#also unrelated but my internet has been SHITTY lately. it goes down for hours at a time 😭

[vanillabat99]

I had a busy day today! I saw my new therapist, and it went really well I think! Her approach is something I've never tried before, which is why I'm seeing her. I have booked another session with her and if all goes well, I plan to stick with her for a while!!

I also voted today! Provincial election stuff. It was super easy and way less stressful than I thought it was gonna be! I haven't looked at the estimated results recently but last I saw I think the UCP was in the lead ._. At least I got a nice walk out of it!

I don't think I'll be doing anything tomorrow, the walk really destroyed me. I didn't have an asthma attack this time though, which is wild to me!! Hopefully the pain isn't too bad in the morning!

[montrealmadison]

drink deeply

or, as they say at samwell, “penitus potes.” shitty gives the toast at jack and bitty’s wedding. for @zimbitsweddingofficial and day two of zimbits wedding week: the wedding itself!

just for fun, a draft version of the beginning of this fic with lardo, ransom, and holster’s “helpful” edits can be found via google doc here. hope y’all enjoy! <3

Good evening, everyone! On behalf of Jack and Eric, thank you all so much for being here tonight, and welcome to what could very well be the most highly anticipated wedding reception of 2019. I mean, this party was planned by the likes of Suzanne Bittle and Alicia Zimmermann. We are in for a treat, folks.

Before we get to all that, I’d also like to extend a particular welcome to those in attendance who are part of the playing, coaching, and/or office staff of the Providence Falconers. Glad you could all make it this evening; I know this past week was a little bit busy for you guys.

[Insert appropriate pause and gesture to the punch bowl, which on closer inspection is actually—oh yeah—the Stanley Cup the Falcs won three days ago. Hold for inevitable applause, general hysteria, and/or hooting/hollering from Tater.]

For those of you who don’t know me, I’ve been trying to decide whether I should introduce myself by my first name, which will inevitably get me mocked by my friends until the end of time, or by my nickname, which will definitely scandalize anyone who has not spent a significant amount of time around twenty-year-old guys who play hockey. However, as I look around the room, I’m realizing that most of you probably either raised, spent significant time around, or were once a twenty-year-old guy who played hockey. To the rest of you, I am profoundly sorry.

So, hi! I’m Shitty, and I’m Jack’s best man.

read more below or on ao3

Being someone’s best man, as I’ve realized over the last few months, should really come with a playbook or an instruction manual or something, because it’s a task unlike any other you’ll ever take on. In addition to being a friend, you have to be a confidant, an expert at bachelor-party debauchery (I think my college resume definitely prepared me for this part) and someone who’s not afraid to step in to make last-minute decisions so the grooms don’t have to. You also have to do all of these things without getting fired from your job or stepping on anyone’s toes, up to and including: the couple getting married, the other people in the wedding party, the grooms’ parents, the wedding planner, and most importantly, Moomaw, whose word is law around here. 

(Seriously. She made the pie tonight, people. Bow down to her.)

But as much as the role can feel a little bit like you’re being thrown in at the deep end, it also definitely comes with its perks. Tonight, I have both the honor and the challenge of somehow summarizing how much I love Jack and Eric in a speech that is heartfelt and witty yet also brief so that we can get to the aforementioned pie as quickly as possible. If you’re still following me here, that is a tall order—but here goes nothing!

I met Jack Zimmermann on our first day of freshman year at Samwell, during the bright, hot summer of 2011. I was participating in the time-honored tradition of moving into a dorm on the third floor of a building with no elevator and no air conditioning in the middle of August. It builds character, or so the good folks in Samwell administration probably tell themselves. Anyway, athletes got to move in early for preseason, so I was expecting to be one of the only guys on the floor for at least a couple days. I was just carrying the last box into my room when the door next to mine opened and—well, you can probably guess who walked out.

