#and it's more glaringly obvious because I usually (in more recent trips especially) had my sister by my side

[after-nine-at-the-oasis]

well. huh.

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, Chapter 30: Flaw in the Plan

Summary: After an intense fight and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else.

Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Betas: @fanboyswhereare-you @girl-tips-from-satan @lilbeatlebear

Then Again, Chapter 30: Flaw in the Plan

(Word count: 3,608)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30,

I am an idiot. A happy idiot.

This whole conditioning plan was meant to be mostly an apology and partly a joke. More of a thoughtful punchline than any real, tactical scheme. But even when I first proposed it, I knew a piece of me hoped it would work like I said in our texts that night, that I would bring her gifts and she would begin to see me in a more positive light and associate me with happiness instead of irritation or anxiety. And as a result, she might forgive me sooner. Then, maybe — if I didn’t mess up too badly and I kept my fingers crossed — our relationship might heal enough to support something new. Something more.

Being so early, I have no idea if I’m even close to being forgiven all the way or if it’s possible that the fantasy version in my head could ever play out in real life.

Instead, all I know is that I accidentally conditioned myself, which was never part of the plan. And as dumb as I feel for making such a glaringly obvious, inevitable miscalculation, I couldn’t care less. I love it.

It’s been a perfect week, apart from being too short. It’s already Thursday and everything is blowing by so fast. It’s like I’m swinging through the days faster than I can web my way through entire neighborhoods. And it’s just as exhilarating. In fact, I can barely sleep at night because things are going so well. My brain is constantly either replaying the most recent good moments from the day or imagining what could happen tomorrow. Then, once I am asleep, it’s not for long. I wake up way before my alarm with a jittery, excited energy that should only be possible with the help of a dozen cups of coffee.

The last four mornings have been like that: I wake up with a jolt as if I’ve been slapped in the face, and I immediately roll out of bed. My feet touch the floor before the sun even begins to sneak up out of the skyline, and each time I feel like it makes sense that there’s so little light outside, because I might as well have absorbed all the energy from the sun. Honestly, I’m as restless as I was when I first got bit, back when I had no idea what was happening. This time, though, there’s no mystery: I’m in love with my best friend and, naturally, there are side effects to that. Including rushes of noradrenaline, serotonin, dopamine, and other stuff. It’s a drastic energy boost, especially during those hours between when I wake up and when I can finally text — or, even better — see her.

As soon as I realized it was impossible to get back to sleep when I’m like this (I think it was Tuesday?), I tried using the extra time to get ahead on homework, which helped distract me a little and make me feel a tiny bit productive, but somehow, I still only used 15% of that spare time to accomplish much of anything. The other 85% I spend staring out the window or at a random pencil or the wall, my brain simmering in its own excitement, replaying more memories on loop and weaving my daydreams further and further out. Even when I pack her present-of-the-day in with my homework, I can literally feel my heart rate jump because I’m already looking forward to her reaction. It’s wild. But in a good way. The best way.

The last two days I’ve been sneaking my gifts for her into her locker before first hour. It’s pretty easy to do since we usually all hang out at MJ’s locker in the math hall before the second bell rings.

The reward of seeing her face after she’s found that day’s gift is just…. It feels like an unequal exchange— like her joy and her gratitude are too generous. Meanwhile, she’s been acting like she’s taking advantage of me all week by accepting the couple of small things I’ve given her so far. It’s so ridiculous it makes me want to laugh thinking about it.

Today, though, she might be changing her mind.

I’m only a few minutes behind schedule (subway delay, not my fault), and as I round the corner of the hallway, I see she’s scrolling her phone in front of her open locker: a universal signal for I’m waiting for someone and I want to look busy. I cup my hands around my mouth and call her name, hoping it’s loud enough to climb over the noise of everyone else as they chat on the edges of the hallway before class, search their backpacks for missing papers or books, a (for a few people) slam their lockers harder than seems necessary. As someone with sensitive hearing, that last one is especially obnoxious.

Evidently my voice was loud enough. She hears me and looks up with a smile— it’s subtle, but still the kind that’s able to knock my feet out from under me. I’ve been working on keeping myself calm and level-headed around her, yet I still feel like I’m in desperate need of oxygen. I guess I need to work on it more.

Once I’m a couple feet away she answers me.

“Hey, Peter,” she says, setting her phone on the top shelf by her pencil case.

“Hey, traitor,” I reply, trying my best (and failing) to suppress my smile in order to look annoyed instead. “Minus fifteen points, by the way.”

She scoffs, head jerking back slightly.

“What could I have possibly done before 7:30 in the morning to deserve that?”

Reflexively, I cross my arms and lean my right shoulder against the locker next to hers.

“Hmmm,” I draw out the sound like a long question. “I’d have to say going to my apartment and hanging out with Aunt May after you said you didn’t have time to hang out with me.”

“Oh, that?” she asks, unbothered, with a small wave of her hand. “I brought dessert for both of you as an apology.”

One of the reasons I like her so much: her apologies are always very thoughtful and sincere. And delicious at times. But I can’t say that until I dig further into her sneaky strategy.

“So it was a premeditated crime?” I ask.

Her neutral expression slips, but rather than look nervous, she rolls her eyes with a small grin.

“Just give me ten points for the brownies and we’ll call a truce.”

At the word “brownies,” a freshman (maybe sophomore? I can’t keep track of the underclassmen) whips his head away from the conversation he’s having in one of those annoyingly large groups of athletes that jam up the hallway. Then when he sees me, he makes a face and turns back to his friends as if he’s disappointed by the sources of the word, not even embarrassed that I noticed his reaction.

I’m not sure what to make of that, so I ignore it and turn my attention back to her.

“You can have all fifteen back,” I tell her, “they were really good.” Especially for breakfast, much to May’s annoyance, given that the two I ate then were all that was left after our late night snacking. “But, honestly, I’m really tempted to take back the thing I got you today.”

I adjust my backpack, where it’s stored, yanking the straps forward so it pulls tighter against my back. Again I try to contain my smile; teasing feels less effective when I can’t keep my emotions off my face. It’s just so hard to keep myself together around her.

“Actually,” she says slowly, tilting her head toward her open locker, “I wanted to talk to you about all that.”

Perfect. I know exactly what she means. It’s time to reveal the big surprise. It’s been hard keeping my Friday gift a secret, but it might be the smartest move I’ve ever made. I’m glad she couldn’t guess it yesterday at school or over text. I can’t wait to see her face when I tell her.

