#Pool Management Cincinnati

[joeybsversion]

Like and Love

Joe Burrow x Reader

Joe and Reader have a competitive relationship

“Loser buys drinks for the rest of the night?” Joe pulls the smoky cigar from his mouth, passing a smirk your way.

The tiniest of smiles graced your face, “Considering I’m a struggling project manager and you’re a millionaire, that seems fair.” You tease.

“Hey now, don’t insult me. I’m a billionaire.” Joe corrects, popping the ‘B’. “But if you have no faith in your pool skills, we can call it off.” He tilts his head.

You rolled your eyes, hating this reverse psychology act he always tries to pull over on you, yet you fall for it every time. “I have plenty of faith in my ability to hit a few balls.” You lean over the pool table, lining your stick up with the cue ball.

Joe comes up beside you, his large hands resting on the edge of the table, he’s so close you can almost feel his breath down your neck as you stand back up, making your way to the opposite side of the table for your next shot.

“We have a little pool shark on our hands!” Joe’s teammate and best friend Sam Hubbard teases as he makes his way over to Joe. “Nice shot!” He high fives you.

Joe and the Bengals had just won the AFC championship and would be heading to the Super Bowl. You were out with the team celebrating at a bar in downtown Cincinnati.

“I’m just trying to boost her confidence before I destroy her on my next turn.” Joe proclaims, taking a sip of the drink Sam had just handed him.

His remarks earned a laugh from Sam, who quickly was distracted by the bartender bringing another round of drinks through the room.

“Hold this for me.” Joe hands you his drink as he lines up to take his next shot. “And get ready to go buy us a round.”

“I’m liking the confidence, Joey.” You giggle, taking a sip out of his cup watching as he completely misses his shot. “But your game could use some work.”

He rolls his eyes, nervously chewing on the end of his cigar, trying to decide what to say next as you strike the cue ball, making another shot.

“All that’s left is the 8 ball and I win. You better get your wallet out.” You tease.

Your chest is heaving as you nervously lean over and make the shot, you stand up excited, throwing both arms into the air as you win the game.

“Good thing you’re a billionaire, because I’m ordering the most expensive drink on the menu for the rest of the night.” You smile and turn around, heading towards the bar.

Joe grabs your arm, “Not so fast.” He stops you, turning your body back around to face him. “Best out of three.” His lips are so close to yours, you can practically taste the alcohol on his breath.

“Changing the rules after I win.” You tease. “You’re a sore loser.”

“I don’t lose.” He scoffs.

“Then what do you call whatever just happened?”

A mischievous smile came across his face, “Alternative,” he presses a kiss to your lips, “winning.”

You can’t help but giggle as he pulls away, “Get out of here with that nonsense.”

“So what do you say, best 2 out of 3?” He steps away to start preparing the table for another game.

“Bring it.” You smirk.

Drinks continue to flow for the rest of the night, into the early morning hours, and you continue to beat Joe at pool. He finally followed through on his end of the bet, buying you both a few rounds of drinks while you celebrate with the team.

Just as the sun starts to peak up over the city scape, Joe leads you hand in hand out of the bar as you both head outside to catch a ride.

“I had fun with you.” Joe peppers your face with kisses as you stand on the sidewalk waiting for your car.

“I had fun beating you.” You giggle, his kisses ticking your face and neck.

“It feels good to win, doesn’t it?” He smiles, thinking back to the game his team just won hours prior.

“The best.”

The car pulls up and Joe climbs in, drunkenly pulling you into his lap. You cling to him like he’s the only sense of security you’ve ever know, his hands furiously tracing up and down your sides.

Your apartment is a long way from downtown, making it a 40 minute ride home. Snuggled into Joe’s body, you feel yourself slowly drifting in and out of sleep, while Joe makes small talk with the driver.

“S’go inside.” He whispers, doing his best to wake you. He helps you from the car before thanking the driving and picking you up, carrying you inside.

“You’re so pretty.” He murmurs, hand smoothing over the back of your legs as he carries you. “I like you so much, and you smell so good, and I like when you’re competitive and beat me.”

You feel like you’re dreaming. “You’re drunk.” You mumble still half asleep.

“Uh-huh.” He sets you on your feet as you reach the bedroom, before guiding you towards the bed. “And I also like you so much. So much more than anyone.” He slurs. “I like you and I love you.”

[smolsleepyfox]

I found this in my drafts so enjoy my bitching about the absolute shitshow my first intercontinental flight turned into.

Travelers: smolsleepyfox + mother who doesn't speak a lot of English

The inbound journey: train to Frankfurt > flight to LA (Condor) > ~two hours transit time > flight to Honolulu (Hawaiian)

Estimated travel time: 24 hours

What actually happened: The ICE was late, of course, but we had more than enough buffer regardless. The plane was announced as 45 minutes delayed due to a delayed arrival. Okay, not fun, but doable.

We eventually started with a delay of 1h 40. Refer to the transit time stated above.

The flight itself was cool, I really liked the 3D earth model with our route showing all sorts of background info on sights we were passing. I saw Iceland and the Faroe islands for the first time, and some of Greenland, the Great Salt Lake and Nevada. (Why is the US so big and empty in the middle, it was kind of freaky??)

Anyway. We arrived with a delay of 1h 20 and hastened to get to the connection. As travellers entering the country we had to get our bags and then check them in again when we were connecting, so we did just that.

Mistake.

Because when we made it to the check-in counter of Hawaiian Airlines they told us we'd been rebooked to a different flight with an entirely different airline. At 7am the next day.

Apparently Condor thought we wouldn't make the connection and changed our booking. The very sweet lady at the counter wrote down the flight number for the new booking, and recommended we go ask our original airline to get us a hotel because by that time it was 7pm and we'd been up for about 24 hours.

Guess who does not work anymore at 7pm?

If you guessed Condor's customer service desk, you get a point. What followed should be familiar to people who watched Asterix conquers Rome. I probably spoke to everyone wearing some sort of uniform in the entire building. Turns out social anxiety is only a problem until your stress level hits the roof. And after all of that didn't even work, we got a SMS with a hotel booking and food vouchers.

Note that by that point, we'd been running around for nearly three hours and there's still no information the new flight booking even exists. We have no boarding passes, not even an email saying we got rebooked in the first place, just a hand-written flight number.

To be fair the hotel was extremely nice. There even was a pool in the courtyard - which we couldn't use because as I mentioned we'd checked in our luggage. We didn't even have a toothbrush. Regardless, half of the vouchers were spent on dinner that I thought was stupid expensive (but hey not my money!).

Next morning while waiting in line to get our boarding passes I talked to a dude from Cincinnati checking in a very friendly black Labrador Retriever. I told him I'd love to see the Great Lakes sometime and he said he has a friend who went to Germany with his athletics team and it sounded very fun. I told him we have a lot of big funky churches and he seemed to appreciate it. We also spent the other half of the vouchers on Starbucks.

We did make it to Honolulu airport. Our bags did not. The day before, they'd told us that they'd either transfer our luggage to the new airline, or they'd just put it on their flight to Honolulu that leaves the same time. We waited at the baggage claim for our flight. The conveyor belt was blocked by a large box for like ten minutes. No luggage. We have no flight number for the other Hawaiian flight and none of the screens even show that that plane exists, let alone is supposed to arrive in the span of the next two hours.

After asking five different people and my mom running off on her own, we manage to get to Hawaiian's baggage service desk and one of the crew wanders off with our receipts to take a look. He returns after 30 minutes with a cart. I didn't ask where the hell he found our stuff. He was probably a wizard.

We still don't have a confirmation we ever got rebooked.

---

This is where I left off, thinking we'd finished the Odyssey. Guess the fuck what! We had not!

We spent a lovely two weeks on O'ahu of which I was sick for most of the first (I blame the AC). Our flight back was at 7.25am.

The plan was for us to go to LA together, where I'd put my mom on a flight back (Condor again) and for me to spend two more weeks in LA. We arrived around 5am because we're German and that's the bare minimum of buffer. Online check-in somehow didn't work for the Honolulu-LA leg but did work for the LA-Frankfurt leg. So we get to the airport, try the kiosks. No luck there either. Go to the customer service counter.

The poor man took about five minutes looking between his PC and our passports before telling us he had to check something and wandering off for a solid twenty minutes. That can't be a good sign.

He returns. My mom's ticket doesn't exist.

What do you mean her ticket doesn't exist, I ask, wondering if I've lost the ability to speak English.

Apparently when Condor rebooked us on the inbound flight, they accidentally canceled both Hawaiian airlines reservations for my mom. So now we have an hour left and my mom doesn't have a ticket and a flight to catch.

Booking another ticket for this specific flight is 2800$ - even if we were willing to pay that (we were not) that is very much above my credit card's limit. The man, who clearly feels bad for us, advises me to call Condor directly.

I genuinely don't want to think about how much money I paid calling the hotline. The entire thing was a disaster - I have auditory processing disorder, it was loud as fuck in the airport and the man on the other end had an accent. At first I gave him the wrong booking number (mine instead of my mom's), then he misunderstood and thought our inbound flights were with Lufthansa so Not His Job. He eventually promised to reinstate the ticket so we should wait a few minutes and return to the check-in. At check-in the tickets did not show up, so I call them back and ask for the ticket numbers to double-check.

Having a pacing man at the airport yell into his phone in German probably fulfills some kind of stereotype.

We went outside so my mom could have a smoke break and I avoided having a meltdown with the help of a soggy Nutella bread, since I hadn't even had breakfast at that point.

At this point, we've missed our flight, meaning my ticket has lost its validity as well. Stakes are high.

The few minutes were apparently enough for the system to catch up though, because when we got back to the check in counter, a very nice lady told us that while it wasn't Hawaiian Airlines' responsibility, they offered a complementary rebooking to a later flight. They wouldn't be able to guarantee we got on if it was full, but chances were good. Very stressful 40 minutes until we were called up by a guy my age who apologized for not knowing how to pronounce our last name.

But wait - my mom had a flight to catch. The stopover time by that point had shrunken to an hour... And our plane was delayed. In all fairness, the cabin crew was lovely, they offered all passengers with connecting flights to get off the plane first, just grab our stuff and run. Which is what we did, running up to the gate and asking if boarding is still ongoing like we were being chased by the mob. This flight was also delayed and I think the stewardess was concerned for us.

But hey, at least my mom made it home. Just to put the cherry on top though, my mom's luggage arrived in Germany five days later.

My own flight from LA to Frankfurt was luckily completely unremarkable. Never again.

[pizza-is-my-buziness]

45. Deal prompt

It's cold and that makes me cranky.

Also I miss Kate and Simon.

“I can’t believe you actually want to go swimming. Here.”

What Deena means to say is anywhere because water and actually swimming around in it? Not her thing. But a disparaging comment about the Shadyside Public Pool basically encompasses all of those things, so Deena feels like she’s covered all her bases.

Not that Simon seems to notice or care. He just drops a towel -a bathroom towel, not even a ratty old beach towel like the one Deena had dug out of the hallway linen cabinet- onto a plastic lounge chair and kicks off his shoes. “What? It’s not so bad.”

