#but then that was also pre-Lane Accountability so it would be me stuck with those dimes for days on end until I've paid them all out

[steal-this-idea]

U.S. coin and currency is legal tender in unlimited amounts but there is definitely a point where you would become annoyed at the sheer number of, say, nickels you are being paid with

An informal maximum tender

I don't know what those limits are for me personally as I'm always happy to check change to see if it has anything interesting (to me) in it

But I do know, as a cashier, I really don't care if I'm leaving behind a till in our Lane Accountability system with $30 worth of dimes in it

Pay me with all your change! I think it's hilarious because I'm not the bookkeeper

[svgurl410]

clois fic

Title: i’m broken and it’s beautiful (can someone just hold me, don’t fix me) Fandom: Smallville Pairing/Characters: Clark Kent/Lois Lane (mostly pre-relationship) Rating: G Word Count: 3063 Summary: A sad anniversary, a broken locket, and a talk that promises a brighter future.  A/N: for the poetry_fiction (DW) 2021 challenge; prompt: I'll be the things left behind for you, I'll be much kinder then. I'll kiss the drowning atmosphere all a summer's afternoon, and that's not all.

AO3 link 

The rooftop of the Talon was quiet and peaceful and yet the silence wasn’t at all comforting. It was still better than being alone inside her apartment, since Lois couldn’t bring herself to be around other people, which is why she had been actively avoiding her friends all day. Well, for the past two days really.

She didn’t actually like being alone, but she needed the space. The downside of making that decision was that she had to turn down dinner at the Kents, and as much as she regretted missing out on Mrs Kent’s cooking, she knew she wouldn’t be very good company.

Glancing down at her phone, she swallowed down the disappointment as she realized that the two people she hoped would call yet knew probably wouldn’t hadn’t. She shouldn’t be surprised; after all, it’s not like her dad or Lucy had acknowledged this day, but Lois’s stupid hopeful heart wouldn’t let her give up.

You’re a sad fool. Which wasn’t anything new and likely wouldn’t change. She finally pocketed her phone, accepting defeat, as her other hand fingered a broken locket, the metal chipped and the chain having snapped years ago. It had been her mother’s, and it was one of the few things she carried around wherever she went. While Lois didn’t have that many memories of her mom, she remembered her wearing the necklace all the time, pictures of her family kept inside, always close to her heart.

Lois herself had never worn it, but she also couldn’t let go either. Letting go was never her style. Then again, it felt like she was the one people let go of, as everyone else always left her behind, from her family to the men she dated. Staring out into the night sky, she wondered if she was just destined to be alone, her heart aching at the thought, feeling as cracked and chipped at the locket in her hands.

Yet, unlike the locket, she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to be fixed, just accepted for who she was, broken parts included, but at this point, that seemed like a pipe dream. As if anyone wants to sign up for that.

A sudden noise shook her out of the path she was on, and she spun around, ready to snap at whoever dared to interrupt her solitude. Much to her shock, it was none other than Clark who had entered through the door leading to the rooftop, carrying a white plastic bag in his hands.

“Smallville,” she said, surprised evident in her tone and expression. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, making his way to her, and offered her the bag. “Mom felt bad that you missed dinner tonight and she sent me over here with some food.”

Feeling touched, Lois’s lips curved into a smile at the thought of Martha Kent’s generosity. The other woman had been nothing but kind to her, and more welcoming than she deserved. She and Jonathan both, and Lois felt an ache in her heart as she remembered him, still not completely over the pain of his sudden death.

Their fingers brushed as she accepted the bag, causing an unexpected spark ran through her spine, and she barely refrained from jerking her hand away at the feeling. Keeping her expression as neutral as she could manage, she moved her hand away, fingers clutching around the plastic straps.

“Thanks,” she said, hoping she didn’t reveal anything in her voice or facial expression. “Got stuck playing delivery boy then?”

“Something like that,” Clark replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We haven’t seen you around in a few days so I figured I would drop by to see what’s up.”

“Aww, Smallville, I didn’t know you would miss me that much,” Lois teased.

“I never said I missed you,” he protested. “Just making sure you were still in one piece. I’ve seen the trouble you can get into on your own.”

“And you were worried about me,” she said triumphantly. “No need to hide it. I’m touched, truly.”

He rolled his eyes, and she smirked, already feeling better.

“More like the house was quiet, and the fridge was full for once,” Clark countered.

“With you around?” she retorted. “I doubt it.”

“And Shelby might have missed you,” Clark continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. “But he likes to chase his own tail, so there’s really no accounting for taste on his end.”

“Jealous your dog likes me better?” Lois asked. “Don’t worry, I’ll visit soon.”

“I’m sure he’ll be relieved,” Clark said, dryly, leaning against the railing.

“I know he’s not the only one,” she said, nudging him.

“Yes, I was terrified that you had found someone else to harass,” Clark remarked, glancing at her out of the side of his eye, his lips twitching into an easy grin, which she couldn’t help but return.

“Don’t worry, Smallville, I’ll never replace you,” she promised, realizing that she was only half joking. She couldn’t imagine her life without him anymore, and it was a pretty terrifying thought that she decided not to linger on.

“Well, now I can sleep at night,” he said, fortunately oblivious to her line of thinking.

“That’s what I’m here for,” she managed, as her fingers stroked the locket unconsciously.

Clark let out a chuckle, his eyes drawn to her hand, his gaze turning questioning.

“That’s nice,” he commented, gesturing to her locket.

She lifted it up and gave a half hearted smile. “Don’t lie, Smallville, I know it’s seen better days.”

He shrugged. “But clearly it means something, right? Which is more important than how it looks.”

Taken aback, she could only nod. Composing herself, she said, “Who knew you were so deep?”

“I have layers,” Clark replied easily. “Have to keep you on your toes after all.”

“Let’s not go too far,” she warned. “My toes are firmly planted on the ground.”

“Worth a shot,” he responded, with a cheeky smile. “So …” He gave her an expectant look, pointedly glancing at the necklace. “Is it a deep dark secret?”