Now, I grew up in Boston, which means I also grew up around hockey culture. I’d heard the news that Jack was coming to Samwell, so I knew who he was when he stepped into the hall in that same vague way that you kind of-sort of recognize celebrities hustling down the street or through the airport with their sunglasses on. And he gave me that same vibe—“I know you know who I am, and I’d very much like not to be bothered about it.”

Here is something that will not shock you if you know us: Jack was the first friend I made in college. Here is something that might shock you if you know us: That definitely doesn’t mean we were friends at first. By his own admission, Jack wasn’t at Samwell to make friends at all. He told me, much later, that he was only planning to go to play hockey, get his life back on track, and keep his head down as much as possible.

So in retrospect, maybe it was an unlucky thing for Jack that he ran into the one person who wasn’t going to let him do that.

Because no matter who you are or where you’re from, freshman year of college breeds a unique kind of terror I’ve never felt anywhere else. There’s a lot of pressure to completely remake yourself, to become the person you maybe never could have been in your hometown. By coming to Samwell, I wanted to be a different kind of kid than the one that Andover had raised. Jack wanted to be a different kind of kid than the one he’d spent twenty years telling himself he had to be. As much as neither of us wanted to admit it, we both wanted similar things out of our college experience, and we needed a support system to do that. And so, however begrudging the two of us were about it at first, we started to bond more and more.

It wasn’t always easy. For one thing, my idea of a good time was a lot louder than Jack’s—who enjoyed such scintillating pursuits as “watching golf” and “going to bed at a reasonable hour”, neither of which were quite in my vocabulary at the ripe old age of eighteen. Also, if it’s before six in the morning, he has a hard time remembering to speak English, which used to make for a lot of stilted conversations between the two of us as we walked to early morning practice. (On a completely unrelated note, the first and probably only thing I ever learned in Québécois is how to swear.)

I don’t remember the exact tipping point at which Jack and I really became friends; I think it was more of a quiet acknowledgment that we liked having each other around, that we balanced each other out in ways that neither of us initially knew we needed. What I do know is that, slowly but surely, I started to get glimpses of the Jack that exists off the ice. And so began one of the most extraordinary journeys of my life, because the only thing crazier than knowing Jack Zimmermann is actually knowing Jack.

Here are some things that I’ve learned in the process: He’s on his third pair of neon yellow running shoes, which he buys specifically because the color makes him happy. Before either of us tried Eric’s pies, the only thing that could make him cheat on a meal plan was a sleeve of Double Stuf Oreos. (Don’t ask him how to eat them correctly unless you’re interested in a twenty-minute speech on exactly how they have to be pulled apart.) And he loves Captain America, although it is the opinion of this best man that America’s ass has nothing on his hockey butt. Have you seen that thing? It has Internet fans in at least two different countries. 

But I digress.

In our sophomore year we lived next to each other again, by choice instead of by chance, in what I can only describe as the pinnacle of American college living: the Samwell Men’s Hockey Haus. We used to pull the comforter off of one of our beds and climb out onto the roof and clear off the snow so we could share the blanket, look up at the stars, and listen to the bass thumping through the wall of the house next door. On nights when other things felt confusing, this one part of my life was clear. There’s something about sitting out under the open sky that just makes it easier to talk to a guy, you know? 

Some nights the conversations we had were funny. Some nights they were serious. Some nights we said nothing at all, just sat secure in the knowledge that someone cared enough to exist alongside us for a little while. There was always an unspoken agreement between us on nights like these: I got your back. For me, Jack’s friendship became a rock, a refuge. It’s something that I came to depend on that year and still do to this day.

As for the content of those late-night conversations—well, some things do have to stay between friends. I’m sure Jack will agree, especially because he has so graciously allowed me to get up here and lovingly roast him just a little bit.

So let’s skip ahead again, to yet another August, the start of our junior year, and the arrival on the scene of one Eric Bittle. This kid burst into our ranks like a ray of Southern sunshine and turned pretty much everything upside down in the process. In the first five minutes of being in the Haus, he somehow made us a pie? Folks, I'm not kidding, it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. We were a bunch of guys who didn’t know what we were missing until we had it, and let me tell you, it was one hell of a semester after that. In pretty short order we had curtains on the windows and baked goods on the counters, and Samwell Men’s Hockey started to become not only a team but a family.