Deena glances toward the pool, which is full of half a dozen children and one middle-aged woman determinedly swimming laps and maybe it doesn’t look so bad. Now. But. Give it time.

“I mean,” Simon continues, tugging off a shirt that says Ohio is for lovers that was probably Timothy’s, and adding it to the pile on his chair. “Kate works here.”

This, Deena thinks, is probably the only reason the pool looks as passable as it does now. Because with Kate Schmidt in charge, nothing is going to be half-assed. The pool water is clear. The concrete is free of trash and half-chewed gum and god only knows what else. The American Top 40 is playing on a stereo from somewhere by the life guard chair and it might be the nicest place in Shadyside right now.

Still doesn’t mean Deena is getting in the water.

Kate, who has been trying to coax them into agreeing to spend a summer afternoon at the pool to keep her company rather than languishing in Simon’s room talking about how bored they were, is currently talking to someone who looks like he imagines himself to be her boss, when really anyone who knows Kate knows who is actually in charge of this -and any- operation. She’s nodding, wearing an oversized hoodie over her swimsuit -likely because even Deena doesn’t miss the way the guy’s eyes keep drifting downward- and a pair of flipflops and one of those Baywatch whistles around her neck and Deena can’t wait to give her shit about all of it. But she resists the urge for now, since Kate is trying to be all professional, and instead she takes her old beach towel and spreads it across her own chair before taking a seat. The towel is from the trip her parents had taken her and Josh on to Coney Island Park in Cincinnati when she had been eight and Josh seven and their mom was still around and she’s pretty sure it’s been stuffed into the back of the closet ever since then.

Simon pulls a bottle of sunscreen from somewhere and begins slathering it across his arms in a way that makes Deena both love him and want to tease him mercilessly and before she gets the chance, Kate is walking over in their direction, the obnoxious slap of her flipflops announcing her arrival. She looks at Deena, quirking an eyebrow above her sunglasses. “You didn’t bring your suit?”

Deena gestures to herself, offended. “I’m wearing shorts.”

Shorts and a Stryper shirt that had once been her dad’s and sure it’s to cover up the swimsuit she’d reluctantly put on, but she has no intention of letting anyone prove that.

“As lifeguard, I’m obligated to tell you that shorts are not allowed in the pool,” Kate says in a way that manages to be both teasing and completely serious at the same time. “Sorry.”

Deena smirks. “You gonna blow your whistle at me?”

“You wish.” Kate smirks and then her attention is shifting, a smile sliding across her face that Deena most definitely does not like. “Oh, look. Sam is here.”

It’s embarrassing, how Deena’s cheeks immediately get hot. But even more embarrassing is the way her head immediately whips in the direction of the entrance, so fast she’s actually sure she can hear the bones cracking. Kate laughs but Deena ignores her, watching, instead, as Sam Fraser walks in with a bag slung over her shoulder and two other girls from the cheerleading squad beside her.

Simon snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “Exactly. Why do you think Deena’s here?”

“That’s not…” Deena hisses, glaring at her friends and their stupid smirks.

“Then why did you suddenly decide you wanted to go to the pool today after I’ve been asking you all summer?”

Simon looks way too smug for someone who hasn’t rubbed in the sunscreen on his cheeks. Deena rolls her eyes at him and her efforts to sputter out a comeback are immediately foiled by Kate, who waves a hand over her head and calls, “Jennifer! Over here!” in a way that makes Deena want to shove her directly into the pool.

Jennifer, Ashley, and yes, Sam, immediately head for the empty chairs beside the ones Deena and Simon are currently occupying and Deena’s eyes meet Sam’s and immediately set off a flurry of emotions swirling around inside her chest. Being around Sam hasn’t gotten any easier recently but it’s gotten a hell of a lot harder to convince herself that not being around Sam is an option. Because now that she’s spent more than a few summer afternoons sitting in her bedroom listening to music and kissing Sam Fraser, that’s kinda all she ever wants to be doing.

And Deena is pretty sure it shows all over her face every time Sam is within ten feet of her.

The tradeoff is, of course, that Sam is within ten feet of her. And that’s hard to hate.

And yeah, the idea to come to the pool had been Sam’s, forcing Deena to swallow her pride and tell Simon, mostly apropos of nothing, that sure, she’d go with him to see Kate at the stupid pool, or whatever.  

Her friends might see right through her, but the decision is already paying off.

Jennifer and Ashley say hello to Kate and regard Deena and Simon with the polite uncertainty that only teenagers are truly capable of, and with all the reluctance that comes from the forcible combining of two very different types of people that would never happen if not for people like Kate Schmidt. But Sam manages to set her bag into the chair next to Deena’s casually enough, even though it means having to step around Ashley to get there first and Deena bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

“Hi,” Sam says, and she’s got that shy smile on her face that Deena loves and not just because it comes with the shocking realization that she put it there. It also provides a great view of Sam’s dimple, which Deena is fond of pressing her lips to when they’re alone. Which she very much wishes they were right now.

Deena smiles like she’s just stuck a fork into an electrical outlet and zapped the common sense out of her brain.

“Where’s your suit?” Sam asks, and Deena really thinks she should get credit just for being here, thank you very much. “I thought you were going to swim.”

“I never said that,” Deena says, pleased to be able to use this same logic on Sam that she’d used on Simon when he’d said the same thing after he’d gotten into her car. “I said I was going to go to the pool.” She gestures as if to say ta da, please hold the applause.

Sam does not look impressed. “The whole point of coming to the pool is to go swimming.”

This, Deena figures, they will have to agree to disagree on.

Because the whole point of this outing is most definitely getting to see Sam take off her tank top and stuff it into her bag and holy hell actually maybe this was a bad idea because there’s so much more of Sam to see all of the sudden. They’ve been keeping it mostly PG so far in the privacy of Deena’s bedroom and it seems like every bad thought Deena has ever had is suddenly flying into brain right now and probably outing her in front of the entire Shadyside Public Pool population.

Maybe she will get into the pool after all. Clearly, she needs to cool off.

“So you aren’t swimming,” Sam says and Deena wonders what else has been said around her that she just hasn’t been privy to. Kate is talking to Ashley and Jennifer and swinging her whistle around on her finger while Simon continues applying sunscreen with the studious focus of an overbearing mother and no one seems to have noticed that Deena is a pile of ash in the shape of a girl.

“No, Deena doesn’t swim,” Simon says before Deena can remember how words work. “She just likes to sit there and look pretty,” he teases, nudging her thigh with his bare foot.

Deena reaches over to give him a shove, almost toppling him off his chair, but she doesn’t miss the way Sam blushes and presses her teeth to her bottom lip and okay there are worse things than having Samantha Fraser think that she’s pretty.

Sam arches an eyebrow, looking at Deena for a beat before she says, “I bet I could get Deena in the pool.”

Deena rolls her eyes, but Simon sits up straighter, intrigued. “Oh yeah?”

Sam nods, reaching up to put her hair into a messy knot and Deena finds herself fixated on the movement of her wrists, the deft motions of her fingers. Those are good wrists. Pretty good fingers, too. “Yup.”

“Hmm, no way,” Simon says firmly. “I don’t think you’ve got what it takes.”

“Hello? I’m literally sitting right here,” Deena points out, looking between the two of them.

Predictably, they both ignore her. “Wanna bet?” Sam says and she tilts her head and really Deena feels like she can’t be held responsible for the way her pulses races at that flex of Sam’s neck.

Simon doesn’t even ask for clarification on the perimeters of this particular bet. He just nods, leaning across Deena’s chair and holding out his hand. “Deal.”

Sam leans closer to shake Simon’s hand and Deena looks between the both of them trying to figure out what she missed when she was too busy studying the freckles on Sam’s shoulder. There’s no way she’s going to be able to avoid pressing her lips to that spot the next time they’re in her bedroom. Being with Sam is starting to make her greedy. Selfish.

Sam leans back and when she looks at Deena, Deena just smirks, lifting an eyebrow. “Good luck.”

“Oh, come on,” Sam says with a laugh and when she shakes her head, some twists of hair fall loose from her ponytail. She glances over her shoulder and when she’s satisfied that Ashley and Jennifer are still involved in their conversation with Kate, she leans forward, peering at Deena through her lashes. “You won’t even do it for me?”

And. Well. Something goes all fizzy in her brain when Sam looks at her like that, something that makes her feel all giddy and stupid and like she might do all kinds of things that Deena had been certain she never would. Like stop hiding all those parts of herself, if only around this person. Like make dumb, sickly romantic mix-tapes and doodle messy, crooked hearts on the liner notes.

Like, apparently, get into the Shadyside Public Pool.

There are certainly worse things than having Sam owe her a favor, after all. Her motives are purely selfish.

So Deena stands and reluctantly steps out of her shorts and pulls her shirt over her head, avoiding meeting both Sam and Simon’s gazes as she does so, spending far too much time folding up the clothes and sticking them beneath her towel to protect them from any annoying kids trying to cannonball into the deep end.

But when she chances a look back in Sam’s direction, there’s this look on Sam’s face that immediately ignites a fire low in Deena’s belly and she’s certain that if anyone were to look at them now, every one of their secrets would be on full display and for that moment, the beat of time where everything seems to slow down and her eyes are on Sam’s, she doesn’t even care. All of Shadyside could burn down around her and she wouldn’t care about that either. Because all she does care about is the way Sam is looking at her, lips slightly parted and with dots of color on her cheeks, and Deena gets a glimpse of how she must look to Sam every time they’re alone together, like she can’t believe she’s somehow managed to get lucky enough to be in this moment. She’d just never thought anyone would ever have cause to look at her that way.

And there are definitely worse things than having Sam Fraser think that she’s pretty.

It kinda makes the whole having to get into the pool thing actually worth it.

Even though she has her regrets as she actually gets into the water, because it’s cold, and she doesn’t want to doubt Kate’s prowess as a lifeguard or anything, but she suddenly has her doubts about the whole cleanliness thing but well there’s no turning back now.

And when Deena surfaces, pushing back her wet curls, Sam is giving Simon a smug look and Simon is scowling, though it seems to be mostly for show. Especially when Simon mutters, “I feel like something about what happened counts a cheating.”

But Sam shrugs and Deena glares at the both of them. “Okay. Does this make you happy, weirdos? I got in the pool. Best summer ever.” She rolls her eyes for good measure.

Simon nods solemnly. “A momentous day.”

“Great,” Deena says flatly. She looks at Sam, reaching out a hand. “Can you please help me out now?”

Really, it’s totally Sam’s fault. Because who would ever fall for something like that. So, really, she only has herself to blame for actually getting up and offering her hand to Deena’s and for being completely unprepared and defenseless when Deena yanks her forwarrd and into the pool.

Deena is still laughing when Sam surfaces, spitting out Shadyside Public Pool water -which, you know, Deena does feel a little bad about because she’s not a monster- and looking at Deena with her eyes wide with betrayal. “Deena!”