She bit her lower lip. “Nothing that exciting. It was my mom’s.”

“Oh.” Clark’s expression immediately went sympathetic, almost apologetic. She could easily say she didn’t want to talk about it, and she had faith he would drop it, and they could immediately go back to making fun of each other, or he would even leave, but for some reason, she felt the need to share.

“She, um,” Lois looked down, “it’s actually the anniversary of her death today.”

Clark placed his hand on her arm, and Lois automatically leaned into it, comforted by the touch. “I’m sorry,” he told her.

She forced a smile. “It was a long time ago.”

“Pretty sure there isn’t an expiration date on grief,” Clark replied.

“Yeah,” she said, a touch of wistfulness in her tone. “Anyway, that’s why I missed dinner. I get kind of moody this time of year, and I didn’t want to bring you all down too. Just thought it’d be best to be alone.”

“I can leave if you want?” Clark offered.

She shook her head. “No, you can stay.”

He moved closer, dropping his hand, and Lois kind of hated herself for missing the touch almost immediately.

“Just because you think you should be alone doesn’t mean you have to be or even want to be, from what it sounds like,” Clark said. “You don’t have to protect us from you.” Offering a teasing smile, he added, “We can handle a little grumpy Lois. I have seen you in the morning before you’ve had your coffee after all.”

Suddenly feeling self conscious, she just shrugged. “I mean, it’s not been that long since …” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. “Well, the point is you are both going through your own stuff. Doesn’t seem fair to burden you with something that happened a long time ago. I’m not that selfish.”

Clark frowned. “Lois, I would call you a lot of things, but selfish isn’t one of them.” His face relaxed for a moment. “Well, when you’re not using up all the hot water anyway.”

She let out a small laugh, and watched as he grew serious once more.

“Look,” Clark said, taking a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “I miss my dad. I’m always going to miss my dad, five months from now or even five years. I would hate it if I was told I can’t be sad about it, just because it’s not as recent as someone else’s loss. I’d never do that to you, and mom wouldn’t either.”

“He was a good man,” she said quietly.

“And I’m sure your mom was a good person too,” Clark replied sincerely.

Lois felt her throat tightened, grateful for Clark’s kindness, which she had witnessed first hand more times than she could count. He was a little weird sometimes, and could drive her crazy on any given day, but overall he was a good man too.

“She was,” she confirmed finally, unable to stop the tears from springing to her eyes. “I miss her.”

To her surprise, Clark didn’t say anything, just pulled her in his arms, and she felt herself sink into his embrace, the tears that she had been holding back falling down, finally letting her grief and disappointment go.

Clark didn’t judge her, just stroked her back, until she sniffed and slowly pulled away.

“Are you okay?” he wanted to know, and she nodded, wiping her eyes.

“Looks like you went from delivery boy to glorified tissue,” she said, gesturing to his shirt.

“Told you- I have layers,” he claimed, looking down at the wet spot. “And I have other shirts.”

“Yeah, do you buy those in bulk or something?” Lois asked, doing her best to pull herself together once more.

“No comment.” He raised an eyebrow. “There are a few flannel ones that have suspiciously gone missing though since you moved out. Know anything about that?”

“Nope,” she said, giving him her best innocent look, leaning over to lightly punch him in the arm. “Besides, finders keepers, losers weepers, Smallville.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Clark said, but he was smiling. “Did you want to stay out here?”

“Nah,” she decided. “I think I’m done now. I wouldn’t want you to get too cold.” She started heading toward the door, and Clark followed her.

“You’re all heart,” he remarked, as they headed inside, and back to her apartment. Once they were inside, she set the necklace down on a coffee table, and the food on top of the counter.

Turning back to Clark, she asked, “Do you have to head out?”

“If you want me to go, I can, but I can also stay,” Clark replied.

“I was just planning on watching a movie,” she said nonchalantly.

“Something with sharks or lots of blood and gore?” he questioned, amused.

“I’ll have you know I was watching Star Trek earlier,” she proclaimed, and then wrinkled her nose at the admission. He always got more information out of her than she was comfortable with.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you were a Trekkie,” Clark commented, raising an eyebrow.

“My mom was a fan” she admitted, taking a seat on the couch. “She liked the idea of there being life in outer space, and that there could be peace between humans and aliens.”

His expression turned unreadable, and she wasn’t quite sure what to think about that. “Oh yeah?” he said.

“Yeah, I never quite knew if she was serious or not,” Lois explained.

“What about the rest of your family?” Clark asked, taking a seat next to her.

“Who knows what Lucy thinks?” Lois sighed. “Don’t even ask the General about this stuff though. One mention of Area 51 or aliens and you can get that vein in his forehead to show up in five seconds flat.”

“What do you think?” Clark asked, and Lois wondered why he cared so much. His expression was serious, almost as if her answer meant something more, which was obviously ridiculous. He was probably just trying to distract her.

“Once upon a time, I would’ve said it’s nonsense,” Lois responded. “Now- who knows?” If he was going to be patient with her, she might’ve well give him a real answer instead of a sarcastic remark.

“Not afraid of being kidnapped in the middle of a corn field?” Clark joked. “Have your brain probed?”

“Nah,” Lois said dismissively. “Besides, humans can be pretty awful. Who says the aliens will be bad guys bent up on taking over Earth? Maybe they just might be looking for a home … somewhere to belong.”

Clark was silent long enough for Lois to look up, worry running through her veins, and his expression was filled with something, if she didn’t know better, was gratitude. It was a look she wouldn’t understand for years. As of right now, she dismissed the idea. After all, she hadn’t said anything for him to feel that way.

“Should I ask you if you’re okay?” Lois quizzed, and he seemed to find himself, and immediately shook his head, expression clearing.

“No, just thinking about how it turns out that I’m not the only one with layers,” Clark responded, with an easy smile.

“What can I say?” she offered. “I like to keep you guessing, Smallville.”

“I take it you haven’t shared those ideas with your dad,” Clark suggested.