That was off the ice, at least. On it, things were a little more complicated. As our dear friend and former goalie John Johnson said to me, Jack and Eric hadn’t gone through their character development yet—whatever that means. 

Take our third or fourth practice with the full team that year, for example. It had gone… uh. Poorly, would be a word. Later that night I heard some rustling on the roof outside, and God knows I was willing to do just about anything but my homework—so I stuck my head out the window and there was Jack, watching the stars. I asked him if he wanted a buddy, and he said alright, so I slid out and sat down next to him.

That was pretty usual for us at this point. What wasn’t usual was the topic of conversation. The first thing Jack said to me was, “Bittle’s gonna get eaten alive when our schedule starts.” (Remember, people, they’re married now!) The second was, “I want to help.”

Here’s another thing about Jack: Underneath the veneer is a guy who just cares so intensely it’d shock you if you knew nothing else about him. It shocked me a little that day. I think it even shocked him to admit it, to the point where I had to say, “Jack, it’s not a criminal offense to care about other people. Even if it feels like you’re doing it for yourself.”

So he helped. He offered an olive branch, and Bits took him up on it. I’d hear the two of them get up in the morning, hours before the rest of us had to be at Faber, for checking practice. None of the rest of us ever knew exactly what went down, but one thing was for sure—Eric put in a ton of work to overcome some of the fears that had followed him to college. He got better, and Jack relaxed. The two of them really started working as a team, and things started looking up from there.

The day that they told us they were dating was pretty amazing. Eric is so full of light no matter how bleak a situation may look, but that day he was literally almost glowing. And I’ve seen Jack in moments after victory and loss, at his best and at his worst. But I’ve never seen a Jack who was so happy, possessed of such confidence in a decision he’d made, as I saw him that day at brunch. And that’s when I knew this relationship was really special. 

From there, many of you know the story. You watched it play out on ESPN and social media and the front pages of every single gossip magazine on the supermarket shelves. But if you’re sitting here with us tonight, you also watched it play out between Jack and Eric themselves. You’ve watched them handle expectations as a united front. You’ve watched their unfailing dedication to each other while they navigate the pressure of being some pretty big firsts. You know that, behind the scenes, these are two incredibly genuine people who  bring out the best in each other and are dedicated to doing that every single day.

In the last four years, I’ve watched Eric become self-possessed and confident because he was given the space to do so. In the last six years, I’ve watched Jack grow from a kid with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove to a guy who finally believes that he deserves all the good things the world has given him and then some. If you take nothing else away from this speech, I want you to know this: I’m incredibly proud to call myself a friend to both of them.

Jack, Bits, you’re always gonna be my brothers, my best friends, and two of the finest damn men I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. I wish you both a long and happy marriage. Take care of each other, be good to each other, and never forget where you started—as a team.

So please join me in raising your glasses, everyone, and as they say at Samwell—penitus potes to Jack and Eric!

[josiesjournal]

01/05/2020 - 22:58

The start of 2020 has been both eventful and painful thus far for many different reasons, but if anything, I know it’s the universe showing me that good things are coming.

New Year’s Eve itself was amazing to say the least. Keelan and I spent most of the night at his parents’ house playing card games, until about 11:45 - you could kinda tell from the look on everyone’s faces that it was well past bedtime, but me, wanting to bring out my inner party animal because it’s all I’ve known how to do the past couple New Years, I decided to take one of my marijuana gummies just before we were leaving; I had this epiphany right before we got in the car and I whispered in Keelan’s ear ‘I want to go for a drive with you.’

He was willing, but curious. ‘Okay, where do you want to go?’

‘The clock tower.’