“What? I thought the point of coming to the pool was to go swimming?”

And, sure, she probably deserves the way that Sam splashes her and now she’s spitting out Shadyside Public Pool water so they’re obviously even. Deena splashes her back and Sam reaches for her wrists, forcing them underwater and protecting herself from further splashing and it suddenly clicks that no one is going to be able to see what they’re doing underwater, not unless they’re really paying attention. And it must occur to Sam, too, because she lets go of Deena’s wrists and takes her hands instead, letting their fingers twine together.

Deena brushes her finger across the inside of Sam’s wrist, earning a soft smile in response, and her world becomes just this girl in front of her and maybe the pool isn’t so terrible after all because it lets her do this, to hold Sam as close as she can and still have it feel like a secret.

And then Simon jumps in behind Sam, spraying the both of them with water and Deena rolls her eyes, making a face. “Okay, that’s enough. I’m out.”

Sam laughs, and she hooks her fingers around Deena’s for one final moment before letting Deena pull away and hoist herself out of the pool. Simon surfaces, grinning, and Deena kicks water at him. “You’re the worst. You know that right?”

“Am I?” Simon responds, like he knows something she doesn’t, and Deena splashes more water in his direction for good measure.

Deena walks back to her chair, leaving Sam and Simon to hash out the details of Sam winning their ridiculous deal, and she grabs her towel, wrapping it around her shoulders and stretching out across the sun-warmed plastic. And sure, maybe Kate was right about hanging out at the pool being better than laying around on Simon’s floor and bemoaning life in Shadyside, but it’s not like Deena is going to tell her that.

[beckyandrick]

Ledgewood girls in Costa Rica

During my junior and senior year of college I lived with 9 other girls on the corner of Ledgewood and Dana avenues at Xavier University in Cincinnati. The 10 of us became ‘the Ledgewood Girls’ and 25+ years later…the name still sticks.

Over the last several months 4 of the 9 other Ledgewood girls have made their way to Costa Rica for adventures. Liz and Gish came with Liz’s friend Ellen in January and we did all the things in La Fortuna and I was good about getting a blog up soon after. But then things got busy and I have not caught up on the blog since Mindy and Bridget/family visited!

Mindy and I were roommates right after college too and then she headed off to Chicago where she has lived since. It had been way too long since we hung out but we always go right back.

Mindy came down for a chill week to escape the cold, gray Chicago winter back in February. While I worked she had a ‘Hotel Hochstetler’ staycation but we did manage to fit in a day trip to La Paz Waterfall gardens, the Starbucks coffee farm and some low key nights catching up on the patio soaking up the warm weather before she had to head back north.

Loved catching up, Min!

Then in March, Bridget and her family came down for Semana Santa (Easter week/spring break). We planned a two part trip starting in the tropical dry forest of Guanacaste at Rio Perdido and then headed to the beach in Tamarindo.

Rio Perdido was crazy hot and dry by this point in the dry season so the thermal river that Rio Perdido was known for and the hot spring pools weren’t exactly what we needed but we made the best of it and sweated through hikes, soaks and silly yoga moves.

Then we moved onto Tamarindo. We had an Airbnb with a gorgeous view up away from the town which turned out to be perfect since Easter Week is one of the 2 busiest weeks of the year in Costa Rica and specifically in Tamarindo.

We had some fun adventures on ATVs and a sunset cruise, morning runs on the beach and afternoons soaking up the sun on the beach or up at our pool.

Loved being able to spend the week making new memories with old friends. ❤️

Cheers to Ledgewood in Costa Rica! Now I just need to get the rest of the girls here!

[kraftmanroofing]

How to Repair a Metal Roof Leak?

A metal roof is a durable and long-lasting option for many homeowners, but even the best metal roofs can develop leaks over time. Repairing a metal roof leak involves a few straightforward steps that can help you maintain your roof's integrity and prevent further damage.

Step-by-Step Guide to Repairing a Metal Roof Leak

Identify the Leak The first step in repairing a metal roof leak is to locate the source of the leak. This may require inspecting the roof both from the inside and outside. Look for signs of water damage, such as water stains on the ceiling or walls, and trace these back to their source on the roof.

Clean the Area Once the leak is located, clean the area around it thoroughly. Use a wire brush to remove any rust or debris from the metal surface. Cleaning the area ensures that the patch or sealant will adhere properly.

Apply Roof Sealant Use a high-quality roof sealant to seal the leak. Apply the sealant generously over the leak and spread it evenly with a putty knife. Ensure the sealant covers the entire area around the leak to prevent water from seeping through any small gaps.

Patch the Leak For larger leaks, you may need to use a metal patch. Cut a piece of metal that matches the type of roof you have and is slightly larger than the leak. Apply roofing cement around the leak and place the metal patch over it. Press the patch firmly into place and cover it with another layer of roofing cement to seal the edges.

Inspect and Maintain After repairing the leak, inspect the roof periodically to ensure that the repair holds. Regular maintenance, such as cleaning gutters and removing debris from the roof, can help prevent future leaks.

Signs That Your Metal Roof Needs Repair

Here are six signs that indicate your metal roof may need repair:

Leaks: Water stains or signs of water infiltration inside your home or attic are clear indicators of roof damage. Check for damp spots, mold growth, or water dripping during rainfall.

Loose or Missing Fasteners: Inspect the roof for loose or missing screws, nails, or fasteners. These can cause panels to lift or shift, leading to potential leaks and compromising the roof's integrity.

Rust or Corrosion: Metal roofs are susceptible to rust or corrosion, especially in areas exposed to moisture or where protective coatings have worn off. Look for reddish-brown stains, bubbling paint, or deteriorating metal.

Dented or Damaged Panels: Hailstorms, falling branches, or foot traffic can cause dents or damage to metal panels. These areas can weaken over time and may lead to leaks if not addressed promptly.

Pooled Water: Standing water or ponding on a metal roof indicates inadequate drainage or sagging areas. Pooled water can accelerate corrosion and eventually lead to leaks or structural damage.

Visible Wear and Tear: Inspect the roof for signs of general wear and tear such as cracked sealant, chipped paint, or worn-out flashing around vents, chimneys, or skylights. These areas are vulnerable to water penetration and require immediate attention.

Bottom Line 

Regular inspections and timely repairs are crucial for maintaining a metal roof. Promptly identifying and fixing leaks, addressing rust, and managing potential issues can extend your roof's lifespan and protect your home from water damage. For metal roof leak repair in Cincinnati, OH, contact Kraftman Roofing for reliable and professional metal roof repair in Cincinnati.

[millingroundireland]

Cheviot and Bert the fire chief

Alex Efthim, Helen, Bert, and Rosi (in carriage). At the Indianapolis racetrack. Date not known.

This was chapter 14 of a family history I sent to relatives. It is revised in some respects. In order to tell more of a story, it is reprinted here. Originally posted on WordPress in September 2018.

When we last left off, RBM I had died and was buried in Spring Grove Cemetery. In order to tell the full story, it is worth having a whole chapter devoted to his adopted son Bert, RBM II. Growing up and groomed for the hotel business as mentioned in the last chapter, he wanted to make something of himself. This was clear in his letter from the Hotel Sterling on December 22, 1901, asking Santa for a magic lantern, candy, a track, and some wheels for a train. He also wished for some books and games. As noted by RBM III, Bert suffered in comparison to his natural-born brother, Stanley. A postcard since lost shows him standing behind a counter in a hotel lobby in Des Moines. At the age of 16, in 1907, when he was trying to free a corn cob caught in the machinery, he suffered an amputation, which stayed with him for the rest of his life, of 4 fingers. Even with this injury, he enlisted in the U.S. Army ten years later. He served in World War I as a sergeant in a motor pool as part of the Motor Transport Corps (1918 to 1919), a vital part of the American Expeditionary Forces in Europe by managing “the Army’s new fleet of trucks.” [1] After the war, he served as an auto mechanic in a Fort Motor Company garage on 3431 Harrison Avenue in Cheviot. This contrasted with RBM I’s aspirations that he should be a hotel manager.

By 1920, living in Cincinnati on 15 Woodburn Avenue, he had further spurned his father. [2] While his father was still a hotel manager, he was an automobile salesman, with his mother Hattie having only her “domestic” duties and his brother, effectively, Stanley, having no occupation listed. In the same house, likely another hotel, were two other families, the Kaennegler and Shoebottom families. It was around this time that he began serving as a volunteer firefighter and attending services at the 81-year-old Ebenezer Methodist church (since been torn down) in Mack, Ohio, on the corner of Bridgetown and Ebenezer Roads, not far from Cheviot. It was there that he met Miriam Esther Hirst, the daughter of the minister of the church, William Norwood Hirst. Born on June 4, 1899 on 4140 Lakeman Street in Cincinnati, Miriam went with her father and mother (Mabel Blanche Dunn) on route to Capetown, South Africa in November 1900 because William Hirst was asked to serve on a mission in Southern Africa. [3] From 1900 to June 1905, the family lived in Cape Town, then Johannesburg, and arrived in Mount. Selinda in present-day southern Zimbabwe, arriving home in November 1911. On June 25, 1921, Miriam and Bert were married at Madisonville Methodist Episcopal church by a minister named O.J. Laward, with a reception afterward at 4630 Castle Place Madisonville.

In 1918, Bert would begin working as a volunteer firefighter in Cheviot, Ohio. It would be years until he would be paid for his services as he stayed in poverty. Many years later, in 1932, he would became the fire chief of Cheviot, an occupation he held until 1954 when he suffered a stroke when he while fighting a fire. [4] The town still recognizes as him as “first Fire Chief.” He had gone a different way than his father. Meanwhile, Stanley was living at the Grand Hotel with Hattie and his father. Of those at the hotel, the average age of the four boarders was about 44 years old, while for the seven lodgers the average was about 51 years old and for the seven guests it was about 70 years old.

In 1930, the census incorrectly described Bert as an insurance agent, but correctly noted that he had two children with Miriam by that point: a five-year-old son named RBM III (Robert Byron Mills III) and eight-month-old daughter named Helen. [5] They were living on 333 Roswell Avenue and within Green Township. RBM III, called Bob in the rest of this book, was born on June 5, 1924, while his sister Helen Eileen, was born on August 5, 1929. Bert would also help found the Green Township Volunteer Fire Association and was active, as Bob notes, in promoting mutual assistance compacts with neighboring fire companies. In 1934, Stanley died unmarried at the age of 33. Little else is known about his life, other than the fact that he died of nephritis caused by enteritis. There is some talk in the family about him being a “fairy,” or homosexual, as it was termed then. If this was the case, then it would add a new dimension to his story.

Putting Stanley aside, we know, thanks to Bob’s picture book, what the Mills family looked like circa 1932 or 1933 since Carol Ruth was born on October 1930:

This photograph was set before a series of photos showing a family trip to Washington, D.C. in this 1929 Graham-Paige, the car of a U.S. auto company which had been founded two years earlier by brothers Joseph A. Graham, Robert C. Graham, and Roy A. Graham. Other photographs in his picture book show the close family ties between the Hirst and Mills families, with no Packards to be found, along with other extended family members. [6] Other photos within The Packard/Mills Family History add some information, such as one showing Bob on RBM I’s favorite horse, Rocket in about 1937, and another noting how Bob learned to chin himself up from the ladders extending behind a fire truck which is shown in his family history.