“I know, I know,” I say, raising a hand to reassure her, “I have to tell you about the tickets for tomorrow, as per our compromise.”

She purses her lips and makes an Mmm not quite sound.

That’s unexpected.

And disappointing.

“We’ll come back to that,” she says, “but I was thinking we should just….” She looks around, glancing over her shoulder. “Maybe, um, maybe we should stop the whole ‘conditioning’ thing.”

Her voice is careful and very hush-hush on the word “conditioning.”

I start speaking before I can even process it.

“No, no, no, no!” I’m hearing my voice rather than using it, and I flinch because it sounds like it’s tripping down a staircase. “Come on, no way, please,” I plead, taking a quick breath to get my control back. “It’s not really supposed to be conditioning. That was just a joke. It’s very casual gift-giving, that’s all. You know? I mean, are you against getting presents every day or something?”

Her eyes widen and she laughs.

“Yes, I am!” Any combination of words could’ve come out of her mouth and her tone would have made it clear that she meant Obviously! “I know you mean well, I really do, I just think it’s not working. If anything, it’s starting to have the opposite effect of what you wanted.”

Shit.

“What? What do you mean?”

Does she know the universe played the reverse Uno card on me, that I conditioned my own dumbass self? That would be humiliating, but as long as she doesn’t know the extent of it, I can salvage things.

“I told you before,” she says, her head shaking as she looks around the hallway, “it makes me feel like I’m in debt and I—”

Oh, that’s all. Thank goodness. I can handle that.

“A couple dollars for snacks and pens?” I shrug. “It’s nothing, I promise.”

I put my thumbs in the ends of my backpack straps, relaxing again. She looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Those pens are like $20 on sale, they’re not cheap. And how much were these ‘tickets’ for tomorrow?”

A heavy shoulder bumps into my back, followed by an “Oops, shit, my bad!” My face twitches as I turn to see a stocky senior give me the peace sign as an apology before spinning around to sprint down the rest of the hallway, carefully dodging the athletes’ circle.

But the twitch isn’t from the accidental shove. It’s because I might find myself in trouble now. The tickets didn’t bankrupt me or anything, but I never would’ve spent that much for anyone else, myself included, and she knows enough about me and May’s situation to realize that if she heard the price.

“I feel like you’re getting a little hung up on the money part of this,” I say, turning back to face her and moving an inch closer, hoping to distract her enough to get around the question.

“Seriously,” she counters, her voice steady as she folds her arms. “How much were they? Can you return them?”

There is zero chance in hell I’m doing that.

“Are you sure you’d want that? And do we really have to argue about it right now?”

“I… I guess it depends,” she admits, arms loosening, shoulders half-rolling. “What are they for?”

Finally. I smile, my pride rising and excitement growing. She’s going to love it. I lift my head a little higher and smirk.

“Give me just a second to remember,” I tease. “I think they were something… something like tickets for, um, for The Daily Show? You know, the one with Trevor Noah?”

Her mouth opens and she struggles to find the words. Momentarily speechless, she closes her mouth with a snap. Her eyes shut briefly so I can’t make out her expression.

She sighs.

“That’s honestly really— but I can’t— and you should return them. It’s really nice.” Her eyes open. “And really thoughtful, but it’s too much. Like way too much.”

Her expression is clearer now. Guilt.

Ugh. Now I want to sigh.

“Even if I wanted to,” I say, “there’s a no-return policy.” That’s mostly true. I could very easily sell them if I wanted to. But I won’t. “And they weren’t as bad as you think, I promise. It’s nothing crazy.” The price was fair, even if more than I’m used to spending at once. “Plus, I really want to go. So if you say no, you’re actually punishing me, which would be super rude since, like you said, it was a really thoughtful gift.”

She looks pained. Or stubborn.

Possibly both.

“Take Ned or MJ then.”

I smack my left hand to my forehead. For being so smart, she can be so incredibly obstinate. (Typically, I admire her iron will. It’s an admirable quality when it’s not used against me.)

“That would defeat the purpose,” I say, somewhere between patience and desperation. “I got them because I thought you would enjoy going.”

She takes a deep breath. Her I’m-about-to-argue deep breath.

Without thinking, as if in self-defense, I quickly add, “I thought you’d enjoy going with me.”

Well, I hoped. It’s hard to expect someone to be excited at the idea of hanging out with you after a fiasco like last weekend.

Luckily, she doesn’t seem to read much into it because she steamrolls on.

“And I would,” she rushes. “It was a good idea, really, but Peter, how many times can I say it feels weird and, and manipulative to let you try to buy me stuff like this? I’m serious when I say you absolutely do not need to do any of this.” She pauses, looking up at the ceiling with a brief shake of her head. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to figure out some dessert that balances out these tickets and whatever else you have in mind.”

Oh, so that’s what the brownies were for.

“Wait. Your random dessert delivery wasn’t an apology for avoiding me, it was to settle an imaginary debt?”

“Desserts are very versatile, they can be both,” she admits. “But ‘avoid’ is a strong word. I just wanted to talk to May and get her advice.”

“Advice on what?”

Her eyes widen again. I try to focus and not get lost in their color. Luckily, her hands roll over each other as she starts answering, distracting me.

“This.” She gestures between us. “And she agrees with me. She basically gave me permission to fight you on it. Encouraged, actually.” I open my mouth to reject that statement since I know Aunt May is happy with my overall plan, but she clears her throat and keeps going. “She said you’ve been stressing yourself out with too many big plans and that if I wanted, I should dig my heels in and refuse until you let it go.”

Damn it. That makes what Aunt May hinted at last night a lot clearer. The whole, “Honey, why not wait and see how Friday goes and then just listen to what she wants from there? You might be surprised how much easier her version of your plan is.”

And it’s true. I have been killing myself over my awful list of potential not-dates, with very little help from either Ned or MJ. It’s been fun to find new ideas, but since almost all of them flop in the end, it’s also tear-my-hair-out excruciating to fail over and over again. The plan I showed the three of them on Tuesday was nowhere near as complete as I thought it was at first, and I can only blame sleep deprivation on how confident I was that morning that I’d made anything worthwhile. None of it was enough. Or the decent parts were too much— too pricey or too far away. 80% of it has already been erased.

“It’d be easier to verify that if I’d actually been there, but it does sound like something she’d say.” But I can’t give up everything because some (or a lot) of the plan sucks. I still have time to fix it. But even I don’t really believe that. How much more time can I spend making new lists and shredding them up ten minutes later? I search for something to hold onto. “What if we compromise?”