Lois snorted. “Are you kidding me? I just mentioned the vein, didn’t it?”

“Have you heard from them-?” Clark trailed off when he saw the look on her face. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. She picked up the necklace once more, keeping her eyes focused on it. “I never do. I am used to it. I’m better off alone anyway.”

Clark’s hand covered her’s. “You’re not alone.”

“So you keep reminding me,” Lois said. “I’m starting to wonder if I should take it as a threat.”

“Take it any way you want,” Clark responded. “Still won’t stop it from being true.”

“Guess I can deal with that,” she allowed. “So you can stick around then.”

“I’m honored,” Clark said dryly. He pointed at her necklace. “Have you ever worn that?”

“No,” she said. “As you can, it’s kind of broken.”

“Can easily be fixed,” Clark pointed out.

“I’m pretty broken too,” she murmured, without thinking. “Can I be fixed?”

“I don’t think you need to be,” came Clark’s response, and that was when, much to her horror, she realized she said that out loud.

“Oh, please, like you wouldn't make a few changes,” Lois said, as dismissive as she could, hoping she kept her feeling off her face for once.

“Nah, I think I like you as you are,” Clark insisted.

“Even when I bully you and steal your shirts?” she challenged.

“Yeah, even then,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “Besides, I’m flattered. Clearly I have better fashion sense than you will admit.”

“Whatever, they’re just comfortable,” Lois said, infusing some haughtiness in her tone. “Don’t get a big head over it.”

“No promises,” Clark retorted. Softening his voice, he added, “We’re all a little broken, Lois. Doesn’t mean we need to be fixed.”

She cleared her throat. “Whatever, Smallville.” Leaning over she punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t go getting all sappy on me.”

He let out a laugh. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Popping up from the sofa, she said, “Want to watch that movie now? I am suddenly in the mood to see something with lots of violence.”

He thankfully let her change the subject, even if the transition wasn’t her best work. “Sure.”

“I’ll get the popcorn!” she said, making her way to the kitchen, gathering some snacks and drinks for the two of them while the popcorn bag was in the microwave.

Plopping back down next to Clark, she grinned and he smiled back. He didn’t even complain when she popped in The Amityville Horror dvd that she had rented recently, the two of sitting in mostly a comfortable silence as the movie played.

At one point, she leaned close and told him softly, “Thanks, Clark.”

“Any time, Lois,” he replied kindly.

He stuck around for a second movie, but she fell asleep halfway through, only to wake up in the middle of the night to an empty apartment, a pillow under her head and covered by blanket. Clearly Clark had some of those caretaker instincts, and she really shouldn’t be surprised at this point.

She fell asleep again, with a smile on her face, feeling better than she had in awhile.

And two days later, she would walk into her apartment to see her broken locket on the table, suddenly fixed, still with its original chain, just shinier and no longer with cracks. The fact Clark would go through those efforts for her left her more than a little overwhelmed.

How he got in and out of her apartment that easily, she didn’t want to know, but she was grateful and didn’t ask.

And she’d wear it to see the Kents the following day.

“That’s a nice necklace,” Martha commented, as she passed. Clark’s smile seemed to widen upon seeing her with it, and she returned the smile, keeping her gaze on him.

“Thank you.”

He seemed to get the message.

And Lois realized when he said he wasn’t going anywhere, he meant it.

Which he would continue to prove in the years to come, even when she realized he could no longer fit in the friendship box she had put him in. Falling in love and letting him in completely wasn’t easy, but she’d find it was more than worth it.

Clark was there for her for her good days, as well as the bad ones, never forgetting that anniversary, or really any other ones. And when she would wake up in the middle of the night, feeling off, she could just roll over and snuggle closer to Clark, who was always ready with open arms and a heart that she would eventually accept was her’s and only her’s.

Maybe she was broken, maybe they both were a little broken really, but their broken pieces seem to fit together, and he did accept her for everything she was and wasn’t.

And it turned out she wasn’t meant to be alone after all.

[eldritchsurveys]

1062.

Have you ever started reading a book and wondered if you’d read it before? >> IDK where on earth Lane got this survey from but it is long as balls and I’m taking it as a personal challenge at this point lmao. LET’S GOOO I’ve never had this experience, no. I don’t always remember the content of books I’ve read, but I at least remember the experience of reading them, I guess?

What has been bothering you a lot lately? >> Oof. I don’t know how to explain it here so it makes sense to the average reader, so I won’t bother making sense. I want Bruni to be a real, external entity, so badly, but if he’s not then I need to know. I need to know if I just created him, because I needed to, so I can come to terms with that and figure out what to do about it. I’ve also been bothered lately by just... my inability to form connections, to feel the way I’m supposed to feel about other people. Knowing why I’m like this (and knowing that it’s not some inherent flaw of mine but a direct result of not being emotionally taken care of when I should have been) only helps a little. I feel like there’s no way I’ll ever be able to fix this, and my only truly fulfilling relationships will be Inworld, forever. (I guess that’s better than nothing, though! At least Inworld exists.)

What (or who) have you been missing lately? >> ---

Are you trustworthy? >> I mean, I guess. I don’t know what anyone would be trusting me with.

Did your parents teach that white lies were ok? >> No, even a white lie would have gotten me punished.

Have you ever hallucinated? >> Yes.

Do you sleep with your door open or closed? >> Closed, to keep both the cat and noise out.

What flags do you have in your room, if any? >> None. Sparrow has a pretty neat gay flag on her wall and a regular gay flag on her lamp.

What (or who) is the best thing that ever happened to you? >> Hm.

What is the worst decision you ever made? >> *shrug*

Do you miss college? >> I’ve never been.

Have you ever called a teacher “mom”? >> No.

What is your favorite arcade game? >> In the Groove.

Do you feel neglected? >> Not now. But I sure do feel the ramifications of previous forms of neglect.

What school subject(s) are/were your best? >> ---

Are you allergic to grass? >> Nope.