A photo made available by the City of Cheviot shows the fire truck mentioned on the previous page, with Bert as the tallest person (probably over 5 ft, 9 inches) in the photo, closest to the wheel: [7]

Yellow arrow points to RBM II

By the 1940s, Bert was living in Cheviot City with his wife Miriam, son Bob, and daughters Helen and Carol. While he was a fire chief, none of the other family members had occupations. [8] In 1945, Bob visited Bert when he was home on leave from his military service. In 1954, he retired, living at 3517 Bruestle Avenue in Cheviot. The same year, Bert’s “quick work” saved someone “in the nick of time from a threatening brush fire.” On April 11, 1956, six years after his adopted father, RBM I, had died, he passed away in his sleep at the age of 64. For five years following, Miriam was troubled with increasing health problems related to diabetes. She died at the home of her youngest sister, Majorie, married to Victor Frame, in Mt. Washington (Cincinnati) on June 18, 1961. She was 62.

© 2018-2022 Burkely Hermann. All rights reserved.

Notes

[1] Richard Killbane, “70 Years of the Transportation Corps,” U.S. Army, June 19, 2014: Draft Card of Robert Byron Mills, Cincinnati, Ohio, National Archives, NARA M1509, Family Search; The Cincinnati Enquirer, Feb. 16, 1928, p. 24; The Cincinnati Inquirer, Dec. 13, 1925, p. 24. RBM I's death was related in the North Adams Transcript in June 1950. He may have also been involved in an accident in 1947. One article seems to state that he was a “retired hotel manager” by 1939. In February 1928, when RBM I was president of the Grand Hotel, he was elected as a park commissioner. Only three years earlier he was noted as the president of the Ohio Hotels' Association. RBM II had previously served one year as a high school cadet, so he had some “military experience” you could say. RBM II’s cousin, William Norwood Hirst, also served in World War I and may have seen more action than RBM II.

[2] Mills Family and related families, Cincinnati, Ohio, 1920 U.S. Federal Census, ED 48, sheet 1B, National Archives, NARA T625, roll 1389.

[3] Hirst Family, 1900 U.S. Federal Census, Precinct F Cincinnati City Ward 25, Hamilton, Ohio, ED 216, sheet 13A, National Archives, NARA T623; Hirst Family, 1920 U.S. Federal Census, Cincinnati War 24, Hamilton, Ohio, ED 209, sheet 3B, National Archives, NARA T625, Roll 1394; Marriage of Robert B. Mills and Miriam E. Hirst, 1921, Ohio Marriages; Marriage of Robert B. Mills and Miriam E. Hirst, 1921, Ohio, County Marriages. Also see the book titled When I Was A Little Girl in Africa for more details on this journey. Mabel and William has completed 16 years as missionaries in Southern Rhodesia, where all the children except Miriam were born, returning to Cincinnati to serve various churches.

[4] City of Cheviot, “The History of Cheviot,” accessed July 16, 2017; 17 F.2d 923 - Lane v. United States, Circuit Court of Appeals, Sixth Circuit, Mar. 10, 1927; Residents, lodgers, guests, and borders in the Grand Hotel, Cincinnati, Ohio, 1930 Federal U.S. Census, ED 197, sheet 9B, National Archives, NARA T626, roll 1813. Of those living in the Grand Hotel, the majority were born in Ohio, Kentucky or Missouri. Others were born in U.S. states nearby but also from those farther way like Washington state, New York, and Georgia. There were few that were born in areas outside the U.S. including one from Spain and another born in the Atlantic Ocean. Also keep in mind the following definitions of guests, boarders, and lodgers from the Fourth Edition of the Webster's New World College Dictionary: Boarder: "a person who regularly gets meals, or room and means, at another's home for pay" (p. 161). Guest: "visitor...any paying customer of a hotel, restaurant, etc." (p. 631). Lodger: "a person or thing that lodges; esp. one who lives in a rented room in another's home." (p. 843). James Gerard Mc Carty, age 27, was a nephew of RBM I. He was also mentioned in a Supreme Court case (Lane v. United States) for being defrauded by someone claiming they were from a lumber company, a case which he lost. Also see here and here.

[5] Mills Family in Cheviot, ED 336, sheet 15B, National Archives, NARA T626, roll 1818; Gravestone of RBM III, courtesy of Find A Grave; Delayed Birth Certificate of RBM III, May 1, 1942, Board of Health, Bureau of Vital Statistics, no. 19824; Gravestone Stanley Sterling Mills. He was in the hotel business, serving as a hotel keeper and hotel steward. Nephritis is the “inflammation of the kidney” and enteritis is “inflammation of the small intestine.” See the photo RBM II & Stanley Sterling Mills within the Packard/Mills Family History and one of RBM II & Stanley within Bob’s photo book.

[6] This is interesting considering that the Packard/Mills Family History has a 1940 photograph of John Packard, Charles Packard, and RBM II in a location not currently known.

[7] City of Cheviot, “Historic Photos,” accessed July 16, 2017. Five feet, nine inches is the average height of a man.

[8] Mills Family, Ward 2, Cheviot City, Green Township, Hamilton, Ohio, 1940 U.S. Federal Census, ED 31-30, sheet 17A, National Archives, NARA T627, Family Search; Draft card of Robert B. Mills Jr., 1942, National Archives, World War II Draft Registration Cards, Family Search; Cincinnati Enquirer, Mar. 29, 1954, p. 3; The Cincinnati Inquirer, Apr. 12, 1956, p. 28. The obit also says that Bob was interning at Carter Memorial Hospital in Indianapolis in 1956 and that Bert died while living at 3517 Bruestle Avenue. It also notes that Bert was part of the “Firefighters Club of Cheviot and a past treasurer of the Ohio and Indiana Firemen's Association. He was a veteran of World War I and was affiliated with Schwab Post, American Legion, in Cheviot.” Bert was also a poll bearer at the funeral of Nellie Grant Rybolt in 1941, the wife of Clifford H. Hay, former mayor of Cheviot. Also see Gravestones of RBM II, and Miriam Hirst. More information can be gathered about the Mills family from Family Search, Ohio Probate Records, the Hamilton County Genealogical Society, and Hamilton County Probate Court. Bert “been in ill health for seven years” retiring three years before in 1953 after “serving the Cheviot Fire Department for 35 years, the last 21 years as chief,” meaning he became chief in 1935, and had worked with the Cheviot Fire Department since 1921!

[spideyspeaches]

Can’t escape (the way I love you) ↬a.r

A/N: This is a repost from my old account :) @th0ttie4tommy​ here you go :)

Warnings: cursing, use of wooden spoon, seX, canon typical voilence-ish)

MINORS DNI

WC: 3.1K

Summary: after running away from knockemstiff, Arvin finds his way to Cincinnati and finds a girl instead.

Pairing: Arvin Russell x Reader

Masterlist || Taglist

Sleep didn’t come easy to Arvin now that he was hitchhiking his way to Cincinnati. Flashes of his daddy on the prayer log with his neck cut off, Lenora’s limp body hanging, the preacher bleeding his guts out and even the photograph of the whore- the Sheriff’s little sister- all played in his mind like a broken record.

Sighing, he leaned back on the seat and watched the long haired driver honk on the ongoing vehicles, the noises sending shards of pain up his skull. He really wanted to sleep, and maybe smoke a cigarette, but he didn’t want to think about the possibilities of what would happen if he slept in a random stranger’s truck.

Just the thought of sleep reminded him of the old man and the whore’s faces, making him sit up straight.

“You okay there boy?” The long haired man raised an eyebrow, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

Arvin shook his head, wincing at the movement as his sore body struggled to not give in to the strong pull of sleep.

“I’m good. How far away are we from the city?” He asked, gritting his teeth as he saw the Sheriff’s car go past them.

“We have a long way to go. Why don’t you take a shut eye meanwhile?” The driver said.

“No thank you. I’ll stay awake. Sleep is for the week and all.” He mumbled, fixing his cap.

“Okay, if you say so” The driver responded, shrugging and continued driving.

Arvin looked out of the window, watched as the trees passed by, a lonely dog making a trek as it wiggled it’s tail. His heart gave a thump, chest aching as the dog reminded him of Jack. He really missed the mutt, he didn’t deserve the death it got.

Pulling his cap over his eyes, he squinted at the slight indication of dawn, the pull of sleep too strong to ignore now. His mouth went slack and neck bobbed with the wobbly rout, a huge yawn leaving him, and before he knew it, he had fallen asleep.

***

“Hey kid! Wake up!” The man said, shaking out of his sleep. He woke up in a disoriented haze, head throbbing harshly against his skull, body heavy with exhaustion. Sitting up with a gasp, he saw that the man had stopped the truck, panic seizing his lungs. Was that it? Would the driver pull a gun on him just like those Henderson whores had?

Looking around, he noticed a small diner, stomach growling with hunger, as if in response to seeing the place.

“Whe- Where are we?” He said sharply, noticing the driver’s eyes trailing him. He shuddered at the man’s gaze.

“We’re at a rest stop. Figured you might be hungry.” He replied gruffly, getting off the side door, “You comin’ or not boy?”

“Yeah. Yeah I’ll be there.” He whispered. Maybe he could run away from here, hitchhike another ride to the city. His eyes landed on the board on the corner of the road. He was relieved to find that he was already in the city.

Before he knew it though, his feet were carrying him towards the diner, a cigarette making its way to his mouth as an invisible string pulled him towards the small place. He complied, too tired to make anything of the situation.

The bell rang as he opened the door, pushing himself inside before he could think. Taking an empty seat, he leaned on his hands as his heart stuttered to a stop.

Literally stopped.

It felt like he was in a parallel universe filled with coincidences, flashbacks of his old house back in Ohio, his daddy sitting on a ratty stool as he talked about his mama . Because in front of him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He remembered his daddy telling him how he met his mother in a diner in a small town, just like the one Arvin was in right now.

Throwing away the butt in an ashtray, he tried to speak, but no words came out. He stuttered a small smile, looking at your bright eyes as you said something.

“What do I get for you honey?” You asked in a soft voice, oh your voice was such a melody.

“A coffee would be good.” He finally said, licking his lips and thumbing his wallet nervously. He hadn’t left with much money.

“You look like you need solid food and aspirin.” You smirked, pouring a hot cup of coffee in front of him. You slid a cheesecake, smiling at his surprised expression. “It’s on me.“

"Oh- I uhm. Thank you.” He nodded. He took a bite of the soft dessert, nearly moaning at its sweet taste. His taste buds were jumping from the onslaught of the sweet flavour, sighing as he sipped at the bitter coffee. It was the best food he’d had in a few days.

Turning around in his seat, he saw that the driver was nowhere in sight. Great. He had ditched him. Thankfully he still had his belongings with him.