“I’m listening.”

I smile, but I feel it waver from nerves.

“Give me a second, I have to come up with something.”

She breathes out an almost laugh.

What can I save in this situation?

I’ve probably got thirty seconds, tops.

I mean, Aunt May was right about being overwhelmed by the big stuff. Museums, tours, comedy shows, plays, musicals. Way too many options, and most of them are nowhere near affordable. The tickets were a small chunk of regular change — all things considered — for most people. But I’m not most people, and I don’t exactly have a job— not one that pays anyway. It would be a huge relief to stop debating whether or not I should ask Aunt May for a loan, or, somehow worse, Mr. Stark. Plus I could quit playing the guessing game of trying to calculate how much homework we’ll have each day for school and when we would have time to go anywhere in the first place.

It wouldn’t be so bad to let that stuff go, as long as I didn’t forfeit my other reasons for being around her as much as possible the next week and a half.

“What if….” I start slowly. I know what I have to say, and I can already feel the weight lifting off my shoulders, but it still sucks to say it. To admit defeat after a surprisingly brutal, minute-long ambush debate. Especially since some of the places I found were really cool... even if they weren’t practical. “What if I stick to the small stuff? After tomorrow, no ‘events,’ nothing pricey. Just the small stuff like I’ve already gotten you.” I pause, realizing she might reject this too, so I say something half true for leverage. “And before you say anything, I already have the little things. And I can’t return them either.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Her eyes narrow a tiny bit, but the lines in her forehead have smoothed out.

We’re both relieved, and we both know it.

“Mixed bag. Now, can we compromise?”

She stares, silently weighing her options. Then she turns to her locker and grabs her text book, copy of Frankenstein (which I don’t think we even need this week), pencil case, and water bottle.

“Nothing on weekends,” she says as she starts collecting her things, “it ends next Friday as planned, and the pens are still pushing it, so I swear to god,” she turns and looks at me pointedly, “if you have anything that costs more than they did, you’re either returning or keeping it.”

That shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I can stick to a budget.

Then I think of something else, a condition of my own, as she double checks her locker for anything she might be forgetting.

“And you’ll come over to help me and May cook a couple times a week so we can call it all even.”

Her eyes squint in a lighter way than before, and then she smiles.

“Deal.”

I laugh, enjoying the calm that’s settling into my muscles.

“Deal,” I agree.

I reach out my hand and she extends her water bottle to shake, which I’ll pretend I’m not a little disappointed at.

“Honestly,” she says as we drop hands (well, hand and water bottle), “I thought you’d be more stubborn about this. The ‘big plans,’ whatever they were.”

I let out a big sigh and lean my head backward. She unscrews her water bottle, about to take a drink. The one-minute bell rings.

“I am kinda bummed,” I say honestly, “but May was right. I could not figure it out. I mean, why is everything so expensive? Why are cool things at the dumbest times? It felt pointless to keep going after so many hours. And anyway, how am I gonna top Trevor Noah at this point?”

I’m about to say I should’ve saved the tickets for my last present and built up to them, but she lurches forward, head suddenly low, and for a split second, I have no idea why. Then I hear a coughing sound above the rumble of the hallways. She’s choking.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” I ask, bending down to try to see her face.

Before I can even try to remember the CPR lesson from Coach Wilson’s first aid lesson, she flips her head back up, and rather than panicked or in pain, her expression is perfectly amused. Throat cleared from the water that must’ve gone down wrong, she’s laughing. And then I realize my grammatical mistake.

Unfortunately for me, Ned appears and claps me on the back just in time to ask her what’s so funny, and she, unmistakably glad to have an audience to retell it to, closes her locker and starts the story as we walk together to English.

“Ned, you just missed it! So I got Peter to agree to give up whatever ‘events’ you guys were coming up with and….”

Hopefully she won’t recount the story to Trevor Noah himself during those audience-question-time break things he does. But either way, I’m happy we’re still going.

It’s almost enough to make me forget about having to ask her to the dance today.

Shit.

Almost.

Next chapter: Will be posted Friday, January 28 OR the following, February 4.

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[dontlikedarkness]

The Good Side, Part 2

Change was something Duncan desperately feared. Not in his surroundings - he was adaptable, and he knew how to handle it - but in himself. He’d built his walls and become who he was for a reason, and he refused to let her take that away from him, with her too sweet words and her innate need to fix anything that came her way. If Courtney saw something as damaged, she loved to take it in and patch it up before sending it on its merry way again. Birds fallen from nests, old, worn out books, even people. He knew it was only a matter of time before she did the same to him.

So he let himself indulge in her, for a while. There were times where he’d get so swept up in her that he’d forget to have his walls up, and with every broken, damaged bit of him he let slip, he knew he was closer to that fate. He’d be fixed up and repackaged, all tied up with a nice little bow and sent off to the world. As time passed and their relationship progressed, it became less about his fear of change, and more about a new-found fear of losing her. She made him better, stronger than he’d ever been, and he needed her like fire needs air. It was enough for him to just be in her presence, to relish the energy and passion she brought to the table.

He would’ve stayed as long as she wanted him to. He would’ve done absolutely anything for her, and that terrified him.

Eventually, the issue became clear: fire needs air, but air does not need fire. Air nourishes fire, but it moves on. It always does. And then the fire fizzles out, without air to feed it. Fire dies. Air lives on.

He needed to leave before she could - desperately needed to spare himself that pain. It was irrational and reckless and foolish, sure, but wasn’t that his style?

It was too late to reflect on how bad of a decision it may or may not have been, anyways. His hand still smarted from where he’d slammed the door and subsequently punched it, gunning for his bike the moment he’d begun to process what had happened. By now, a bruise had begun blooming there, a black and purple reminder of just how badly he’d fucked up.

He had never planned for it to go down that way, but it was done. She’d asked him to move in with her, seeing as they spent most of their time at her place, anyways. It was the next logical step in their relationship, and in all honesty, it should’ve happened well before they hit the two year mark. He’d found a way to shut down the conversation every time it seemed to be steering in that direction, and she’d left it at that - until now. This time, she’d made it clear that she wouldn’t back down until he talked about it, at the very least. So he’d panicked. Created an argument out of thin air, as he seemed so prone to doing, and had made his escape.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to move in with her. In fact, every part of him had been aching to say yes, to give in; to get to wake up next to her every morning was a dream he’d never dared imagine. No, he very much wanted to move in with her. It was what would come next that terrified him.