Do you remember to water plants? >> Sometimes. I managed to kill a spider plant, though, so I’m kind of discouraged when it comes to plants. I’ll let that be Sparrow’s thing, I’m apparently unfit.

What season is your birthday in? >> Spring.

Name 3 creative people you know. >> ---

Name 3 YouTubers you aspire to be like. >> ---

What color was your first car? >> ---

What year did you graduate? >> 2004.

When was the last time you saw the person you currently have feelings for? >> ---

Have you ever been scammed? >> Nah.

Are you allergic to pollen? >> No.

What style of wedding dress do you like best? >> Sparrow’s was pretty neat.

Are you over your first love? >> ---

Do you talk on the phone a lot? >> I never talk on the phone.

Would you rather call or text? >> Obviously text.

Do you always answer your phone? >> What do you think?

When was the last time you went to a party? >> I guess January; the get-together after Elle’s wedding was pretty much a party.

What was the last thing you ate? >> Beans and rice.

What’s the last book you checked out from the library? >> I haven’t checked a book out in a while. I heard about a book recently and it wasn’t on Scribd so I decided to check Libby just on a whim (I’m used to the books I want to read never being available as ebooks in this library’s meager collection) and they had it. So I might check it out. I feel kind of anxious about doing it because my reading habits have been so erratic lately and I’m like “but what if I don’t read it fast enough?” which, like, you know, I just... renew it... but no one said anxiety had to be fuckin logical, you know.

Do you have a twitter? If so, what was the last thing you tweeted? >> No.

Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? >> ---

What’s the last thing you cooked on the stove? >> Eggs.

What color is the cover of the last notebook you used? >> ---

Who was the last person you know to have a birthday? >> Uh... Sparrow, I think.

Who sent the last e-mail you got? >> YES! Magazine.

What song is currently stuck in your head? >> Just some FFXIV music because I just got done playing about an hour ago.

Do you have a favorite shape? >> No.

What color are the sheets on your bed? >> Light grey.

What time do you usually go to bed? >> Between 10 and 11p.

Do you ever use coloring books? >> I’ve done so, but I haven’t lately.

Are you planning on watching the Olympics? >> No.

Do you pronounce the word “often” with or without a “t” in the middle? Hmm. Now that I’ve said it to myself in a few different contexts, it seems I do both. If it’s a one-word answer, like in response to “how much do you get high?” then “often” has a t in it. If it comes in the middle of a sentence and is not the focus, it does not have one. < Yup.

Have you ever been on a trapeze? >> No.

Do you enjoy popping bubble wrap? >> Sometimes. I saved some from a recent package just in case I get the urge, lol. It’s on my desk right now.

Are there any waterfalls near where you live? >> I don’t think so. The landscape isn’t exactly varied here.

Do you like seafood? >> Yes.

Have you ever had to wear a uniform for anything? >> Parochial school.

If so, what did it look like? >> IDK, man, it was a long time ago.

Do you personally know anyone who is an author? >> No.

Do you own a Polaroid camera? >> No.

Do you enjoy baking? >> No.

What’s your favorite type of flower? >> Sunflowers.

Last time (if ever) you were on an airplane, where were you going? >> I was coming home from Houston.

Do you know anyone who is left-handed? >> Sure.

What is something you think is underrated? >> ---

Around what temperature do you consider it to be too hot outside? >> It’s not so much the temperature as the level of humidity, how sunny it is, what time of year it is, etc. There are multiple factors that go into how I experience temperature and the number on the thermometer is only one facet of that.

In what ways do you expect your life to be different one year from now? >> ---

How often do you travel outside of the state/province you live in? >> Not often. Before it was just because it’s expensive and also Sparrow would have to take off work and stuff, and now it’s because of those reasons and also the pandemic.

What’s a hobby you used to have, but don’t anymore? >> ---

What has been your favorite job you’ve had so far? >> Selling merch for local bands at shows.

What’s your favorite kind of salsa/dip to go with tortilla chips? >> Chunky medium-hot salsa.

Do you wash your car by hand or drive through a car wash? >> ---

Where is the farthest north you’ve traveled to? >> This is probably the farthest north I’ve been.

Farthest south? >> I think New Orleans is farther south than Houston, but I don’t feel like looking it up to confirm (or be proven wrong).

East? >> Long Island?

West? >> Colorado.

How often do you run the dishwasher? >> Every couple of days, when it works. (We’re waiting on Maintenance to come fix it, but of course they’re taking their sweet time.)

Do you wash your face at the sink or in the shower? >> I use micellar water, so I just do it in my room. Otherwise I’d do it in the shower because I hate using the sink for that.

Name a stereotype about your gender that you don’t fit. >> Are there agender stereotypes? I haven’t heard of any.

Name a stereotype about your age that you don’t fit. >> Uh... I don’t have kids? Idk.

Do you have any unusual decorations in your home? >> If so, they’re not unusual to me, so...

Do you have any uncommon kitchen appliances, such as espresso machines, waffle irons, etc? >> We do have a waffle iron (Sparrow got one for her birthday). I’m not sure what other kind of appliances are uncommon. Are rice cookers uncommon? I can’t imagine why they would be, they’re so convenient. Unless you just don’t like rice...

What did your parents major/minor in in college, if they went? >> ---

Has either of their careers influenced what career you chose or want to pursue? >> ---

What is the highest level math class you’ve completed? >> Uh... pre-calculus? I don’t remember, man.

How old were you when you learned how to ride a bike? >> I don’t remember. Somewhere between five and eight, I guess. Sounds right.

How old were you when you learned how to swim? >> ---

How do you react when someone is rude to you? >> It depends on the situation.

Have you ever had a friend who was too clingy? >> No.

What kind of natural disaster is most common where you live? >> Blizzard, I’d imagine.

Why is your least favorite season your least favorite? >> ---

Do you have a Netflix account? >> I do.

Have you ever had an animal get into your attic? >> ---

Where is your favorite place to go on vacation? >> I guess New Orleans.

How long does it take to get there? >> About half a day, including layovers and shit. No direct flights from GRR to MSY.