Turning around again, he fidgeted with his fingers just as you appeared in the line of his sight.

“You’re not from here are you?” You ask, wiping your hands on your apron.

“No. How’d you know?” He raised an eyebrow, a smile appearing on his face.

“Well you look quite lost. Do you have a place to stay?” You leaned forward, the open collar showing just a little bit of your cleavage. He licked his lips, trying not to stare.

“I don’t actually. My ride ditched me.” He shrugged, “thanks for the cheesecake by the way."

"Oh it’s alright. The leftovers go to those bloated buffoons anyway. You looked starved, so I wondered why not?” You collected the cutlery from the other customers, shouting orders at the kitchen for the others. “You say your ride ditched you? My grandma owns a motel not far from here, I could get you a room to stay for s while."

"Oh no no no! That- you’ve already done so much for me and you don’t even know me!” He stumbled. He wasn’t used to this sort of kindness, considering the shit his life took in the past few months.

“It’s no trouble really! I’m just going there after this shift anyway, will probably stay in the penthouse for a while.” You said.

Before he could say anything to confirm or deny your offer, You were removing your apron, handing it to another girl as you hopped over the counter.

Fixing your dress and hair, you go to the back of the kitchen and yell something at the manager, walking out of the house, looking behind and silently asking him to follow.

Arvin tried to follow you, sighing in relief when he found you leaning against the wall in the back. But instead of calling out for you, he scrambled for a cigarette, groaning internally when he found only one left and lit it with a matchstick. Taking a drag, he breathed in the familiar burning in his throat, leaning against a pole.

He felt more than saw you eyeing him from the corner of his eye, heart speeding up like he was in highschool and had a crush on one of the girls or guys. He hadn’t stuck around much to date anyone, but the time he had making out with them was good enough for him.

“My name’s Y/N by the way.” You said, biting your lips as you looked at him.

“Russell Arv- I mean- Arvin Russell.” He stuttered, pulling out the joint from his mouth.

He took a deep breath, letting the silent roads and windy weather calm his racing heart down. He thought about leaving right there, not wanting to get someone who looked as innocent as you did, in a mess like his life was. Before he could walk away though, you were walking towards him, biting your lips.

“Uhh, so my grandma’s place?” You asked nervously.

“You barely know me and you’re letting me stay with you. For all you know, I could be a murderer.” He joked. You chuckled and made a face at him, dragging him to your Cadillac. He followed anyway.

(He almost laughed at how ironic he sounded, shaking his head internally.)

“Thanks for letting me stay Mrs. L/N” He smiled at your grandma as she shook his hands, enthusiastically shoving cookies down his throat and excited that you had brought a boy with you.

“She’s nice."

"She’s the best.”

He intended to stay for a day and hitch a ride, stay far far away from this place. He didn’t want to corrupt these people, he tried to reason. But he couldn’t let go, he just kept interacting.

(A little girl in the neighbourhood liked to play with his hat. He smiled at the small child, surprised to find the unadulterated happiness that radiated off the wee kiddo when he played with her. The people smiled a lot too.)

A day turned to two, two to a week and then nearly a month passed and no one asked him once why he lived with a girl and her grandma.

(Or why he flinched every time he saw a gun or an officer of law walk by).

He also managed to score a job at the diner, for washing the plates. He found that he didn’t mind helping people

You didn’t know how fast time could pass, and as it grew it’s sneaky tendrils, your heart grew a mind of its own as you spent days fantasizing your time with him, of you under him as he fucked you senseless.

Tracing his biceps, you leaned forward, mouth nearly touching his. He cupped your jaw, grabbing your waist and lifted you off the ground, slamming you against the concrete wall and kissed you.

Your mouth tasted like berries, which berries he didn’t know, maybe strawberries, fuck if he cared. Maybe it was your Chapstick.

“Arvin.” You moaned against his mouth, hands reaching for the collar of his shirt as he shoved you against the wall, holding your ass to keep your balance. His tongue swirled around your lips, hands sliding up your legs in a soothing motion.

You could taste the nicotine in his mouth, but you couldn’t be bothered. All you wanted was this beautiful stranger right now. A stranger who you felt like you’ve known your whole life.

“Shh sweetheart, don’t want anyone to hear us would we?” He whispered in your ear, holding his hands over your lips to shush you. You nodded, eyes half closed as you enjoyed the feeling of his rough denim rub against your thighs, the sheer friction of his movements causing heat to pool your gut.

“Arvin,” you moaned softly, running your hands through his hair, “Arvin, wait. I- I know a place."

He stopped for a second, Looking at you with a bewildered expression. "What kind of place?"

You gulped, getting off of him and walking around and outside the master bedroom, making sure no one was in the corridor. Following you, his eyes grew wide as he saw you open a door to a dungeon, switching on the flickering lights to reveal a small square area room.

The room was dimly lit and dusty. It was surrounded by racks but he could not see what was kept in them. In the centre though, was a single obsolete piece of wooden slab surrounded by long rods of metal attached to it. It must have been an old hospital bed- the kind the troops used. It sat flat against the floor. He looked at you again.

"My daddy used to bring things from the war, whips, guns, handcuffs. Everything. Everything.” Your low voice sent chills up his spine. With shaking hands, he scoured the cupboards, wiping off the dust from his fingers as he came across a pair of brass knuckles and handcuffs. Fingering them, he looked at you as you nodded.

“Do you- do you want me to use ‘em? On ya?” He said. He could feel his already hard dick throb painfully almost, the lust in your eyes making him feel things.

“Use them on me Arvin. I wanna feel you use the cold metal against me as you fucked me so hard I couldn’t walk tomorrow.” You suddenly push him against the cupboards, his back hitting with a thud as you traced his chest through his shirt, scrambling to remove off the offending clothing.

You scratched his chest lightly, fingers gliding against his pecs and abs as they clenched, moving in a sensual manner. He was impatient, you could practically smell his excitement in waves. The scent of his cologne was overwhelming in a way that made your insides tingle with your own arousal.

“Fuck- sweetheart.” He whimpered, his legs weak for you, waiting to feel your walls.

Kissing his neck and then chest and nipples, you dig your teeth around the skin, eliciting a moan deep from his throat. You were shaking with anticipation, hastily removing your frock and throwing it to somewhere. He held you for a second, admiring your body and giving you a gratifying look. His hands linger around your chest, unhooking your bra holding them as he kisses your chest while  bending down with trails of kisses down all the way to your tummy.

You pant as he reaches your navel, slender fingers sliding your panties off you as you sigh in relief, ecstatic that you were now fully naked in front of the boy of your desires.

He plunged his fingers inside your dripping core, your legs trembling as he licked off dripping cum from your folds.

“Already wet for me huh? Wait till I use these on you, how will you feel then babygirl? Want me to use them don’t you?” He urges, spreading your legs apart and moving you so that your butt hit the wooden plank. You whimper at the force, back arching as he dribbles your clit with his spit, licking it off you and then standing up. You immediately miss the contact, and thankfully it wasn’t for long before he came back.

He unbuttoned his pants so that he was too fully exposed now, his cock springing out made you crave for it even more now, but before you could do anything, he took your hand, cuffing it to the railing of the plank. You cursed at the tightness, adjusting your wrist so that they wouldn’t hurt. You whimpered when you felt a cold wooden spoon run along your chest. He held the dip of the spoon on top of them leaving indents, his other hand’s thumb kneading into your flesh.

“Is this okay princess? Don’t wanna hurt your pretty little hand. Just wanna hear you moan my name.” He whispered, voice cracking due to the octave it took when you gave a shrill cry of surprise, your other hand clutching at his hair, causing you to lose your balance and falling on your ass.

“I need you Arvin! I need you now please help me!” You cry out, your eyes devoid of tears but your voice showing your emotion. You were hungry, starved and his cock looked delicious. You just wanted him inside.

“A little patience would be appreciated.” He growled against your chest, biting at the sensitive skin. You must have said that out loud.

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold it in me.” You whimper, scrunching your eyes as he nipped at your neck, rubbing the tip of his dick on your clit. His tip was bright red, hard and erect. You wrapped your legs around his shoulder, bringing him down at you. His fingers kept playing while his mouth worked.

“I’m so wet Arvin, only for you baby, look at me, so wet.” The wooden spoon made contact with your chest again, sliding down to your ass as he gently nudged your back. He didn’t hit you, no, that son of a bitch teased you with slow motions of its cold surface. You kissed him till your lips were plump and red with blood dripping off the thin skin, his mouth leaving his lingering taste in yours.

Finally, finally, he slid into you. You gave a shrill cry as his member entered you, your walls clenching around it as if you wanted it to stay in you forever. You arched your back, your waist hitting his pelvis, causing it to slap around him. You unconsciously dug your fingers in his back, gritting your teeth at the sudden sensory input.

“So tight baby. Clenching around me like a fucking ant-eater. You like this don’t you darlin’? Like it when I slide in."

"Yes baby.” You whispered. Sweat dripped off of the both of you, your slicked bodies slapping against each other, “Oh I’m about to cum! Arvin!"

"Cum on me baby, cum on my dick so I can shove in harder.” He clenched himself, mouth forming an O as he felt you orgasm around him, his dick sliding out of you. Pumping his balls, he clenched his jaw at the sight of you, panting under him with your legs spread apart. “You’re such a good girl. Always listening to what I say."

"Because you’re the best.” You flopped down on the board, your back hitting it. You jiggled your arm that was held in the handcuff, the movement bringing Arvin toppling down to you. He fell on your breasts, face smushed in as if he was sleeping on a pillow. You erupted in a fit of giggles as he licked you with kitten-like strips.

“Did you like that? Was that- was that okay?” He huffed, probably as tired as you were right now. His muscles relaxed under your touch, unclenching as you ran your hands on his back. You hissed when you saw that your hand had caused bloody indents on his skin.

“That was amazing sweetheart.” You paused, “I’m so glad we met that day."

"Me too. I didn’t believe in love for a very long time after momma died, and then my daddy died, and then Lenora-” he said, choking on his tears, “- my sister, Lenora, that fucking preacher. He killed her."

"Arvin, baby I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I can’t bring them back. But I can hold you. I can hold you forever if you want. I can love you."

You froze for a moment, realising what you had said. You had met only a month ago, and yet here you were, telling him that you loved him. Your heart did gallops when he didn’t answer for a while, and then you heard it. You heard him say those three words, a soft whisper in the night.

"I love you too."  

[handeaux]

As New Year 1922 Rang In, Cincinnati Enjoyed World Peace And Illegal Booze

As 1921 faded into the New Year of 1922, two momentous historic forces shaped the revelry: the end of the “Great War” (not yet called World War I) and the enforcement of Prohibition.

The effects of the war were still being felt in Cincinnati. Many of our local doughboys were still on duty in Europe, wartime rationing was just starting to ease, and news of peace negotiations dominated the front pages of all the local newspapers.