His walls would come crumbling down, slowly but surely, especially in such close proximity to her. That was a given. Once she’d seen him so bare, so vulnerable, and patched him up as best she could, he’d be on his own. It was a thought he couldn’t handle. And so he’d left before she had the chance, his walls and his dignity still intact.

She hadn’t followed him, though from the looks of his tiny studio apartment, she might as well have.

Her presence was everywhere. A photobooth strip of the two of them was tucked into his windowsill; the first picture was of him doing bunny ears behind her head with their tongues out, the second was her pulling his ear in retaliation, and the third was him pressing a kiss into her cheek, her eyes closed, looking entirely too happy. He ripped it down with a grimace and stuffed it into his junk drawer. A bottle of her favorite perfume had been left in a corner of his bathroom counter, there in case she ever needed to leave for work from his place. One of his hoodies hung over the shower door, freshly washed and yet still managing to smell of her. Likely because she’d put it there, he realized, his stomach lurching. A paint swatch with various shades of white was taped to the wall above his bed frame - one he’d bought after a trip to IKEA with her - there because Courtney claimed he needed to “spruce up the place”. She’d tried to explain the differences in white to him once - this one’s eggshell, see, it’s a little more yellow than the others - but she’d given up once it became clear that he didn’t get it. A hastily scrawled grocery list in her handwriting lay out on the coffee table, and if he looked in the cupboards, he was sure he’d find a box of her favorite tea bags. She’d taken so many pains to make the place seem like a home, and he supposed it had to be, now. He couldn’t exactly go back.

Everything that was glaringly out of place in his bachelor’s pad, as she’d once called it, got shoved away in that same junk drawer. The hoodie stayed, even if it did smell like her perfume, a lovely honey and vanilla scent that she’d grown quite fond of during their time together, as did the paint swatch. He kind of liked that quiet reminder of her. She was gone for good, he knew that, but that didn’t mean he had to forget her.

He was halfway done cleaning when reality finally hit. He slumped against the side of his bed, clutching a blouse that had been abandoned beneath it for obvious reasons close to him.

He usually wasn’t much of a crier - but this time, when the tears came, he didn’t hold back.

***

He met Gwen by chance, only a few short days after he’d walked out on Courtney. Tattoos were a coping mechanism for him - he’d planned on getting a raven on his wrist, a tiny addition to his growing sleeve, but his go-to artist had taken an unplanned vacation. He agreed to make an appointment with a new artist who had had her hours bumped up as a result, and that was that.

“Ravens are a symbol of loss,” she told him when he sat down, not bothering to look up from her sketch. He nodded. “Yeah. I lost someone important to me - figured I’d mark the occasion.” She turned then, appraising him with a disinterested look, her eyes a deep midnight blue. The sketch was clutched delicately in her left hand, which she held out to him.

He took it, scanning the careful whorls of ink. The raven was mid-flight, its wings dissolving into pools of smoke. It was a gorgeous tattoo, and he said as much, amazed that she’d captured his vision so well through just one phone call. “I’m Gwen,” she offered, taking the sketch back from him as he settled into the chair, one arm extended for her to begin tracing. “Duncan,” he returned, and she smiled, revealing a smiley piercing beneath her lip, something he’d always found attractive.

They continued in silence for half an hour or so while she worked, enjoying the fact that they could be quiet without it being awkward. With Courtney, one of them always had to be talking. Usually it was her, even if she was just talking to herself (or to his backside when she knew full well he wasn’t listening). She liked to fill the silence with him. Said it made her feel safe, the talking. Not that they couldn’t be quiet around each other, but one of them always seemed to wind up talking.

Once she started talking, though, it became clear that they had a great deal in common. Music tastes, anarchist world views, the likes. He left that day with a new tattoo and a girl’s phone number - all-in-all, it had been a pretty good day.

***

At first, they would only hang out in group settings. They wound up having quite a lot of mutual friends, and had only gone this long without meeting because Gwen had been an hour away for art school until recently. They talked about anything and everything, although he had a tendency to avoid talking about anything that had happened in the past two years. Whenever it was necessary to an anecdote he’d let it slide, but he took pains not to mention Courtney. He couldn’t give a reason for it, but it felt wrong, somehow, like she was something he couldn’t share with anyone else. His friends took it in stride, though he wasn’t oblivious to their occasional eye rolls or irritated glances. They knew what she’d meant to him, and they had a hard time believing he’d moved on already, no matter what he said to convince them otherwise.

They got into the ‘dating’ side of things rather quickly, starting with trips to dive bars and shifting to horror movie marathons in his flat. It was casual, but they were both committed. The whole boyfriend/girlfriend ordeal was never discussed; it just fell into place. He stopped referring to her as “Gwen, my friend from the tattoo parlor”, and moved on to “my girlfriend”. He called her princess, once, just to see how it would feel, and found that the world felt like oil on his tongue. He didn’t say it again, and she didn’t ask.

Easy - that’s what their relationship was. It was so easy to fall in step beside her, his arm around her waist, her lips on his neck. Neither of them questioned it. It was better not to.

So when her name flashed across his screen, her number still saved under “Princess” with a few choice emojis alongside it because he couldn’t bring himself to change it, he found that maybe it wasn’t as easy as he’d thought. Because he still had that urge buried somewhere to do whatever she asked of him, right when she needed it. Because she’d done what he’d been pretending he didn’t want to do - she’d texted him. Reached out.

He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he realized it wasn’t to reconcile. She had some of his things, and she wanted them gone. Out of her life, just like him. Gwen flashed him a concerned look from across the aisle, and he wiped the hurt off his face, dropping an energy drink into their cart and planting a kiss on her cheek. “My ex, Courtney. Guess she found some of my stuff while cleaning and wanted me to pick it up.” She didn’t question it; just nodded, and continued shopping. Easy, he reminded himself, though his stomach churned.

They’d taken her car, a lovely, dark blue beast of a car. Grocery shopping wasn’t an ideal errand to run on a motorcycle. He’d almost forgotten she was there, fingers tapping against the wheel in apprehension as he drove. She followed him up the stairs, their hands laced together as though they weren’t heading up to see his ex. He supposed it would be a lot weirder for her if she knew… well, if she knew anything at all about Courtney. For all she knew, they’d dated for three weeks six months ago and she’d just wanted to give him back a hoodie or two. He grimaced. That was a conversation he did not want to have.

