the likely slap on the wrist he'd get for being such a big shot, he figures it would be better to open fire on them with his paint gun. What the fuck?! This is our good guy?! I guess I can kind of see where they're coming from. If you had that much money, I guess things would be pretty mundane. Sure the fast cars and luxury holidays at fun at first but the novelty would soon wear off, you have to start making your own fun, ya know? Maybe you start paying people to do stupid shit just for your own amusement, do some blow, start a city wide police chase and nearly kill several people by effectively blinding them by getting paint all over their windshields...

Meanwhile, we meet our villain, Ebner Frost, who has a Howard Hughes thing going on. He's holed up in a room in his mansion, interrogating local shop keeps via video link as he tries to buy everyone out in the area. Everything in his room is covered in plastic sheets, his goons spray things with some sort of disinfectant spray and he doesn't liked to be touched. Amongst said goons are his personal physician (Dr Blight), a geologist, a chemist and Ms Watt, a femme fatale with electric gauntlets that will shock her victims. I'm pretty sure the last time I saw these guys was during the tryout scene in Mystery Men.

Thorne is hiding out at the mall, disguised as Santa in order to hide from the cops. He ends up bumping his head and has a wicked bout of amnesia. He's happened upon by one of the mall elves, Lenny, who takes his wallet and figures he can scam some money out of him by making him believe he's Santa.

After a run in with some low level criminal out to steal money that's been raised for the orphanage, Thorne feels compelled to visit so he can help out. As well as the little girl from earlier, there's also Sarah who's played by a young Mila Kunis. A Mila Kunis only a few years away from starring in That 70's Show, the guy who plays Lenny was also in that. Thorne has some run ins with Frost’s goons. Turns that doctor knows kung fu and Thorne starts prescribing a beat down on Thorne, before he returns the favour with a few medical puns of his own. “Take two of these and see me in the morning! *PUNCH* *PUNCH*” It's like watching Hellraiser 2 all over again.

For a man that Lenny describes as 'the richest man in 10 states' only a few scenes ago, absolutely no one recognises Thorne. His face is on all of his products! Not least his line of cereals that Lenny has to quickly remove from the breakfast table.

Not even respected TV reporters can see through that clever disguise.

"Well let me tell you something, Mean Helen, it's that special time of year once again. It's the time for peace on Earth, for thinking of your fellow man. Well, this Ebner Frost dude must be The Grinch because he's trying to take everything away from these kids. Tis the season for giving and I've got something to give to you, jack! This Christmas Eve, at the Silverdome, I'll be giving the big boot, the leg drop and I'll be pinning you for the 1-2-3 right in the middle of that ring. Your hermetically sealed suit isn't gonna help you this time, brother. Because I've been saying my prayers, drinking my milk and eating my cookies. You're stepping in the ring with the man with the 24 inch pythons. You might have the Doctor with you and all your little friends, but I've got Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blixen, Mrs Claus and all of these little Santamaniacs behind me, brother. So whatcha gonna do, Frost, when Santamania and the spirit of Christmas runs wild on you?!"

We eventually find out why Frost wants all these land and the orphanage in particular. For underneath the building is a vault and inside is...

Sarah explains that these are quartz crystals that contain natural electricity and that these must be worth millions. One of the kids drops one about 2 feet and it promptly explodes.

After another scrap with Frost's Doctor, Thorne accidentally falls from the church's bell tower into a passing garbage truck which gives him his memory back. That's karma for throwing the giant off the roof at Halloween Havoc 95, Hogan. With Thorne out of the picture, Frost takes over the orphanage but with his memory back, Thorne can round up his crack team of ninja chefs, plumbers and carpenters to go take him down.

But first they have a little unfinished business with the police. Clearly having some unsold stock to use up, he greases the road with some salad dressing and obscures their vision with a cloud of protein powder. They run into a road block though and clear this cops aren't fucking around anymore...

DUDE! Since when did police have standard issue bazookas?! Trump's America, amirite?! Luckily, Thorne can dodge that shit like he's Han Solo in the special edition of Star Wars and he can go take care of business.

Remember those extremely volatile crystals that would explode if you so much as sneezed at them? Well apparently you can just sword fight with them now, no big deal.

Thorne disposes of Frost but the crystals become unstable and this causes the whole church to explode. But where will all the orphans possibly live now?! Well, Thorne knows a place. Here I was thinking he would take them home with him, they'd all be helped by his butlers and chefs and everyone would live happily ever after.