On New Year’s Eve, however – despite several celebrations adopting a “Peace” theme – Prohibition dominated the discussion. It was still legal, according to federal law, to own and consume alcohol (only the manufacture, transport and sale was outlawed). As a consequence, many imbibers celebrated New Year’s at home, often in their cellars to avoid prying eyes. Those who ventured out to party discovered various options for alcoholic availability, according to the Cincinnati Commercial Tribune [1 January 1922]:

“The celebration last night took three distinct levels of revelry. At the hotels in town the celebration was noisy, but reasonably dry. In the road houses, near the city, whisky was in evidence, but the quieter element intermingled. In the country roadhouses whisky flowed freely and revelry reached its highest pitch.”

At the downtown hotels, particularly the Sinton and the Gibson with 1,000 celebrants apiece, the entrances were guarded by cops and the management placed cards at each table reminding customers that it was illegal to bring booze into the establishment.

“Whisky, beer and wines were in evidence as much last night as at any time since the prohibition amendment was passed. It was carried for the most part, however, by the revelers, as, with announcements from prohibition agents of the fact that they would keep a close watch, all places selling liquor closed up.”

The most exclusive, most lavish and, ultimately, most scandalous party of New Year’s Eve 1921 decorated Price Hill when George Remus, king of the bootleggers, dedicated the new indoor swimming pool at his mansion on West Eighth Street at Hermosa. The 100 guests, individually curated by Mrs. Remus to ingratiate herself with the cream of society, sipped champagne and whiskey while lovely young women dressed entirely in white served gourmet dinners as an orchestra serenaded. Professional divers exhibited their skills in the new pool, then gave way to speechifiers mounting the diving board as if it were a rostrum. The host himself, who had established a reputation as a competitive swimmer in Chicago, announce plans to get in shape for a 100-mile Ohio River swim from Cincinnati to Madison, Indiana.

Rumors of Remus’s extravagance echo through the ages. As party favors, Remus lavished $25,000 worth of diamond earrings on the ladies and diamond stick pins on the gents. If you listen to the legends, each woman took home a diamond necklace, or was it a brand-new Packard? and the men scored luxurious jeweled watches. There are some reports that Remus jumped fully clothed into the new pool, but it seems out of character for that teetotaler. Although he sold it by the case, Remus abstained from alcohol. He never smoked in his life. More credible is the version in which, while his guests imbibed, Remus himself retreated to his library.

Remus told the Cincinnati Enquirer that he would present swimming and diving exhibitions at his pool and planned to eventually turn his estate, including the pool into a public park. It was not to be. A couple of years after the fabled New Year’s Eve party, Remus was convicted of violating the liquor laws and was shuttled off to a federal penitentiary. His wife and her lover ransacked Remus’s multi-million empire, sold everything, hid the proceeds and tossed him $100 for his troubles. Bankrupt on his release from prison, Remus chased down his wife, who had filed for divorce, and shot her in Eden Park. His mansion crumbled before the wrecking ball in 1934 and the swimming pool was bulldozed in 1940 to make way for Delehanty Court, named for Alice Delehanty, a Newport pharmacist who bought the properties while Remus was engulfed in legal troubles.

For good reasons, Cincinnati was glad to see the old year of 1921 slip away. Statistics for that year were fairly grim. For example, in Hamilton County, 106 people died in automobile accidents in 1921, compared to 44 in 2020. The Cincinnati Board of Health celebrated the lowest death rate ever recorded – 14.1 deaths per 1,000 residents – and applauded public health measures adopted in the wake of the 1918 influenza pandemic. Today, we would be appalled at such a high death rate. Even with an aging population, Cincinnati’s death rate in 2020 was almost half that, at around 8 per 1,000 residents.

On the other hand, there were only 733 automobiles stolen from Cincinnati owners in 1921, compared to 1,526 in 2020. So many people got married in 1921 that the Probate Court announced a reduction in cost for marriage licenses, effective in 1922. The Court issued 4,132 one-dollar licenses in 1921, creating a budget surplus. With the new year, licenses would cost only 80 cents.

The Cincinnati Post [31 December 1921] carried a prediction by psychic Hereward Carrington that would prove prophetic a century hence:

“We’re so used to the miracle of the telephone that we rarely stop to think what a wonderful invention it is . . . We know we can talk across hundreds of miles of space instantaneously by means of the telephone and carry on a conversation with those at a distance. Now how much more wonderful would it be to do the same thing without any wire at all! . . . It is only a matter of time before wireless telephones will be so perfect and so plentiful that we shall be able to talk to anyone on our earth by means of them.”

All of that has come to pass. We are still waiting upon the prediction outlined by Mr. Carrington in the very next sentence:

“And – who knows? – we may be able to talk to beings on another planet as well.”

[antoine-roquentin]

This year marks Harold “Hal” Rogers’s twenty-first consecutive electoral victory in Kentucky’s Fifth Congressional District, making him the second-longest-serving Republican in Congress. He rode into office on the wave of the Reagan Revolution in 1980, and the governing style he’s employed in the Fifth District—which covers the rural, mountainous, Appalachian region of southeastern Kentucky—can mostly be described as Reaganite: pro–War on Drugs, pro–prison expansion, anti-regulation of extractive industries, and pro-family. The congressman has had to improvise a little over the years in response to changes in the economy and political system, but he’s well-positioned to do so: as a former Chairman of the House Appropriations Committee, the elite “College of Cardinals” that manages the government’s budget, and the ranking member of the House Appropriations Subcommittee on State and Foreign Operations, he’s one of the most powerful men in Washington. Rogers has extraordinary discretion over where and how the government exercises power domestically and overseas, especially within the border regions; he can coerce other lawmakers to support his policies by withholding funding; and, crucially, he can funnel tons of “pork” back to his home district.

If you were to mention that to the average American, however, you’d probably be met with confusion. Hal who? Most people, when they think of powerful politicians from Kentucky, think of Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, who over the last decade or so has singlehandedly reshaped how Congress functions, and has all but ensured the prioritization of corporate interests within the federal judiciary. So you’re telling me there’s another powerful congressman from Kentucky who has control over virtually every aspect of my life? That is indeed what I’m telling you, my friend, and it’s no coincidence that both of these men come from the mostly rural state of Kentucky.

How did Kentucky come to mean so much at the national level? McConnell’s story isn’t that compelling. He is deeply unpopular statewide, but every six years he hyper-focuses on a handful of places in the state—Paducah, the Cincinnati suburbs in Northern Kentucky, the rural counties around Louisville (his hometown), and the rural counties in southern Kentucky—and makes enough empty promises and assurances to carry him to victory. He then launders his success as a success story for all of Kentucky, claiming that it allows the state to punch above its weight at the national level against states like New York and California. His voters eat this up, and McConnell plays off of it to increasingly cringe results (see: “Cocaine Mitch.”) At the end of the day it’s a pretty standard story of electioneering, manipulation, and voter suppression; Kentucky consistently ranks among the bottom ten states in terms of “electoral integrity.”

But whereas McConnell is motivated by the long-term viability of corporate domination of the United States, Hal Rogers is motivated by the long-term viability of corporate and personal domination of southeastern Kentucky. Make no mistake that this benighted region—long one of the poorest in the country—is Rogers’s personal dominion, his fiefdom. The fact that his name is on just about everything you see should be enough evidence to support this claim. To enter and exit the region you have to travel on the Hal Rogers Parkway, which used to be the Daniel Boone Parkway until Rogers renamed it after itself. Want to take your family on a weekend getaway vacation? You can check out the Hal Rogers Family Entertainment Center in Williamsburg, which contains a wave pool, water slides, and a mini-golf course. Or perhaps you’re addicted to drugs? Rogers has just the thing for you: the Hal Rogers Appalachian Recovery Center, which has outposts all across the region.

This last “amenity” that Rogers so graciously offers—drug rehabilitation centers—is rich with irony. In 2003 he created a program known as Operation UNITE (Unlawful Narcotics Investigations, Treatment and Education). UNITE is a brilliant form of rural social control. It ruthlessly enforces drug abstention through the traditional methods of law enforcement—undercover policing, kicking down doors—and, at the same time, encourages community members to snitch on fellow community members who they suspect of being involved in drug activities. The result is that no one trusts anyone: everyone is a suspect, all of the time. UNITE is the sort of program that engenders alienation, making it less likely that people will mount meaningful political challenges against the region’s political institutions, such as Rogers himself.

But Rogers’s UNITE program is even more ingenious than that. It sweeps you up in raids and undercover stings, and then sends you to treatment (likely in a building with Rogers’s name plastered on it), and then uses you as an example to the rest of the community about the harms of drug abuse. You will become a poster child, an educator, a warning from the future: Do not become me; I was lucky enough to make it out alive, and even then it was only through the help and compassion of good old Hal Rogers. In other words, Hal giveth and Hal taketh away. He is simultaneously good cop and bad cop, or, if you’re feeling biblical, the Old Testament God of Vengeance and Wrath and New Testament God of Redemption and Forgiveness. If you’re a drug user in southeastern Kentucky, you will eventually come under his all-seeing eye.

Of course, if you do not make it to (and through) the rehabilitation stage, you can go to prison, in which Rogers is also deeply invested. When southeastern Kentucky’s coal economy started going south in the 1980s and ’90s due to mechanization caused by an increase in strip mining (facilitated by Rogers’s loosening of environmental regulations), Rogers became the biggest advocate for prison expansion in the region. During his career he’s brought no less than three federal prisons to his district, and he’s currently working on bringing a fourth, to Letcher County, right on the border of Kentucky and Virginia. Either in jail or on the anti-drug education circuit, your story will eventually be used for Hal Rogers’s personal glorification.

This does not mean that all power is consolidated within the person of Rogers, however. The intricate system that’s slowly grown to facilitate the expansion of drug courts, rehabilitation centers, jails that counties rely on for revenue, and prisons is its own network of feudal control and peonage. Hang around outside any county courthouse in eastern Kentucky for long enough and you’ll see, like I have, people begging judges to sign off on this or that paper granting them this or that level of re-entry into their community (previously restricted as a result of being caught with this or that drug). Or hang around outside any drug counseling office long enough and you’ll hear, like I have, people casually discussing which local judges are the strictest and which are the most lenient. A lot of people’s lives are tied up in a system that is ruled mostly by whimsy and fiat.

If and when Rogers ever kicks the bucket—and this will have to be the way he leaves office, because he will likely never be defeated at the ballot box—all this will have been his legacy. Not just the buildings and highways and rehabilitative centers with his name on them. Not just the prisons and the beefed-up law enforcement agencies. Not just the ominous office building in Somerset, known colloquially as the “Taj Ma-Hal,” which houses a number of nonprofits with boring names like “Center for Rural Development” that Rogers helped create in order to vacuum up federal grant money from agencies like the Appalachian Regional Commission. It’s all these things, but it’s also something bigger: the remaking of rural political economy. Rogers’s model has been exported across the United States.