When was the last time you started a “new chapter” of your life? >> ---

What room in your home do you spend the least amount of time in? >> I don’t really know. I was gonna say Sparrow’s room, and then I was gonna say the kitchen, and then I was gonna say the half-bath... I think the half-bath is probably the most reasonable answer?

What is the last random act of kindness you did? >> ---

Do you do anything to reduce the amount of electricity you use? >> I don’t have to reduce it, I barely use any to begin with.

Are you usually open to trying a new food that you aren’t familiar with? >> Yes.

Do you listen to Panic! At The Disco? >> Yes.

Have you ever had a kinky dream about a celebrity? >> Probably. Not necessarily because I wanted to, sometimes dreams just do weird shit like that.

Is there a song you can’t stop listening to atm? >> No.

Has anyone ever told you that they loved you, and you couldn’t say it back? >> I guess that’s a way to put it.

If your Facebook status doesn’t get any likes/comments, does it bother you? >> ---

Which friend do you confide in most? >> ---

Do you wear a cross? >> There’s a small cross on my left earring. But I don’t wear, like, a religious cross.

What is your opinion on Arby’s? >> I’ve only had it once, and that was on the way back from Colorado that one time, when the Greyhound stopped at Arby’s. I don’t remember what the food was like, though. Not even sure why I remember that we stopped there at all.

When you have your own kitchen, how will it be done? >> I mean, this kitchen is “mine”? I don’t live with parents or anything, so...? But I don’t have a choice in how it looks or anything, I didn’t build it.

What is your favorite doughnut? >> Apple cider doughnuts, always.

Do you have a hot tub? If so, where is it located? >> No.

Did you read the Twilight series, or jump on the bandwagon after the movie? >> I read the first book ages ago, didn’t care for it, forgot about it (until it blew up in popularity, of course).

What is your favorite party game? >> ---

Do you or your parents rake your yard? >> ---

Were you pro-Obama? >> I didn’t have an opinion at the time, I was busy trying to survive.

What is your favorite scent from Bath & Body Works? >> ---

What was the last illegal thing you did? >> I don’t remember. Probably something like jaywalking. Or watching Bill & Ted Face the Music on an illegal streaming site. 

Who did you last go to the movies with? >> Sparrow.

What color was the last vehicle you were in? >> Silver.

Do you have any family members in the military right now? >> ---

Is there a ceiling fan in the room you’re in? >> Nope.

When was the last time you wished time would move faster? >> I don’t know.

Are there any owls in your room (as decor, of course)? >> Nope.

Have you ever heard voices? >> Not... in that sense. Like obviously I hear the Inworlders’ voices, but... not quite the same thing, I’m guessing.

Do you believe in angels and demons? >> I have not encountered those kinds of angels and demons. I usually use those words as like... shortcut terms rather than references to the actual Christian concepts or whatever.

Who is the worst neighbor you have ever had? >> ---

Did your Barbies go on dates? >> I don’t recall the specific nature of the social playacting I did with Barbies.

If you’re not straight, who was the first person you came out to? >> I didn’t “come out to” anyone.

Where did you meet your first crush? >> ---

Do you remember the first time your first crush ever said hi to you? >> ---

Do you ever go places with wet hair? >> No.

Who is your favorite little girl? >> ---

What do you want the most in life? >> That’s complicated.

What is a decision you’ve made that changed your entire life? >> I don’t know, man.

Do you ever wonder what kind of person you’d have turned out to be if a certain event never happened to you?  >> Absolutely.

When you’re home alone, do you still shower with the bathroom door closed? >> No. I’ve also showered with the door open even when Sparrow was home, I just usually don’t because it’s not necessary (I just use my phone flashlight in that case so it’s not pitch dark and I don’t kill myself in there). But when I’m alone I just leave the door open for the ambient light. Why don’t I use the bathroom light? Because I have Problems and Disorders. Next question.

If you could have anyone’s singing voice, whose would you choose?  >> I like my own.

What are your top 3 favorite genres of music?  >> ---

Where did you buy your dishes from? >> We generally don’t buy dishes. All of our dishes are from either Sparrow’s sister or the wedding registry.

Do you think Mars will be colonized in your lifetime?  >> I doubt it.

What’s the most expensive thing you’ve bought that turned out to be a waste of money?  >> ---

What’s something you’ve bought that turned out to be way more useful than you anticipated? >> I don’t know.

Have you ever been on a ship?  >> I’ve been on a ferry and a regular boat. Not a ship.

Do you ever take intentional breaks from checking/posting on social media?  >> Just like... off days, I guess. Sometimes I need time to do other stuff and it’s easier to do that when I don’t have the internet wide open and ready to distract me.

Who was Van Halen’s better singer - David Lee Roth, or Sammy Hagar? >> I don’t have a preference.

Which fictional character has the most memorable quotes?  >> *shrug* ???

What’s a class you did not take in school, but now wish you had?  >> ---

Have you ever been to either of your parents’ workplaces?  >> ---

What do you think of the ‘Healthy At Every Size’ movement/philosophy?  >> I don’t have any thoughts about it because I don’t know what exactly said philosophy entails. The phrase itself doesn’t give me enough information to start forming an opinion around.

Have you ever been bitten so hard that their teeth marks were there after? >> Yeah.

Ever been given a hickey? (Love bite)  >> No.

Ever gave one?  >> I don’t think so.

Are you more of an outgoing type or shy type?  >> ---

Do you think it’s weird if guys wear make-up like eyeliner?  >> .... No.........

Are you self conscious? If so what are you self conscious about?  >> I’m self-conscious about being Weird(tm), having Issues and Problems Disorders, and having differing opinions about things that lots of people think a certain way about.

Are you flirty at all?  >> No.

Are you racist at all?  >> I might have perpetuated racist speech and behaviour, sure. I don’t think that means “I am a racist”, I think that means I’ve learned some fucked up shit from other people and hopefully I’ve learned better by now.

Would you ever date a disabled person? (Be honest)  >> ...