But no, they just go and steal Frost's mansion. Not like he needs it, right? He's in jail now, fuck him.

There's a certain campiness to Hogan's performance here that I wasn't expecting. In retrospect, I'm remembering that bit in Mr Nanny where he's in the pink tutu which is probably infinitely worst for the tough guy image. Wikipedia cites this as being considered amongst the worst films ever made. Sure, it's dumb and there's plot holes aplenty but I'm always happy to sit down with a cheese fest like this. The over the top displays of both Throne and Frost's entourages are delightful. The problem I do have is how lacklustre their big fight seemed. Hell, Thorne's fued with the police is much more intense and with a much more dramatic finale. Well, I say finale, the actual finale is that they turn up to arrest Frost and ignore Thorne. I mean more the run in with the rocket launcher guy caus...what?!

I still can't get over that. Where did he get that thing? Did he bring it from home? He whipped it out pretty quickly too, it's not like this was some out of control maniac who'd already killed dozens of people. I pick on Thorne for starting shit with the cops, and rightly so, but it's still relatively minor. Maybe throw out some of those stinger strips, shoot out his tires...anything! Your first response can't be to blow him away with a bazooka.

[thegirlsinthefirehouse]

Descendants, Chapter 15

AN: Definitely the NSFW chapter. -----

Holtzmann was relieved when Abby came back from her trip with Ariel with her cheeks still pink from laughing. 

She hadn’t seemed that light-hearted since they had been in New York. She kissed Holtz softly on the lips as she came towards the couch.

“Feeling better?” asked Holtzmann.

“I have the best sister in law,” she said. “And yes.” “Good,” nodded Holtz. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too,” said Abby. She kissed her again.

“Ugh. You two, get a room,” said Austin, disgusted. Ariel, who had come in after Abby, hit him hard on the shoulder. Holtzmann took Abby’s hand.

“Your brother’s room still about the same upstairs? Same bed?”

“Same bed,” echoed Abby.

“Excellent,” said Holtz. “Come on Abs.”

“You know, that joke never gets old,” said Austin sarcastically. Holtzmann pulled Abby onto the couch beside her.

“You make this too easy Austin,” said Abby, pinching her brother on the arm.

“You’re still my sister,” he said. “I prefer not to think about when you actually started dating after college.”

Holtzmann made a noise in her nasal cavity that made both Ariel and Abby laugh.

“What?” he said. Ariel patted his knee. “You keep thinking that, sweetheart.”

“Did I miss something?”

Ariel and Holtzmann both looked at Abby.

“I’ve tried. He doesn’t listen.”

“Your sister first dated someone in high school,” said Ariel. “She was seeing an exchange student named Sarah. She also had a boyfriend named Sam somewhere in between there and the end of college. And someone named Reyland? Then there was Jessica. She was a sweetheart and made the best snickerdoodle cookies, oh my god. I hate I never got the recipe before you two broke up. I think I may be forgetting someone. Abby?”

“Like I said, I don’t want to know,” Austin said, covering his ears. Holtz was laughing.

“I’m sure he’d probably hate to know then--”

“Let him keep his pure thoughts,” said Abby, breaking in over her wife. “His head might explode otherwise.” She reached over and nudged her brother’s side.

-----

Baltimore was an eclectic town in Abby’s opinion. She had only been there a few times since Holtz’s dad loved coming to New York, but there was always something quirky going on whenever they visited. Which suited how Holtz worked, she supposed. She rubbed Holtzmann’s knee in the cab as they headed towards their hotel. Holtz's Dad’s place was only a one bedroom, so they usually got a place to stay nearby.

“You haven’t seen your dad in a while.”

“He’s happy we’re coming for a couple of days,” said Holtz. “I haven’t told him yet.” She rubbed a hand across Abby’s before moving up to her abdomen.

“You are still carrying them so high.”

“I think my uterus is having to contend with the extra weight around my middle,” said Abby. “Might make it hard to squeeze in.”

“I love your middle,” said Holtzmann. “Not hard, not soft. Just body.” She leaned down and kissed the baby bump.

“Dad’s going to love you.”

“Just as long as he loves nacho fries,” said Abby. Holtzmann sighed.

“My sister in law...”