At this point in time, the drugs have fully taken over and I’m high as a kite, but Keelan listens to me and drives downtown to park in front of the clock tower. As we’re getting out of the car, the clock is playing a tune before it strikes midnight, but not it’s normal song that you would hear throughout the day - I’m not sure if it was playing the song to welcome the new year or the new decade, but with the snow blowing around us as I stared up at the clock tower, it was one of the most magical experiences I’ve ever had, and the most magical New Year’s kiss for sure too.

A few days later, I’m at work and I’m doing a renewal for a client’s policy. I recognize the name and remember that this guy’s wife has a Mini Cooper - didn’t think anything of it at first until I realized that the Mini’s plates had been cancelled, with new plates on a 2019 Volkswagen. At this point in time, I’m too excited to handle anything, and had to wait until I was done my full time job and part time job on top of that in order to take a drive by this Mini. On my local Volkswagen dealership’s ad, it mentions that it’s red (even though they have basic google search pictures of a dark blue one) and an automatic, which really got me down at first but hey, it’s a Mini. I have to do a drive by anyways, why not? I find this car in the far corner of VW’s second lot, and I’m mystified by this thing as I’m getting out of my car. 2016 Mini Cooper with a white panoramic roof, and.. what’s this? 6 speed manual? At this point in time, I’m convinced that I have to at least test drive this thing - I don’t necessarily have to buy it, but I have to drive it. Why not take it for a few donuts in a parking lot in the snow, just to see how it handles in the winter?

The next day (Friday) I call VW and book the test drive for this car for about noon on Saturday, without telling them I had plans to take it home for the weekend to show Keelan, considering he’s never seen a Mini up close before, let alone been in a Mini at all. Saturday sounds great - it’s my day off and I don’t have anything else planned other than laundry and gym, both of which can wait. Mini tales full priority right now.

But when your manager at your part time job calls you on Saturday and offers an extra 7 hour shift that would cut in on your Mini test drive - can you really say no? I agree to work the shift and call VW to cancel my test drive, guy agrees with me says we’ll see how next Friday looks, provided the Mini is still there. I get to work, and I had woken up with pain in my back earlier in the morning, which was concerning to me since I already had a bladder infection - untreated and not officially diagnosed, but after some quick internet research, I was at least 98% sure. As I work my shift, the pain in my back starts radiating up to the front left side of my abdomen and is practically unbearable at the point where my second coworker shows up, and my managers offers to let me go home as soon as she’s had her lunch break. I’m a little reluctant, as I hate to be a pain in her ass by doing that, and I’d also hate to miss out on making extra money, but I caved pretty easily and agreed to go home.

As I’m leaving the mall with a new bottle of Advil and some snacks for me to have at home, a truck with some familiar decals catches my eye as I’m leaving, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s a CP truck. Mild war flashbacks, but I’ve already convinced myself it isn’t him. So I’m walking alongside this truck on the sidewalk, it stops to let people cross and I decide to cross safely behind the truck to get to my own car. The truck goes to the lot over from mine, and as I’m struggling to get in my car with how stupid the remote start is for locking me out then shutting my vehicle off as soon as I open the door, I decide to just take a glance. Just a glance. It’ll be fine.

Welp, wouldn’t you know it folks, it was not fine.

It’s him.

I immediately look away and start fumbling with my keys, desperate to get in my car at this point in time. I’m so ready to get out of this parking lot. I manage to get into my car just as he parks the truck, and as he’s walking across the other parking lot, I’m backing out of my parking space and I’m fucking gone. I stop in a different parking lot briefly to dial Megan’s number, but I’m shaking so bad that I can hardly type it out. For that being the first time I had actually seen my ex since we broke up, I felt.. angry. Even just looking at the man was frustrating and left this feeling in my chest that I couldn’t even describe. I thought about what our interaction would’ve been like if he had seen me working in the mall, at the place where he usually gets his t-shirts, and I was so thankful to have dodged that bullet.