If you found a baby randomly by itself what would you do?  >> Call the authorities, I guess. Like... idk??? That’s such a weird situation to be in.

Would you rather adopt or have your own child?  >> ---

What would you class as cheating on someone?  >> I don’t have a personal definition for cheating because the concept does not apply to me or how I do relationships.

Do you try to be politically correct? >> No.

What’s your favorite kind of sea critter?  >> I’m not sure. There are a lot of cool ones.

Have you ever tasted locally-made honey before?  >> Yep! <3

As far as earrings go, would you rather wear hoops or studs? >> Neither, I like the earrings I have.

Do you find P.E. humiliating, or think schools shouldn’t teach it?  >> I found it obnoxious and boring and a waste of time, but that doesn’t mean schools shouldn’t teach it. I just had a bad time with it for my own specific reasons.

Do you recycle?  >> No.

Are you interested in current world issues?  >> Not particularly.

Do you think you are mature, or immature?  >> ...

What kind of career are you interested in? >> ---

Do you own a pair of sunglasses?  >> I own two pairs. I really want a better pair, like an actual good pair of sunglasses and not just cheapo pairs.

Do you use bobby pins, hair clips, or elastic hair ties? Which?  >> No.

How badly do you get acne? (If at all)  >> I don’t.

What’s the best way to cope with a breakup?  >> ---

If someone dislikes you, what is most likely to be the reason?  >> I said something that ticked them off? I don’t smile enough? IDK, dude?

How many text messages do you have in your inbox atm?  >> ---

When was the last time you had a difficult decision to make?  >> I don’t remember.

In school, what subjects do/did you find the most difficult?  >> English.

Do you still speak to the person you had your first kiss with?  >> ---

Where did you meet the last person you swapped numbers with?  >> ---

Who was the last person to add you as a friend on Facebook?  >> One of Elle’s friends that I met at her wedding.

Who was the last person that asked if you were okay?  >> I don’t remember the last time someone asked me that.

What does your handwriting look like?  >> I don’t know how to describe it.

Do you use any products on your hair, other than shampoo and conditioner?  >> I use a tea tree oil on my scalp and that’s about it.

Who were your best friends in primary school? >> ---

Do you still speak to any of them? >> ---

What was the last thing you bought from a vending machine?  >> I don’t remember the last time I used a vending machine.

What color hair did your first crush have?  >> ---

What type of shoes do you find the most comfortable?  >> No shoes.

Are you more masculine or feminine?  >> ---

If you could design your own mug, what would you put on it?  >> I don’t want to design a mug. I like the ones I already have.

What is the best beach you’ve been to?  >> I’ve only been to the NY ones...

What is one thing you physically can’t do?  >> Run a marathon.

Have you ever been to a funeral? >> Yes.

Have you ever visited your state’s capitol building?  >> No.

Have you ever visited your nation’s capitol building?  >> No.

Do/did you have a favorite seat in church?  >> ---

What is your favorite park?  >> I still really love Central Park. And Prospect Park, too.

Have you ever felt an earthquake? >> A very minor aftershock, once.

Do you chew gum regularly?  >> Not anymore, not after Orbit ruined my favourite kind. :(

Where did you go on your first train ride?  >> I think that was to North Carolina when I was 17.

Do you know anyone with a dual citizenship?  >> No.

What sports teams do you root for, if any? (Extra points for Boston fans.) >> ---

Do you dunk your cookies in milk?  >> Nope.

What is something you are confident about?  >> ---

Have you ever been physically addicted to a substance? What?  >> No.

How do you feel about needles?  >> I don’t have any feelings about them, they don’t affect me either way.

What is your favorite accent to listen to?  >> ---

What was the reason you last got dressed up?  >> Halloween.

Have you ever been the subject of cruel rumors? What were they?  >> Maybe at some point, but I don’t remember now.

Do you prefer loose or form-fitting clothing? What about on your preferred gender?  >> I prefer looser clothing. Not baggy, per se, just looser.

What do you do when you are really, really mad?  >> I don’t know, I haven’t been that mad in so long I have no idea what I’d do.

Would you rather go naked than wear fur?  >> Fuck no????

Do you put a line through your 7’s? What about your Z’s?  >> Nah.

What is one thing that someone could do to you that is unforgivable?  >> *shrug*

Are you able to forgive and forget? >> Mehhhh.

Do you like cold pizza? >> I really do not.

What is your favorite fruit?  >> I’m not sure, I like most fruits.

What about your favorite fruit juice, if it differs from solid fruit?  >> ---

Do you like broccoli and cheese? >> No! Leave broccoli alone, christ.

What about potatoes and cheese?  >> Not really?

Have you written a letter by hand, lately? To whom?  >> No.

Toaster or toaster oven?  >> We only have a toaster, but I would love a toaster oven.

What are you most known for?  >> ---

Do you have any reputations? What are they?  >> Er...

Do you wear band shirts? What band was on the last one you wore?  >> I do. I’m not sure what the last one I wore was.

Do you own any hats? Describe them.  >> I have a plain floppy beanie and I have one that says “I don’t need no body” and it has a dancing skeleton on it, lol.

What about masks, you got any? Describe those.  >> Yeah, I have a raven masquerade mask. I forget why.

What was the last thing to leave you speechless?  >> I don’t remember.

Do your parents like your friends? If they don’t, why not?  >> ---

Have you been called a bad influence?  >> I don’t think so.

Describe your favorite pair of socks.  >> I don’t have a favourite, per se, but here’s a fun pair I have: they say “eat, drink, and be spooky” or something very similar and have a fun Halloween design on them.

Have you experienced any life-changing news, events, etc, lately?  >> No.

Have any self-done piercings?  >> Not anymore.

Ever pierced someone else?  >> No.

Do you get distracted easily?  >> By things like sound and motion.

Is talking to strangers enjoyable for you, or stressful?  >> It can really go either way. Sometimes it’s just neutral.

How do you feel about getting new neighbors? >> I don’t care. They’re probably just going to be loud asses too.

How many ceiling fans are in your home?  >> Zero.