“Five pregnancies Jills. She knows what is delicious.” “I’d better call Erin and tell her to start shopping for steak fries, nacho cheese, the stuff for pico de gallo, and some thinly sliced ribeye and put them in our fridge.”

“Pickled jalapeños, black beans, and limes,” added Abby. “And sour cream.”

“Pregnancy cravings are the strangest things,” Holtzmann responded.

“I’d be curious to see what you would crave,” said Abby.

“Probably everything healthy, like kale and sweet potatoes,” said Holtz. “Because our child would torture me like that.”

“Maybe it’d make us all have better eating habits. We’re still bad about that,” said Abby, grimacing.

“Why are you worried about that right now? You get to eat whatever you want for the next 23 weeks because you keep throwing up,” said Holtzmann. “I mean, seriously Abby.”

“I hate being queasy,” said Abby, frowning.

“Only six more months,” Holtz said with a shrug.

“Only six,” said Abby sarcastically.

“You know, the black alpine salamanders that live in the Central and Eastern Alps have pregnancies that can last from two to three years,” smirked Holtz. “And they usually give birth to two at a time.”

“Thank God we’re not amphibians,” said Abby. “Three years? With two? Geez.”

“I’d take care of you,” cooed Holtz. “And we’d have twins.”

“Who would make sure you were still alive though?” smirked Abby.

“Patty and Erin.”

“I can’t even imagine being pregnant for three years,” Abby said, shaking her head. Holtzmann smirked at Abby staring out the window.

“You’re secretly enjoying the attention. You can’t fool me, Abigail.”

“Your attention, sure,” said Abby, turning back to Holtz. “Everybody else doesn’t matter.”

“Liar,” said Holtzmann with a small smirk.

“Shut up,” said Abby, rolling her eyes. Holtzmann chuckled delightedly. She kissed Abby softly on the lips. Ever since they left Michigan, Abby had been decidedly more playful. Usually, PDA was not something she did often in public, but they had kissed several times since leaving for the airport. And Holtz wasn’t going to complain. In fact, she was looking forward to checking into their hotel. Abby had a hand on Holtz’s tie and was toying with it between her fingers. Holtzmann was certain at this point all the feeling in her body had rushed downwards and she wanted those fingers to be doing other things.

It wasn’t much longer till they were dropped off in front of the hotel. Checking in had been a breeze since they had already done everything online. Holtzmann loved the age of the Internet. They both had collapsed on the bed, lamenting the hardness of the airplane seats. Abby was laying on her side and eyeing Holtz’s clothes. When she started rubbing her fingers slightly across the buttons of the vest and unfastening them, Holtzmann spoke.

“We’ve got a couple of hours,” she said, echoing what she hoped Abby was thinking. The sound of her belt being unfastened made her smile.

“I think we can make use of them,” said Abby. Holtz found her lips being covered by Abby’s and she took them happily. Her vest was soon completely undone and Abby’s hand was down in her pants. She leaned over to kiss down Holtz’s jaw and her neck. Holtzmann let out a tiny whimper and started pulling off her vest and belt. Sometimes she had to wonder why she wore so many clothes and accessories. She was just glad she wasn’t still wearing gloves as she unfastened Abby’s shirt. Holtz's hands went automatically for her boobs. She pulled her lips away from Abby’s.

“Mmm... honey, I am loving the new breast size. I think they have gotten bigger again.”

Abby groaned as she reached for her suitcase beside the bed and pulled out a bottle of lube. “Don’t say that. I just had to buy new bras.”

“I would say that would be a yes,” said Holtzmann as she pushed up Abby’s bra. She squinted.

“Maybe another cup size.” Holtz reached for Abby's waist and pulled her closer. The brunette moaned in Holtz’s ear as her lover’s hands were groping her chest. “And sensitive.” She teased a nipple and felt Abby’s hand go back down her pants.

“Let’s see who’s what,” smirked Abby as she rubbed Holtz’s clit, her fingers slick with the lubricant.

“That’s playing dirty,” said Holtzmann. “Oh geez, Abby.” Her hips were bucking off the bed.