So I have Megan on the phone at this point, because who else do you call when you have all these thoughts running through your head after seeing your ex for the first time since your breakup in July? I take her on wonderful adventures with me to my own house to pack clothes so that I can spend the night at Keelan’s, and I take her on my drive all the way to Kimberley. Our conversation ended once I got there, and my pain had subsided since leaving my part time job, but now that I was at Keelan’s house, my pain was a 100x worse. Keelan came home from work not even 5 minutes after I had gotten there, and I had been keeping him up to date on the whole situation so once he got there and saw me writhing and crying on the couch in pain, he convinced me it was time to go to the hospital. Gave me two extra strength tylonel and popped me in the car to go to town.

As we’re driving there, my pain starts to subside again. We go sit down to eat, since my pain is practically non-existent at this point, and end up going to Home Depot to look at bath faucets, which we had been talking about for a while now. All of that and my pain still wasn’t evident, so we went back to my place for a bit, because I knew that the pain would come back eventually, and when it did, I’d be ready and willing to go to the hospital at that point. We ended up having a nap that was maybe only 30mins long, and I wake up to the same pain, plus nausea on top of it now. Off to the hospital we go.

As I’m standing in the ER line waiting to be seen, I can hardly stand and I’m ready to puke. Keelan’s there being the strong supportive pillar he is, and for actually having someone here for the first time for my 4th hospital trip in 5 months, I’m so happy he’s here. Within 10mins, the nurse brings me in and writes down everything I’ve been feeling and experiencing, then sends me away to collect my own urine sample, which I knew they were going to do at some point, but despite that, I had just emptied my bladder before we had left the house. Side note - do you know how hard it is to pee when it hurts every single time, and when you’re fighting back the urge to vomit, on top of more pain?

I bring back the urine sample and get registered at the front desk, wrist tag and all. Keelan and I sit down in the waiting room, which is the busiest I’ve seen it in my last couple trips. Give it maybe an hour or two and my name is called to go into the ER, and within 15 minutes of sitting down on a hospital bed, there’s a doctor in my room explaining how he’s going to write me a prescription for antibiotics for my bladder infection, which is all fine and dandy, but he mentions nothing of the pain I’m feeling. Maybe the nurse hadn’t noted it, which is understandable, but it’s also the whole reason why I’m here, so I pipe up and say something and he tries telling me that my pain is the pain associated with my bladder infection, which I know is very evidently not. He then tells me it’s probably some unrelated constipation and writes me a second prespcrition for laxatives. Great. I leave the ER to go to the pharmacy in the hospital, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s nearly 10pm, so this pharmacy, along with every single one in the city, is closed, which means I get to suffer through my pain for a solid 12 more hours. Double great. We go home to Kimberley and go to bed relatively late, but I’m up at least three times throughout the night, tossing and turning with this pain, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, which is nearly impossible at this point. I’ve got Keelan awake by 8:30am, which is when I’m ready to go get my prescriptions, but quickly found out that the only pharmacy in Kimberley is closed until 11am, so back into Cranbrook we go. I pick up my prescriptions, and the liquid inside the bottle, which is apparently my laxative, is daunting, but once I get home and actually take it, it tastes surprisingly good. I’m thinking ‘okay, this should hit me in about two or three hours and then I’ll be good to go’ but little do I know, laxative takes at least 48 hours to actually starting working. Triple great.

Best news of the day was that I got a couple of snuggles in with Mew during nap time; something about female cats with females, I swear she always knows when I’m feeling down.

Bottom line, there’s been some shitty starts to 2020 for sure (no pun intended..) but there’s always potential for things to start looking up, and lately, I’ve had Keelan to thank for his amazing positive attitude keeping me afloat. The man’s willingness to take care of me was like nothing I’ve ever seen in a partner before and I don’t know how to express how thankful I am for him and everything he does, despite telling him over and over and over and over the past couple days. Every day I find something new about Keelan that makes me fall in love with him a little bit more, and despite feeling like I know him like the back of my hand, he always has something else up his sleeve to surprise me with.

So here’s to you, my love, and our fresh start to 2020. I truly wouldn’t want anyone else by my side to start the new year and the new decade with.