Do you tweet your life away? >> I don’t tweet at all.

How do you feel about shameless self promoting? >> I don’t care?

When reading words. like. this. do. you always pause after the periods?  >> Yeah.

What about screaming when reading something IN ALL CAPS?  >> Yes, which is why I hate when people type like that. There’s a popular blogger on this website that makes all their posts in all-caps and I will never fucking understand it. Like, their content is fun sometimes but I can’t really engage with it because I hate the shouty text!

[honeybinnies]

how i came to stan bang chan: an attempt on a mock thesis paper

How I Came to Stan Bang Chan by Nia (honeybinnies)

        Bang Christopher Chan, being the leader of Stray Kids, has been known throughout the K-Pop community ever since the JYP-born group came out with their pre-debut song, Hellevator, and their debut song, District 9. Today, we see Chan as a leader with many aspirations and a sense of impactful intellect that touch not just the fans’ hearts, but hearts of all ages. Not to mention, he is a universal bias for most Stays, and even if you didn’t bias Chan, you at least have been biaswrecked by him. That is why I’m here to share my own experience of stanning such a young, beautiful man such as Bang Chan, and I have evidence to back all of this up. My name’s Nia, and I talk about Changbin and Hyunjin a lot. However, I think it’s about time I start talking about Chan too.

         Let’s start from the beginning of time, where everything about the Stay community was fairly new to me. It was April 16, 2019, and Stray Kids have finally made their first ever win since their debut. It was also the day I officially became a Stay, having known all the members and their physical attribute to their chemistry as a team. I was both a Changbin and a Hyunjin stan by them, rooting them on with their talented raps and amazing dance moves, but there were obviously a few more who tested my loyalty to them every step of the way. Han Jisung, Lee Minho, and Bang Chan. Aside from the fact that Jisung was basically good at everything, and that Minho was a literal gem to this entire universe, Chan was the one I seemed to despise the most as a biaswrecker. I absolutely hated it when he would flex on his charisma, intellect, responsibility, and time management as a leader, and not to mention, he looks absolutely stunning with those deep eyeshadow tones and complementary contact lenses to highlight his (sad) bleached hair. “What can I say,” said my friend once over the phone, “when it comes to your biases, they’re like you. Biaswreckers, however, are your ideal type. It’s a known fact.” It wasn’t like that helped me back then, for that only meant that Changbin and Hyunjin were like me, and that Chan would be my ideal type. I soon began to realize that it was totally the case for me. I would also take part in a closed group chat with two of my close friends called “SK DORM GC”, and we do roleplays of our biases and biaswreckers alike by crafting amazing aus and dorm lives. This group chat was the sole reason I stayed away from Chan, thankfully, because two of my friends seemed to be invested with Chan back then. I had every right to back away, and remain on the safe lane with Changbin and Hyunjin.

        However, a month into my summer, the horrid sentence was brought up in a night’s discussion with my close friends, the sentence that stuck to me for dear life, and had me wondering up until this day. “You look like a Chan stan.” I was perplexed at their assumption, and maybe I was a little hurt that none of them viewed me as a Changbin stan, nor a Hyunjin stan. Maybe it was because of the YOLO signs I’ve been pulling up in every picture? Maybe it was because of the way I would show them smiling pictures of Chan, and fawn over his adorable smiles? Whatever those questions were, I still never knew why they pegged me for a Chan stan. Even through the pictures I would send my mom about him, I would still be oblivious to the question that stuck to my head after such an event.

        Then, a certain VLive of his answered my question completely. My summer hasn’t been the best of summers, and some of my days were spent on sadness, melancholy, and if I were to be more frank, an episode of self-loathing. During a day of darkness, a notification popped from my phone, and told me that Chan was currently live. I decided to give it a try, see how he’s doing in this evening. I never knew what would happen to me if I clicked that live, but once I did, my entire perspective of Chan being a biaswrecker changed, and so did the sadness that went away from my heart. My entire mood lifted when he would laugh, play songs, and sing them to us with a familiar stare that seemed like he was looking at us as if we were the world. What took the cake for me though, was when I decide to comment “chan u are so mfing CUTE”. Seconds after sending it, he laughed, and mine you, my heart skipped a beat. Perhaps he saw another comment, but I’d like to believe that he laughed at mine anyway. I’d like to believe that my entire perspective of Chan changed since that day, and that label of biaswrecker has been reduced to bias.

          Ever since that VLive, I’ve been leeching onto Chan more, as if he was like Changbin and Hyunjin. There was a progression of Chan pictures on my gallery, constant VLive watching, non-stop talking with my Tumblr mutual and irls about Chan scenarios, Chan blurbs—basically Chan, would save songs recommended by Chan on my playlist, would listen to them while studying or writing stories, and even our roleplays were more Chan-centric in the group chat, considering that all sides of the same coin were on total major hours of the Australian.

          So, as I made this account, everything clicked from there. I gained some very friendly and nice mutuals who would wreck me with an array of Chan pictures, and destroy me with every concept of him until I finally decided to officially stan him. My close friends weren’t surprised when I told them this, as they even made me a Chan counter to count the number of times I mentioned his name in a week (I’m going on 5, by the way!). Simply put, Chan is practically at the same level as Changbin and Hyunjin at this point, and I’m admittedly happy that I’m equal to my three ultimates in Stray Kids.

         With that being said, Bang Chan has now become my third ultimate bias in Stray Kids after Changbin and Hyunjin, and surely, it has been quite a journey for me to stan a kind, admirable, and down-to-earth man such as Chan. I have no regrets on stanning him, but I just hope that he doesn’t make his way to number one bias on my bias list because I know I’ll be make Changbin and myself sad. Thank you for listening to this TedTalk that completely wasted a bit of time in your lives.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:  SK DORM GC My mom My close friends My Twitter mutuals My Tumblr mutuals (most especially @skzphilia and @solarbinnie) My classmates who thought I was talking about some man I actually knew My extra ass for making a literal paper on Chan My followers for having to deal with my bullshit

[merriemelodie]

HOLD ONTO YOUR BUTTS—IT’S TIME FOR ANOTHER ASK MEME

(tbh “Hold Onto Your Butts” is likely going to be the name of my—completely unwanted—autobiography, so be sure to get your money ready to not pre-order it now)

I was tagged by the inestimable, intelligent, and irrepressibly (perennially, justifiably, eloquently) angry Michelle ( @exemplarybehaviour ) to do this ask meme, and I WILL ALWAYS LOVE TALKING ABOUT MYSELF, so LET’S GO FAM

Rules: Post the rules, answer 11 questions, make up 11 new questions, and tag 11 people.