Anticipation built in his stomach as he knocked, waited a few moments, and then rang the doorbell. For someone so punctual, it was a bit out of character to not have her rushing to the door first thing. When she opened the door, his breath whooshed out all at once, leaving him speechless. She was even more gorgeous than he’d remembered, even in her sloppy, mid-clean outfit. Her hair was tied back in a way that had the looser strands falling forwards to frame her face, and she wore denim overalls, streaked with dust and paint.

The look on her face was one of shock and hurt - and though she composed herself quickly, just that brief flash of pain was enough to send him spiraling. He had put that look there; he had hurt the one girl he’d promised to stand by through anything, to love, always.

He hardly noticed when Gwen pulled away, his focus on the boxes littered across the apartment. He shouldered his way inside, guilt knifing through his stomach at the sight of it. Everything was in disarray - it was clear she was moving. Away from him. Away from the life they’d built together. “Couldn’t wait to get away from me, huh princess?” He barked a laugh after, falling easily into his snarky, defensive mannerisms. “Glad to see you’re doing so well,” she spat, as he moved towards the table. His shoulders tensed when she spoke. “Are you really that full of yourself? You just couldn’t wait to show her off to me. Well I get it, Duncan. Message received. Just grab your shit and go.”

She didn’t get it, that was the problem. It hadn’t been a selfish move. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, or to drive her further away. He’d been his usual, impulsive self, and dived for the chance to see her again - to the point that he’d forgotten Gwen, forgotten how it might seem to her. He opened his mouth to tell her as much, but the wrong words tumbled out. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess. We were already out running errands when you texted, and I’m a gentleman. Didn’t want to keep you waiting.” He knew what he’d done the moment he finished speaking, wincing at the obvious bite in his voice. Stupid, self-sabotaging prick.

She stalked towards him, anger flaring in her pretty almond eyes. The stabbing guilt in his gut returned with a vengeance as she thrust a finger against his chest, her face close enough to his that he might’ve pulled her in for one last kiss, had he not known it would earn him a swift knee to the groin.

“You do not get to call me that anymore. I am not your anything, and I am certainly not your princess.” The way her voice broke over the word ‘princess’ shattered him completely. “You fancy yourself a gentleman? Tell that to the next girl you walk out on without a word, only to turn up at her doorstep with another woman. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel, to see you there with someone else, so soon? No, that’s a stupid question. I should know by now that you, of all people, can’t feel so much as a shred of empathy,” she continued, and his heart tore a little more with each word. It took all of his resolve and then some to keep himself from reaching a hand out and brushing away the tears that threatened to spill over.

It stung, to hear that she thought so low of him. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, hadn’t meant to come off as selfish or rude. But he had - and he hated himself for it. “God, Duncan, for all I know, you cheated on me with that girl.” And then he hated himself more.

He slumped against the couch after she walked out, his head cradled in his hands as he tried to force the tears back. He had done a lot of shitty things to her, had hurt beyond reason and hadn’t bothered to realize what his actions would do but he would never, never cheat on her. The fact that he had broken her trust enough for her to even consider it brought on a different sort of agony. A white-hot flash of pain, strong enough that he wanted to punch a wall or a door or a man hard enough that he ruptured the skin on his knuckles.

Muffled voices sounded from the other side of the door, and Duncan sighed, using their temporary distraction as an opportunity to collect himself. He glanced about the apartment, trying and failing to withhold a wince at the state of disarray. The pictures of them she’d once had on proud display had since been taken down, the various touches of personality he’d left around packed away, likely in one of the boxes with his name scrawled so neatly on the side. Even in her distress, she managed to stay organized. It hurt to see.

Pushing the stabbing guilt to the back of his mind, he grabbed the boxes, and nudged the door open with a foot so as to give them the chance to move away. The sight of her careful, sad smile cracked his heart open further, were it even possible, and he paused outside the doorway, searching for the right words to say. “Princess -” he began, but Courtney brushed past him and shut the door before he ever had the chance to finish. Gwen waved at her from beside him, turning back once she’d shut the curtains and was no longer privy to their actions. She grabbed his arm, and pulled him down the stairs alongside her, the soft look on her face twisting quickly into one of anger and hurt. The guilt returned in waves when he realized he didn’t feel nearly as bad about hurting her as he had Courtney.

“Two years,” she hissed, once they’d made it down to the car. “You didn’t mention her once, and you dated her for two years. Fuck you, Duncan.”

He dropped the boxes into the trunk, opening his mouth to respond, before thinking better of it. There was nothing he could possibly say to rectify the situation, and honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Nothing could compare to the girl he’d lost.

“Get in the car. I’m driving.”

He only nodded, sliding numbly into the passenger seat. They drove in silence for a few minutes, the radio blasting the same bedroom pop shit that Gwen adored. “Talk to me,” she demanded, turning the volume down, eyes still focused on the road ahead. And so he did. He told her everything, every little sordid detail, from the way they’d met to the reason he’d walked out on her not so long ago. He talked until he was blue in the face, and they’d looped around his apartment block more than a dozen times. She parked, fixing him with a gentle stare, before pulling him in for a careful hug.

“No more of that girlfriend bullshit, Duncan. What you need right now is a friend.” He nodded into her shoulder, releasing a heavy breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She was right. He needed a friend more than anything, right now.

Maybe with her help, he could avoid screwing up so badly. Maybe he could be better. And that didn’t sound so bad, really. He could try again when he was ready. Could prove he’d grown. Not now, maybe not for a while. But the option would be there, should he ever choose to take it.

He knew he would. He loved her too much to ever stop trying.

this can also be found on ao3 here, alongside part one.

[themeatlife]

2018 Halftime: College Football’s Progress Report

Already halfway through the season? This season is flying by. I wanted to check back in with everything that I’ve seen so far. I’ll go over the season so far for my Sooners, especially with the developments since their loss to the rival Longhorns. I’ll dive into the national scene with a look at the top Heisman contenders so far, the top teams in each Power 5, and finish up with my Top 4/Next 4. Here we go!

Odd Man Out: Mike Stoops Out As Defensive Coordinator at Oklahoma

The Lincoln Riley Era at the University of Oklahoma has been pretty remarkable so far with very little adversity. Riley had a Big 12 title, a Heisman winner, and a playoff appearance in his first season. Not too shabby. And up until the Texas game, this season has been relatively similar. The Sooners were on a roll and ranked highly in the national rankings.

But something always peered it’s head around and handcuffed Oklahoma. The defense.