As the nation’s rural regions experienced deindustrialization, out-migration, drug-assisted suicide, or a combination of all the above over the last three or four decades, rural elites had to figure out a way to maintain control over their constituents. Many of them turned to Rogers’s example. For example, when Rogers launched UNITE in 2003, John Walters, then the White House drug czar, said that it would “serve as a model for the rest of the nation.” It doesn’t go by the name “UNITE” in every community, but if you go anywhere in rural America and listen long enough, you’ll hear the voices of people who are trapped within similar systems of manipulation, coercion, and foreclosure on the future. And you’ll also see, lording over them, the names and faces of men who have carved out their own kingdoms, which from the outside seem impervious to pressure from below. But that’s the thing about power: it doesn’t last forever, and it can always be beaten. It’s up to us to figure out how to do it.

[usapoolsoh0]

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[virtuous-homes-blog]

Invest in property

Last year's housing market was clearly one for the record books, with the gains partly driven by tightening stocks and exceptionally low mortgage rates. In some pockets of the country, housing prices climbed well over 10 percent on average. But, it's not only the big coastal cities which are seeing enormous growth. A survey from GoBankingRates demonstrated that many cities with the most growth proved inland, including: Buffalo, New York (34.6percent ), Atlanta, Georgia (24.54%), and Cincinnati, Ohio (20.6percent ). Bearing this in mind, you could be wondering in the event that you should throw your hat in the ring and invest in real estate -- or, in case you're too late. You might also be asking yourself if you should invest in property in a traditional sense -- as in, becoming a landlord. Now, here is the fantastic news. Not only is currently still a great time to invest in real estate since longer growth is probably on its way, but there are also more ways than ever to invest in housing without dealing with tenants or the other minutiae of landlord perform . Here are some of the best choices at this time: An exchange-traded finance, also called an ETF, is a set of stocks or bonds in a single fund. ETFs are similar to index funds and mutual funds from the fact they come with the exact same broad diversification and low prices over all. If you are angling to invest in real estate but also want to diversify, investing in a real-estate themed ETF may be a smart move. Vanguard's VNQ, for instance, is a property ETF that invests in stocks issued by real estate investment trusts (REITs) that buy office buildings, hotels, and other kinds of property. IYR is another real estate ETF that works similarly since it offers targeted access to domestic property stocks and REITs. There are loads of other ETFs offering exposure to real estate, too, so be sure to do your research and consider the options. A colleague of mine, Taylor Schulte of Define Financial in San Diego, says he swears by a real estate mutual fund known as DFREX. Why? Since its low expenses and track document help him feel confident about future yields. Besides low prices, Schulte says the strategy of DFREX is backed by decades of academic study from Nobel Prize winning economists. TIREX is another property mutual fund to consider with $1.9 billion in assets, broad diversification among real estate holdings, and low prices. #3: Invest in REITs Consumers invest in REITs to precisely the exact same reason they invest in property ETFs and mutual funds; they would like to invest in property without holding physical land. REITs let you do precisely that although also diversifying your holdings dependent on the type of property class each REIT invests in. Financial advisor Chris Ball of BuildFinancialMuscle.com advised me he personally invests in REITs for its diversification and for its"non-correlation" with other types of equities. He says that he likes the long-term data regardless of the typical mood swings and downs and ups of the real estate marketplace. "Additionally, it gives me exposure to property without having to be a landlord," he says. Ball also says a lot of his clients agree with that place and invest in REITs as part of the portfolio as a result. With that being said, I typically suggest customers stay away from non-traded REITs and purchase just publicly-traded REITs instead. The U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) lately came outside to warn against non-traded REITs, imagining their lack of liquidity, high prices, and too little value transparency produce undue risk. #4: Invest at a property focused company There are a number of businesses that own and manage property without working as a REIT. The difference is, you'll need to dig to find them and they can pay a lower dividend than a REIT. Firms who are actual estate-focused can include resorts, resort operators, timeshare businesses, and commercial property developers, for instance. Be certain that you conduct due diligence before you buy stock in individual businesses, but this alternative may be great one if you need exposure to a particular kind of real estate investment and have time to research historical data, company background, and other details. #5: Invest in house construction If you look at real estate market expansion throughout the last ten years or longer, it's simple to observe that much of it is the end result of limited housing stock. Because of this, many predict that construction of new homes will continue to flourish during the next few decades or more. In that sense, it's easy to see why investing in the building side of this sector could also be smart. An whole industry of home builders need to come up with new neighborhoods and rehabilitate old ones, after all, so today might be a good time to buy in. Massive homebuilders to watch comprise LGI Homes (LGIH), Lennar (LEN), D.R. Horton (DHI), and Pulte Homes (PHM), however there are lots of other people to discover by yourself. #6: Hire a home manager Despite the fact that you do not have to purchase physical property to invest in property, there is at least one strategy that could allow you to have your cake and eat it, too. Many investors who want exposure to leasing property they could view and touch go right ahead and purchase leases but hire a property manager to perform all the heavy lifting. While he tried to manage his properties from a distance at firsthe ultimately chose to use a property manager to save his sanity and his gains. While he forks over 8-10% of gross rent to his manager, it was "one of the best decisions he's ever made" as a real estate agent, he says. "They take care of the rental property basics - minor repairs, vetting prospective tenants, collecting rents - so that I can concentrate on my career, family, and locating the upcoming lucrative rental property investment," notes Huffman. In that sense, he receives the benefits of being a landlord with the hard work. "Among the most crucial roles a home manager plays is that they work as a buffer between the renter and me," says Huffman. "I don't receive random texts, calls, or even emails from tenants in all hours of the night or day." The key to making sure this approach works is ensuring that you only invest in properties with enough cash flow to pay for a property manager and still score a substantial speed of return. #7: Invest in real estate notes Property notes are a sort of investment you are able to buy if you're interested in investing in real estate but don't necessarily wish to manage a brick-and-mortar construction. When you are investing in real estate notes through a bank, you're typically buying debt at costs that are well below what a retail dealer would pay. I've invested in property notes in the past via an individual investor I know who buys and renovates property. Thus far, my experiences have only been positive. However, I would conduct due diligence to be sure you know what you are getting into whether you invest into real estate notes using a bank or a property investor who is actively pursuing new possessions. #8: Hard money loans If you do not like any of those other ideas on this list but have cash to lend, you could also consider giving a hard money loan. My friend Jim Wang of WalletHacks.com says he's now investing in real estate with this strategy because he wants exposure but doesn't wish to cope with being a landlord. In addition, he says the ROI (return on investment) because of his time wouldn't be as great as other chances because his time is valuable. Hard money loans are essentially a direct loan into a real estate investor, '' he states. Wang offers property loans to an investor he understands in person, and he receives a 12% return on his money as a result. Wang says he feels comfortable with the set-up since the investor is someone he knows, but he isn't convinced he'd be comfortable with a stranger. In any event, hard money loans directly to real estate investors are another strategy to consider if you would like to invest in property but do not wish to manage a property and the frustrations that come with it. Last but not least, don't forget about all the new companies which have cropped up to help investors become involved in property without getting their hands dirty. Sites like Fundrise and Realty Mogul allow you to invest into commercial leasing or flipping houses and get money flow distributions in return. Investing with either business is similar to investing in REITs because your money is pooled with money from other investors that take advantage of the platform. The money you invest can be used to purchase residential property, commercial property, apartment buildings, and more. Ultimately, you receive the advantage of distributions and dividends and long-term appreciation of those properties that you"own." While neither company has been around for too long, they're doing well so far. Fundrise returned a mean of 11.4% on invested dollars in 2017 net of charges and 9.11 percent in 2018 after all, and you don't have to be an accredited investor to open an account.

[pbwsports]

Is Tua Tagovailoa ready to become Miami's biggest star since Dan Marino?

Leaps into swimming pools. Emotional moments of jubilation. Tears of joy. Fifteen words delivered by NFL commissioner Roger Goodell -- "With the fifth pick in the 2020 NFL draft, the Miami Dolphins select Tua Tagovailoa" -- elicited all that plus a belief the moment will change the Dolphins' franchise forever.

Over the past month, there has been an innate buzz burgeoning nationally, but especially in South Florida, that can be summed up as a Tua frenzy. An 11-minute fan-generated YouTube video provides a visual.

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"Tua is far by himself -- never seen anything like this buzz from a draft pick here. There's no close second," said Dolphins color commentator and radio host Joe Rose, who played for the franchise alongside Pro Football Hall of Fame quarterback Dan Marino from 1983 to 1985. "We have a rock star here in Tua. This team has been in mediocrity for so long. It's lacked the Dan Marino star power, the Ricky Williams star power. Tua's the next guy in that group."

Despite the love, it's too early to crown Tagovailoa. He hasn't even played an NFL game. Tagovailoa's arrival is defined by hope and hype.

Even in his first month as a Dolphins quarterback, it is clear that if Tagovailoa lives up to expectations, he will be the face of South Florida sports for a while.

How will Tagovailoa manage the pressure, the buzz, overwhelming positivity, eventual negativity and everything that comes with being hailed as the next big thing in a city starving for its latest sports superstar?

"The great thing for Tua is Dan Marino retired 20 years ago," Hall of Fame quarterback Warren Moon said. "So it's not like he's following right behind a legend like Aaron Rodgers following Brett Favre or whoever follows Tom Brady. He just has to be himself. He can't be Dan Marino. Just be yourself and rely on the people around you."

'It's going to be Dolphins town'

A Mount Rushmore of athletes who have led South Florida pro teams probably starts with Marino and the Miami Heat's Dwyane Wade, but the initial expectations weren't as high with either legend.

Wade remembers it wasn't until after he led the Heat to their first championship in 2006 that he became the face of South Florida sports. He returned to Miami and hopped in his convertible with a buddy. Fans sighted him and rushed the car. He couldn't drive another block.

"I looked at my friend and said, 'Yo, this is different,'" Wade said. "I enjoyed it. But I knew it would never be normal in this city from that point on. I had to get used to being a celebrity. The perks were great, but the non-privacy was not so great."

"Wade County" was born and didn't slow down. His presence remains large in Miami, but since he retired following the 2018-19 season, there has been an active-superstar void.

Enter Tagovailoa.

"He's a hell of a player. Miami, especially at the QB position, really needs that. They need a leader. They need a player," Wade said. "To come in as a young player and win a game in the second half of a national championship game -- that shows some grit, that shows some balls. People have to really believe in you. Miami needs that. The Dolphins need that. Even though I'm a [Chicago] Bears fan, I was rooting for them to get him because Miami needs to get back to where the basketball program is."

Wade's advice to Tagovailoa centers on how to handle fame; the future Hall of Fame guard says he would often deal with anxiety when he left the house. He felt the need to always be on as D-Wade even when he wanted to just be Dwyane. Wade said even though he wasn't expected to "save the franchise," once he became a fan favorite, he had to "figure out how to enjoy what you worked hard for, but keep a level of sanity at the same time."

The last 5th overall pick to Miami did some cool things. Congrts @Tuaamann can’t wait to watch your journey.

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Wade is optimistic Tagovailoa will lift the Dolphins to a place they never reached while he was with the Heat.