“I needed an advantage,” smirked Abby. She pushed down Holtzmann’s pants and concentrated on rubbing her clit more. “Because I’m going to get this in as much as possible before dinner.” She unbuttoned Holtz’s shirt and pushed up her sports bra. She kissed her way down Holtzmann’s body and towards her sex. Holtz felt her wife’s warm breath on her labia and she was pretty much just along for the ride. When she felt Abby’s tongue inside her and her thumb pressing on her clit, Holtzmann knew she was headed for heaven. Abby, when she was pleasuring her, was unrelenting. She held onto Holtz’s hips and pushed her lover’s growing pleasure and orgasm to the brink. Holtzmann was still breathing hard and enjoying the small waves still coming over her body after hitting the high note. Holtz started tugging off her remaining clothes quickly after that. She wanted to be naked when she pleasured her lover. The only thing she still had on after five seconds was her necklace which she plopped down on the side table with a flick of her wrist. She kissed Abby hungrily, who was still on her knees on the bed.

“God, I want to feel you,” said Abby, breaking the kiss. Holtzmann took off Abby’s glasses off of the top of her head and tossed them carefully onto the side table. She leaned her forehead against her wife’s and laid gentle kisses on her cheeks and temples as they both worked to take off Abby’s button down and bra. They both situated themselves down on the mattress with a laugh.

“I think we’re both incredibly horny,” said Abby.

“No, you were and you made me this way,” mumbled Holtzmann from Abby’s cleavage. “Yep, definitely some growth. It took two extra kisses to get to your nipple.”

“The fact that you have the number of kisses down to a science shouldn’t really surprise me, but it does,” said Abby. “Holtz--”

“Would you rather me tell you the number of kisses it takes to get to your clit or would you rather I demonstrated?” Holtzmann grinned and started kissing a line on Abby’s black slacks while she reached for the bottle of lube lying next to the pillows. She started tugging them down with every little kiss.

“It’s always better to have visual evidence and actual results.”

“Visual evidence? Kinkkkky Abigail. I would have never picked you for being a secret film type of girl after all these years.” Holtz took that moment rub a circle around Abby’s labia with her fingers.

“Just start working your magic down there Holtzmann before this kid is born.”

“Mag-ic,” said Holtz, grinning, still rubbing a circle. “Mag-ic.” Abby’s whimper was priceless. She stuck two fingers inside her. Holtz felt Abby’s hips tense immediately, bucking upwards. She chuckled, leaning up to kiss her wife on the lips before moving back down between her legs.

“You needed that huh?” Holtz said, stroking deeper. She kissed the tip of Abby’s sex before flicking her tongue inside. She could feel Abby tense up a bit more in anticipation. Holtz was enjoying the sensation of being surrounded by her lover as Abby’s legs had slid up, bending at the knee. She rubbed them gently as she playing with Abby’s clit with her tongue. Her fingers stroked deeper and lovingly while listening to her wife’s quickening breaths. She knew when she was doing the right thing by Abby’s moan. When it started getting higher pitched, she knew she needed to go harder and faster. Holtz teased her clit even more, circling it with her tongue. Abby’s ragged gasp as her strokes went even deeper meant she was coming hard and fast. Holtz held her close as an orgasm washed over her lover. She loved the wet feeling she always had after pleasuring Abby. A woman’s cum was a beautiful thing. She moved her fingers to continue to stroke Abby’s swollen clit as she brought their bodies almost even to one another. Holtz left little kisses on her lips and neck while waiting for Abby to come down from her orgasm.

“I think you did need that,” said Holtzmann, smoothing Abby’s hair with her unoccupied hand.

“You’re going to make me come again,” said Abby, breathing deeply. She leaned her head back against the pillows.

“You know you want it,” Holtzmann said into her ear. The engineer almost gasped out loud when she felt Abby’s index finger running up and down her sex.

“I think you might want to try that sentence again.” Holtz moaned when Abby’s fingers went inside her. She went deep, pushing a third finger inside. Holtz forced her legs open more and they both rode each other to orgasm once more. Holtzmann flopped down on her side, still leaving an arm and a leg wrapped around Abby. The brunette turned over on her side and left quick but wet kisses on Holtz’s neck. The engineer smiled happily at her lover. She rubbed her thumb across Abby’s lips.

“So we did the sex thing, so now the shower thing?”

“Nap?” suggested Abby, yawning.

“A quick one,” said Holtzmann. “I can set my alarm.” She looked and realized it was still in her pants pocket. They were now too far away, laying in a heap on the floor.

“We can do without the alarm,” she said, laying her head on a pillow and snuggling into Abby’s chest. <– Prev | Next –>