Lincoln Riley’s record so far at OU is 17-3. A stellar star by any measure. But in those three losses, the defense had given up 38 points (Iowa State), 54 points (Georgia), and 48 points (Texas this past Saturday). While last season the defense was a concern, this season it became glaringly obvious that the defense was holding the progress of this team back. I haven’t seen the equivalent numbers from last season, but here are two glaring stats I ran into:

Opponent red zone conversion rate - 85.7% (124th in the country)

Opponent 3rd down conversion rate - 42.4% (98th in the country)

It is even worse when 3rd and 4th and short (4 yards or less) at a staggering 72%.

The writing was already on the wall for Defensive Coordinator Mike Stoops after the Rose Bowl. The Texas game was apparently the nail in the coffin. Lincoln Riley seemingly had no choice but to make a change. It might be a different story if they weren’t looking at one of the best and most efficient offenses in the country on the other side of the ball. But this is not the case.

So on Sunday, Mike Stoops was fired.

But it seems Mike understood the decision, taking responsibility post-game for the poor performance against Texas and tweeting out a gracious goodbye the day after he was fired.

Oklahoma and Riley are in a bit of uncharted territory. Under Bob Stoops, the Josh Heupel firing happened after the season ended. And under Bob I don’t remember quite the rumors being perpetuated quite like a halftime altercation causing Curtis Bolton to walk out of the Cotton Bowl or new OU President James Gallogly ordering the Code Red. Both have since been disproven on both major sports radio stations in OKC by former players close to the program as well as a recruiting insider. Even Mike himself came on radio and said the rumor about the altercation isn’t true. And this tweet from Curtis Bolton:

So where does Lincoln Riley go now? He’s named Ruffin McNeill the interim DC. Lincoln and Ruffin have an extensive shared history going back to the early 2000s when Riley was a QB turned student assistant at Texas Tech while McNeill was an assistant on the defensive staff. McNeill was promoted to DC at Tech in 2008, a key element as they came into national prominence in the hyper competitive Big 12 South and the infamous three-way tie.

By the time Ruffin left in 2010 to take the head coaching job at his alma mater, Lincoln was a budding offensive mind. So much so that McNeill made Riley his OC. By 2015, Riley was a hot name and got hired as OC at Oklahoma. When Lincoln was named head coach a couple years later, his first hire from the outside was Ruffin McNeill as a D-Line coach.

So the history and trust between the two is there. And for some reason or another, Mike’s voice wasn’t vibing with the players the way they did during his first stint with OU from 1999-2003. Maybe Lincoln is right and a different voice is what is needed for Oklahoma’s defense. Ruffin McNeill is literally 180 degrees different from Mike Stoops in demeanor and intensity.�� Where the elder Stoops moved Mike from the sideline to the booth where he remained after a shouting match with players on the sideline during a 2014 beating from Baylor because of his intensity, Ruffin is known for his cool and calm demeanor.

We’ll see how this turns out. I had Oklahoma in my preseason preview at 11-1 and I still think that’s plausible. Lincoln Riley says the defense needed a spark. We’ll see if Ruffin McNeill is that spark.

Now, on with the report on the rest of the country.

Top Four Heisman Contenders

1) Tua Tagovailoa, QB - Alabama

Not much to say other than this dude has been tearing through opposing defense unlike any previous QB at Bama under Nick Saban has ever done before. He has close to 1500 years passing at 75% completion, 20 total TDs, no INTs. I will say the only competition they’ve really had so far is Texas A&M and the meat of their schedule of at LSU, hosting Mississippi State, Citadel, and Auburn (that vaunted Citadel) is still to come. But that’s usually the part of the schedule where Heismans are won. Dude is in the driver seat in the fast lane right now.

2) Kyler Murray, QB - Oklahoma

Although he did have 2 turnovers against Texas, I can’t hold that loss against Murray. Down 45-24 in the fourth quarter, Kyler brought the Sooners even 45-45 with 2 minutes left in the game. That sort of thing is the stuff of legend, especially if Oklahoma gets a second crack at Texas in a possible rematch in the Big 12 title game. Murray has been electric with over 2100 total yards and 26 total TDs to just 3 INTs. Redemption road will have to wait though, Sooners are on bye this week and then it is a grind to end the year with trips to TCU, Tech, and West Virginia and hosting OSU sandwiched in there.

3) Dwayne Haskins, QB - Ohio State

Out of the Heisman contenders on this list, you could argue Haskins has the best Heisman moments through the first half. He’s led two second half double-digit comebacks so far, one against TCU in Arlington and the other against Penn State in Happy Valley. Statistically he’s no slouch either at over 1900 passing yards, 26 total TDs and 4 INTs. Biggest games left for Haskins will be the big rivalry game against Michigan and a possible Big Ten title game.

4) Will Grier, QB - West Virginia

Grier’s stock took a hit this past weekend when he committed four turnovers against lowly Kansas. The stats are still there in spite of the subpar performance: over 1800 passing yards, 21 TDs, 6 INTs. And there will be ample chances to up his stock back up with matchups against Texas, TCU, and the regular season finale with Oklahoma still down the pike. One of the preseason favorites is still within striking distance.

Conference Leaders

ACC - Clemson Tigers (6-0, 3-0 ACC Atlantic)

By default it seems. Clemson has not been as dominant as they have been in recent years. They skirted by Texas A&M and Syracuse by the skin of their teeth. But, other than those, who will challenge the Tigers in the ACC? The matchup against currently undefeated NC State in a couple weeks looks more and more intriguing. Outside of that, there might not be a challenge for them until the ACC Championship game against what is looking more and more like Miami, currently 5-1. Even with their struggles against the Aggies and Orange, this looks like Clemson as a lock.

Big Ten - Ohio State Buckeyes (6-0, 3-0 Big Ten East)

Strong. Ohio State looks the part. Heisman contending QB. Opportunistic defense. And battle tested. The Bucks have already beaten divisional foe Penn State on the road. Michigan State and Michigan are the remaining challengers in the division with Michigan looking more improved since their loss to Notre Dame. On the West, Wisconsin is still flying under the radar but has key games against Michigan this weekend and Penn State next month. Even if they fall to both they may still get to the conference championship game. Ohio State looks to be the one in control.