"If the Dolphins get it going, it's going to be Dolphins town. We did as much to make it a basketball town as possible, and Miami Heat is there to stay. But let's not get it twisted: Florida is football. Once they get their s--- together, they are going to be big and bigger," Wade said. "But those Heat guys -- Bam [Adebayo], Tyler Herro -- are going to battle him for it. He's got to earn it.

"How you put yourself in that conversation is doing something great, something that people have never seen before, and obviously winning."

Marino was a 'rock star'

Tagovailoa passed his first test by eschewing his college No. 13 -- Marino's number in Miami. Instead, Tagovailoa is paving his own path by becoming the first Dolphins QB to wear No. 1.

"I understand No. 13 is retired, and it should be. Dan Marino, he's the GOAT. He's like the mayor out there, and I have much respect for him," Tagovailoa said. "I just want to have the opportunity to go out there and compete."

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Every quarterback who has arrived in Miami has been met with some mention of Marino, and Miami has started 21 quarterbacks since the Hall of Famer retired in 2000. The Dolphins haven't had a Pro Bowl QB since then, which marks the NFL's longest streak.

So while the expectations might seem unwieldy for a 22-year-old quarterback coming off a serious hip injury, this isn't just any NFL city. He's coming to a franchise that is thirsty for a star QB, and fans have been waiting on Tagovailoa for more than a year.

"When I got down there, the Miami Dolphins were Dan Marino's town and team. It's still that way," former Dolphins great Ricky Williams said. "I was a running back, but no one has even come close to eclipsing the success that Dan had in Miami as a quarterback. Even more so than what I experienced, Tua has the potential to be a big part of what it means to be a Miami Dolphin for a long time."

Williams had a great run as the face of the Dolphins. Jason Taylor, Zach Thomas and Ryan Tannehill did, too. But none of them have the national pull Tagovailoa has now.

Tua Tagovailoa is a star in Miami already.

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Rose says he remembers the buzz around Marino being relatively subdued when he arrived. The Dolphins, coming off a Super Bowl XVII loss, were led by their "Killer B's" defense, and they selected Marino with the No. 27 overall pick when he fell to them in the 1983 draft.

By the end of his record-setting 1984 MVP season, Marino was a superstar.

"When we went to New York, I saw the phone calls we got in our hotel room. I saw what movie stars and celebrities came around. People wanted to be around this guy," Rose said. "We didn't have the media and social media that they do now, so it could be a lot more hidden. He was big stuff. He was a rock star."

Marino is the standard, but Tagovailoa doesn't have to reach that level to be remembered in Dolphins history. As Moon and Wade have stressed, he just has to focus on being himself.

Why D-Wade is looking to Tua to be the leader the Dolphins need

Dwyane Wade expresses his thoughts on the Dolphins drafting Tua Tagovailoa and gives some advice for playing in the city of Miami.

Work, gain respect, then build the brand

Moon knows all about highly anticipated arrivals. After five Grey Cup titles in the Canadian Football League, Moon signed with the Houston Oilers and became the NFL's highest-paid player in 1984.

With stars such as running back Earl Campbell and linebacker Robert Brazile already in Houston, Moon was conscious of veterans believing he was too full of himself. Moon's response was to work hard, including lifting weights with the offensive line.

"When people came in the building, I was already there. When people left, I was still there," Moon said. "Yeah, I had a lot of attention, but they saw my work ethic. When I got on the field, they started to see I could really play. What you're trying to do is gain respect, and I think Tua will get that, too, because of his work ethic."

Showing that work ethic and building camaraderie with teammates could prove to be more challenging for Tagovailoa this offseason with virtual meetings instead of in-person practices. But Tagovailoa has reached out to many of his Dolphins teammates via text messages and phone calls.

The other balance Tagovailoa will have to maintain is his unique marketability with Moon's advice "to go in there with your head down and work."

Tagovailoa, who signed a four-year, $30.3 million contract, has endorsement deals with Adidas, Hulu, Muscle Milk, Verizon, Wingstop, Gillette, Lowe's, Bose and Call of Duty. He recently signed a multiyear, exclusive memorabilia-and-collection deal with Fanatics. He also has a documentary in the works detailing his journey to the Dolphins.

Tua Tagovailoa taking photo with young Dolphins fan — Riley — who hopes he lands in Miami. Many other Dolphins fans do too.

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Agent Ryan Williams and Athletes First have handled Tagovailoa's marketing demands, and he has immediately become one of the NFL's most well-known young players. The people love the former Alabama quarterback, and that has shown up in the numbers. Tagovailoa is the top-selling NFL player in terms of overall merchandise sales since May 1 across the Fanatics network, which includes NFLshop.com and online team stores -- above Tampa Bay's Brady and Cincinnati Bengals quarterback Joe Burrow, the No. 1 overall draft pick.

Moon remembered advice he was given by his agent, Leigh Steinberg, who also represents Tagovailoa: to take things slow on building your brand and try to avoid reading the headlines or social media.

"I just want to make sure that he doesn't try to get too far ahead of himself. Football is what butters his bread," Moon said. "If he doesn't do well on the football field, everything else will go away. Knowing a bit about Tua, he'll be fine."

Tagovailoa showed humility throughout his college career. He has a connection to family and a desire to give back.

"I'm honored that the fans think so highly of me. But I haven't done anything, yet," Tagovailoa said. "What I did in college can't translate to the NFL. It's a clean slate. I've got to go out there and earn my respect and earn the trust from my teammates."

Thank you to @MiamiDolphins for making this dream come true for me and my family. It's in my heart to give back to the communities that have raised me. Plans are underway to start charitable outreach efforts in Hawaii, Alabama and Miami. Stay tuned, stay safe. Go fins! Blessed! https://twitter.com/MiamiDolphins/status/1260223696674881539 …

We have signed quarterback Tua Tagovailoa, defensive tackle Raekwon Davis, defensive end Curtis Weaver and long snapper Blake Ferguson.

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'The guys in that locker room'

The idea of becoming a star before even taking an NFL snap might be enough to make Dolphins coach Brian Flores' head spin. A champion of competition and team-first mentality, Flores probably doesn't care how many jerseys Tagovailoa sells as long as he produces on the field.

"The world will make you think that you're this superstar. And maybe you are, but it doesn't really matter," Flores said last November regarding any particular player's growing success. "The only thing that matters is the guys in that locker room."

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But there is an element of stardom Wade alluded to with which Flores probably will agree, and that's winning. The New England Patriotsbecame an NFL dynasty with a star quarterback because of their winning records and Super Bowl titles. The allure of Tagovailoa's star power will be embraced should the Dolphins become title contenders year in and year out.

Before worrying about the celebrity, the more timely concern revolves around when Tagovailoa will get on the field. Some argue he should be an immediate starter, while others suggest a redshirt 2020 season. The most likely result appears to be somewhere in the middle.

The Dolphins are in Year 2 of a dramatic rebuild, but Flores always wants to win. Quarterback Ryan Fitzpatrick, the veteran incumbent, has the upper hand in securing the starting role for several reasons, thanks to his comfort in offensive coordinator Chan Gailey's scheme, his success guiding the Dolphins in 2019 (to five wins), his leadership in the locker room and a lack of a true offseason.

But Tagovailoa is also eager to learn under Fitzpatrick, saying on draft day in April that he wants "to understand the kind of person he is ... nitpick him, ask him how he goes about preparing for a defense ... and just being able to question him."

Fitzpatrick vows to be Tagovailoa's "biggest cheerleader," but he won't hand him the starting job in 2020. Tagovailoa probably wouldn't want it any other way, because when football returns, he will get the opportunity to prove his worth.

Once Tagovailoa hits the field, the hope is he gets to become the greatest version of himself instead of being constantly compared to Marino. That weight is too heavy.

But becoming the long-term face of the Dolphins and South Florida sports? That's well within Tagovailoa's grasp. Source - ESPN

[itsusapoolsohme-blog]

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[seeselfblack]

The forgotten history of segregated swimming pools and amusement parks

Municipal swimming pools flourished in the 20th century. But too often, their success was based on the exclusion of African Americans.

Municipal swimming pools and urban amusement parks flourished in the 20th century. But too often, their success was based on the exclusion of African Americans.

As a social historian who has written a book on segregated recreation, I have found that the history of recreational segregation is a largely forgotten one. But it has had a lasting significance on modern race relations.

Swimming pools and beaches were among the most segregated and fought over public spaces in the North and the South.

White stereotypes of blacks as diseased and sexually threatening served as the foundation for this segregation. City leaders justifying segregation also pointed to fears of fights breaking out if whites and blacks mingled. Racial separation for them equaled racial peace.

These fears were underscored when white teenagers attacked black swimmers after activists or city officials opened public pools to blacks. For example, whites threw nails at the bottom of pools in Cincinnati, poured bleach and acid in pools with black bathers in St. Augustine, Florida, and beat them up in Philadelphia. In my book, I describe how in the late 1940s there were major swimming pool riots in St. Louis, Baltimore, Washington, D.C. and Los Angeles.

Exclusion based on ‘safety’

Despite civil rights statutes in many states, the law did not come to African Americans’ aid. In Charlotte, North Carolina, for example, the chairman of the Charlotte Park and Recreation Commission in 1960 admitted that “all people have a right under law to use all public facilitates including swimming pools.” But he went on to point out that “of all public facilities, swimming pools put the tolerance of the white people to the test.”

His conclusion: “Public order is more important than rights of Negroes to use public facilities.” In practice, black swimmers were not admitted to pools if the managers felt “disorder will result.” Disorder and order defined accessibility, not the law.

Fears of disorder also justified segregation at amusement parks, which were built at the end of trolley or ferry lines beginning in 1890. This was particularly true at park swimming pools, dance halls and roller-skating rinks, which were common facilities within parks...

... Protests at pools

Major civil rights campaigns targeted amusement park segregation, most notably at Gwynn Oak Park in Baltimore and Glen Echo Park outside of Washington, D.C. And other parks, such as Fontaine Ferry in Louisville, were sites of major racial clashes when African Americans sought entrance.

By the early 1970s, most of America’s urban amusement parks like Cleveland’s Euclid Beach and Chicago’s Riverview were closed for good. Some white consumers perceived the newly integrated parks as unsafe and in turn park owners sold the land for considerable profit. Other urban leisure sites – public swimming pools, bowling alleys and roller-skating rinks – also closed down as white consumers fled cities for the suburbs.

The increase of gated communities and homeowners associations, what the political scientist Evan McKenzie calls “privatopia,” also led to the privatization of recreation. Another factor contributing to the decline of public recreation areas was the Federal Housing Administration, which in the mid-1960s openly discouraged public ownership of recreational facilities. Instead, they promoted private homeowner associations in planned developments with private pools and tennis courts...

See also:

- Racism at American Pools Isn’t New: A Look at a Long History

- A Place for Us

- Years Ago, Summer Meant (Almost) Everyone Headed To Fairyland Park

- Swimming while black: the legacy of segregated public pools lives on

- Race, Riots, and Roller Coasters: The Struggle over Segregated Recreation in America

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