Big 12 - West Virginia Mountaineers (5-0, 3-0 Big 12)

Although Texas is undefeated in conference and technically tied with West Virginia, the ‘Neers are still unbeaten overall. This is probably the most intriguing conference race. It looks to be a three team race between those two and Oklahoma, with Oklahoma already falling to Texas. Much hype is building about a possible OU-Texas rematch in the conference title game, but the Mountaineers still have a lot of say in November games with Texas and the finale with Oklahoma. Right now it’s West Virginia but this race feels wide open.

Pac-12 - Washington Huskies (5-1, 3-0 Pac-12 North)

The Huskies are unbeaten in conference, falling to Auburn in their marquee out of conference game. A closer look at the standings and you see Colorado undefeated. But look even closer and you see Colorado hasn’t played much competition yet. USC still may win the South, with the Buffaloes still having to go to Washington and host Utah. Washington looks like they have the last couple years with a solid offense and a sound defense. They face Oregon this week and Stanford down the road. Oregon has outperformed expectations a little bit while Stanford had not been themselves, RB Bryce Love all but disappearing. Huskies look solid to win the conference, but it’s a long season.

SEC - Alabama Crimson Tide (6-0, 3-0 SEC West)

Of course we come to Bama. I know in college football it’s hard to be up every week and it’s a challenge to win every game. But so far the Tide has rolled over opponents. They’ll have a hell of a November to get through with LSU, Mississippi State, and Auburn left (all ranked and West division foes). But I don’t see them stumbling with Tua at the helm. In the East, Georgia reigns although Kentucky and Florida will keep it interesting. But I think it’ll be Bama v Georgia in the SEC title game and I think Bama will prevail.

Top 4 (for now)

1) Alabama Crimson Tide

2) Ohio State Buckeyes

3) Notre Dame Fighting Irish

4) Georgia Bulldogs

Notre Dame? Yes. They are for real. Defense is good. New QB Ian Book has their offense moving. And with the remaining schedule they have, they have a legit shot at the playoff

Next 4 (right now)

5) Clemson Tigers

6) West Virginia Mountaineers

7) Penn State Nittany Lions 

8) Michigan Wolverines

Lots left to play. Enjoy the rest of the season! I’ll touch back with you after the conference title games.

Boomer Sooner

[thoughtsfromparis]

Allison and D.J. Fix Your Stupid Problems About Your Look

Everyone wants to love what they see staring back in the mirror. And, I’m not referring to that inner-beauty nonsense that isn’t real. Well, inner beauty can be real, I guess. But your outer beauty is always being evaluated. Mostly by you. And I’d bet, if you’re like near everyone else on the planet, that you focus on the imperfections. When we check out our crooked nose or thinning hairline, it’s a reminder that not only are we imperfect, but we’re imperfect and aging. Those are two very heavy trips, dig? So, we asked for your questions about how to cope with said imperfections. Allison Arnone and I did our best to lighten your load. Read on, where we help you co-exist with your warts and all. (Oliver Cromwell reference, sucka!)

I hate the bump on my nose and wish I didn’t have “white girl butt.” Should I get them fixed or just deal?” – Jen

Allison – When I was in Jr. High, I decided I hated my nose.  It’s a ‘family’ nose; I come from a long line of folks on my mom’s side who don’t exactly have cute little pug snouts and instead have pretty substantial schnozes.  I never wanted a Sweet 16 party (believe it or not I don’t like that kind of attention) (no, seriously) so I half-jokingly asked my parents for a nose job instead.  They always laughed it off, and guess what?  I got older, and I stopped caring.  My nose is fine.  It’s fine!  It’s not adorable or cute or little and it’s certainly not perfect but when I see my other family members rocking similar honkers, I’m glad I didn’t fix mine.

So, yeah. I’m willing to bet that bump on your nose is more of a tiny speed bump that only you notice and no one else – so I say leave it.

As for the butt?  Yeah, I have that problem, too.  I don’t know, guess you could do squats?  Wear butt pads?  Get that surgery that all the Kardashians have but deny having?

D.J. – Hi Jen. Here’s the thing about certain body parts – you literally never see them. I believe it’s the reason why so many women have horrible back tattoos. I’ve dated 27 women with horrible back tattoos and I always go, “That’s a horrible back tattoo.” And they go, “Yeah, I know. I should get it fixed or lasered off.” But they never do. Why? Because they never see it. Out of sight, out of mind.

But you have to stare at your nose bump for the rest of your life, every morning while applying foundation. You can’t escape it. And it’s going to piss you off every morning. Life is hard enough. Get the bump fixed, but not for vanity or sexiness – but because it makes you feel crappy and feeling crappy is not a great way to start the day.

As for your butt being “white girl” I’m assuming you wish it were bigger. Let me quell your fear. I have never heard a man say, “Ugh, my old lady’s fanny’s too small!” Not once. But (pardon the pun) we do complain if it’s too big. Less is more.

My husband and I have a great/healthy relationship, but he always “jokes” about how I should get breast implants. I’ve had a relatively flat chest my whole life and clearly it wasn’t a deal breaker for him, but should I consider surprising him and getting them?? -A-Cup

Allison – Do YOU want breast implants?  Feminist rant time: we’re currently living in a world where a bunch of men are trying to make decisions about women’s bodies.  Cool!  Personally, I have this crazy little rule where I only do things as it relates to my own body/mind if *I* want to.  You want to go from a 32A to a 34DD?  Go right ahead!  But do it because you want to join the Big Titty Commitee and not because your hubs “jokingly” pressured you to.  Also, have you “jokingly” let him know about all the penile enlargement procedures that are out these days?  Haha, what fun jokes!

D.J. –  Your husband sounds like a true delight. Joking about a woman’s breast size is a universal no-no. It would reduce even the most confident feminist to a pile of tears. I’ve dated As to DDs. Real and fake. And you know what? None of it really matters. If you’d feel better with giant bombs, go ahead. Or just tell your husband that joking about your cans isn’t cool. I’d suggest you make fun of his physique but I’m sure he’s already got six pack abs and a massive wang.

I look too much like my parents, who are toxic and whom I’ve recently cut out of my life. – Tits McGee

Allison – Yiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikes.  I’m sorry you have a bad relationship with your parents, but hopefully it’s not to the point where you want to full-on alter your appearance.  But if you DO, I suggest using whatever surgeon the Kardashian family uses, since they all did a good job of obtaining brand new faces that don’t even remotely resemble the ones they were born with.  (I’m aware I’ve mentioned the Kardashian family twice already, but… #relevant)

D.J. –  Okay, but Ms. McGee, were your parents attractive? Because if Brad and Angelina’s oldest emancipated, that kid would still look like Brad and Angelina. Which is not the worst lot in life. Now, if your parents had unfortunate jawlines and asymmetrical eye heights, then you should probably get on that face transplant list. You usually have to be attacked by a rabid monkey to qualify, but if you’re ugly enough, you might already look like that. Get a new face is what I’m saying.

I want (need) to lose weight, but I don’t want to diet. Or exercise. HALP -Dee

Allison – Girl, same.

D.J. –  Easy – cut out sugar and grain. The weight will peel off within days. And let’s face it, you’ve eaten enough bread and Skittles for a lifetime. Oh, and you should sell your car and run everywhere. Now, I know you said no exercise. But if you don’t have a car, running seven miles to the Piggly Wiggly is just called “getting groceries.” It’s a brain trick, yo!

I have always been overweight and I think it makes me look hideous -Monica

Allison- This makes me sad.  If you’re truly unhappy, make some changes.  I wrote a blog post about this (click HERE if you want to read) where I talked about changing the things in your life that you actually DO have control over, since there are so many things we actually can’t control.  One of those things?  If you’re truly unhappy with your body, you can eat better and exercise.  I certainly don’t think it’s easy – in fact I know it can be very hard – but it is doable, especially when you’re ready, willing and motivated.  Good luck!  And don’t be so hard on yourself!

D.J. –  Chicks have it tough with their bodies. Us guys can lose weight easily just by cutting calories and hitting the gym. You birds have all sorts of hormones that screw with water retention, fat storage, and metabolism. So, at the end of the day, there’s probably not a ton (pun INTENDED) you can do about your weight. Might just be genetics. Now, here’s the good news – your mind really only cares about effort. If you bust your ass in the gym six days of seven and say no to the office danishes, you’re going to feel awesome. Because you did something hard. Just keep doing hard things, and let the physical chips fall where they may. You’ll be happy regardless.

I have a cowlick just to the left of center at my hairline. It has been tormenting me my entire life. It is a wild, untamed beast. IT MUST BE STOPPED. What would you do? – Alyssa

Allison – I, too, have a cowlick right where I part my hair on the left.  I once cut bangs and it was glaringly obvious that I had rogue hairs that would NEVER be tamed and go where I wanted them to go, so I quickly grew the bangs out.  Now?  I just kind of deal with it because these are very scary times we’re currently living in and cowlicks should be the least of our problems.  Also, whenever I picture an actual cow licking someone’s face I laugh because that’s kind of adorable.

D.J. –  Since I only made it through two years of Harvard Medical School, and I never got to the cowlick lecture, I’m not wildly qualified to answer this question. But, from Catholic high school I learned that God can fix just about anything with miracles. But he never did much with hairlines, from what I read. Moses, however, did part the seas for the Jews. And all he did was ask God for a little help. So, I’m guessing God can part your hair correctly. So throw your hands high to the heavens and ask that HE answers your prayer. Report back. Bonus tip – God responds well to flattery so maybe start with a compliment about his booming voice and how it’s really sexy sounding.

In the new year, I am trying to (surprise, surprise) lose weight. I also am trying to date more. That is where the problem lies! How can you be healthy while dating? So far, I told one guy on a first date and he did everything to sabotage me and I couldn’t lay the law down because I am trying to be nice… TRYING… Lol. That didn’t last. I definitely don’t want to be a cliche “I’m on a diet girl” when dating… Help! -F

Allison – Ugh.  Men want us to be all cute and skinny but they ALSO want us to gorge on chicken wings and pizza with them.  MAKE UP YOUR MIND, BOYS!  I think there’s a happy medium here.  Go on a first date and get a couple of drinks (nothing too sugary or high in calories) and if you DO get food, don’t completely go batshit and eat something terrible.  You don’t have to eat a plate of kale but you also don’t have to split sky-high nachos, either. Keep in mind there’s also something called “living a little” and “cheat days” so don’t go too nuts if you’re putting in work the rest of the week.  Good luck!  (with both the dieting and the dating, cause they both suck.)

D.J. –  Am I the only guy that loves it when you take a date to the best steakhouse in town and she only nibbles at her petite filet? You know why that’s sexy? Because I know she wants to wolf it down like a pig, but she’s showing restraint. That’s attractive. Ooh, but here’s the pitfall of that strategy – don’t leave 95% of the steak for the busboys. Tell the date, “I’m eating this tomorrow” and get a take-home bag. Nothing pisses us off more than when I woman orders a $75 ribeye and then leaves it. So, as long as you’re willing to walk around the rest of the night with a smelly piece of rotting steak in your Kate Spade clutch, you’ll have an awesome breakfast the next day.

Do guys really notice small things like eyebrows and nails?? -Fran

Allison – I’m not a guy so I’ll let D.J.  take this one.  But if I had to answer I’d say, “who gives a shit?”

D.J. – Not only do I not notice such things, I don’t even notice eye color. I’m not kidding. I’ve had many long term relationships and I’m not confident which of them had brown eyes or green. In fact I just had to double check my own. They’re blue.

Nails? I’ve never once thought of a woman’s nails. Neither has any man. Just don’t get too weird with it where you’re painting each one with a stenciled design and when you look at them all together it spells your name or something.

What is the best way to make sure I don’t have resting double chin face while in public? -Double Chin City

Allison – Hope you have an Amazon Prime account cause this bad boy is designed to take that double chin and transform it to the single variety.  And it’s not weird looking at all.

D.J. –  I have a far more simple solution. You know how photographers always shoot you from above your head facing downward to eliminate double chins in pictures? Simply make sure that all the people you hang with are taller than you. Sure, it might mean getting a new set of friends, but hey, the current batch probably weren’t all that great to begin with. What was their solution to your double chin? Probably nothing! Ditch ‘em and find better, taller people.. Your new friends will never even see your chins!

How do I make myself look more like the “Wendy” from the Wendy’s logo, and not like my dad, Dave Thomas, in a wig? -Wendy Thomas

Allison – Just so I’m clear, you want to be a young freckle-faced redheaded girl with pigtails?  I’m sure that can be arranged, but I personally think Dave Thomas is a stud. (RIP)

Ooh, I like the way you work that spatula, Mr. Thomas.

D.J. – I’m hoping that you’re not more that seven years old, Wendy. If you’re an adult I’m sending the men with the white coats to come pay you a visit. It’s for your own good.

What is the best way to hide my wobbly bits during sex? – Anonymous

Allison – Two words: lights. off.  Always.

D.J. – Reverse cowgirl, duh.

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