1.) Favorite terrible movie and why?

I guess it depends on your definition of “terrible” (because Pocahontas could—and really should—fall under this umbrella), but I think there’s always gonna be one safe (yet true) answer to this question, and THAT IS SPACE JAM, MY FRIENDS

BECAUSE IT IS A CINEMATIC MASTERPIECE OF A FLOP AND YOU CAN FIGHT ME ON THAT

SHAKE IT QUAKE IT SPACE KABOOM

2.) A funny (or interesting) travel story?

It’s funny, because I feel like I’d have more of these stories if the people that I travel with primarily (a.k.a., the fam™) WEREN’T SO STRESSED ABOUT EVERYTHING

Like, I can laugh about pretty much anything, if you give me 5 minutes to process (and a really good one-liner to tack on the end)—but my family? NOT EXACTLY. If a situation is absurd enough, they’ll definitely laugh, but they tend to be almost hyper-focused on getting places safely (and subsequently worrying about LITERALLY EVERY COMPONENT OF THE JOURNEY) that they don’t really take the time to laugh about things in the moment (or even for a while afterward), because apparently laughter is the high-sign for Karma to come down and swoop in on a hoe? IDK.

LEMME ACTUALLY TRY ANSWERING THE QUESTION THO

Oh, well, yeah, wait—there was the one time, back in December, when our plane might’ve had a stowaway on it named Jorge (so christened by/according to one of the flight attendants over the speaker system), but we never knew for sure? Because he was never accounted for by the flight crew, even though they went down the aisles and manually read through the roster and checked each passenger 3 SEPARATE TIMES??? 

BUT WE STILL FLEW ON THE PLANE ANYWAY?????

lol good times ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

3.) Your favorite Cool Fact ™ about animals.

I’m not a purveyor of Cool Animal Facts™, but sometimes I think about how otters hold hands while they sleep, and I can feel a few months being quietly added back onto my life.

4.) A fandom you’re embarrassed to be in, or that people might not know you’re in?

(We’re talking strictly online here, because not one person I know IRL knows what the term “fandom” even means, let alone would be a part of one, and that’s not a Pandora’s Box I’m willing to open—especially when it comes to [sports] anime, WHICH THEY HAVE DISTINCT OPINIONS ABOUT. LOL)

BUT ANYWAY

Listen. LISTEN. I LOVE YURI ON ICE, okay? IF YOU’VE BEEN ON MY BLOG FOR .6 SECONDS, THEN YOU KNOW THIS. There’s a TON of YoI stuff on there—because there’s a ton of YoI stuff to share, thanks to its fandom. We have a TON of super talented people who create super amazing things for this show (truly, there seems to be a higher-than-average concentration of gifted creators here AND I AM SO NOT MAD ABOUT IT).

...but the fandom is also lowkey trash?

(Lowkey? Highkey.)

Like, okay: there are a ton of chill YoI-loving people who stay in their own lanes, and I follow, appreciate, and am very fond of them all—but there are so many people who stay doing The Absolute Most™ when it comes to Fandom Disk Horse™ AND THAT IS THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF NECESSARY.

IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT, DON’T ENGAGE WITH IT. IT’S LITERALLY THAT SIMPLE.

cough, looking at you, an/ti’s, cough

5.) Do you have any superstitions?

I’m not really a superstitious person by nature—but, whenever I’m working on a project that I’m very excited about (and want to go really well), I find myself biting my tongue when talking to other people. I’m afraid of jinxing it—not just by talking about “how great it’s going to be,” but even by openly acknowledging its existence in the first place. IF YOU DON’T PUT IT OUT IN THE WORLD AND BREATHE LIFE INTO IT, THEN NOBODY ELSE CAN KILL IT, I GUESS

6.) Weirdest and/or most interesting member of your family?

God bless, my whole paternal family is RIDICULOUS (and you can quote me on that), but I have an aunt on my mother’s side who takes the absolute cake. I could be here for three days telling stories about her, but I’ll just drop some buzzwords/buzzphrases: put her mother on lockdown in her (mother’s) own house; sold her condo and then subsequently realized that she didn’t have a place to live; let her (really quite sketchy) repairman-turned-boyfriend move into her utility closet, and then was surprised to find that her identity had been stolen by him a week later, so she called the cops and there was A Moment™; and is currently writing an autobiography about her story, which she’ll “figure out as she goes.”

HAVE FUN LOL

7.) Something that happened to you or you witnessed on public transport?

I live in a public transport-bereft area, so I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO SHARE HERE

8.) Window seat or aisle seat? Why?

I love window seats because they’re also automatically corner seats, so I CAN CREEPY-CREEP ON EVERYBODY while also being in my own little space. I LOVE IT.

9.) Would you rather eat mashed potatoes in a tube (”gotatoes”) or spaghetti in a tube (”spagoot chute”)?

THIS IS SOPHIE’S CHOICE TRULY

Hm................I’m gonna have to go with “gotatoes,” because there’s something that feels inherently blasphemous about putting spaghetti where you can’t appreciate the aesthetic of their noodly shape.

10.) If there were a movie about your life, what would the trailer look like?

Remarkably like Black Swan’s, if you can believe it.

11.) You get stuck in the last game you played, a la 80s nostalgia movie. What’s your life like now?

Well, for me, that was a quick jaunt through my little town of [name redacted] in Animal Crossing: Wild World—so, uh, I guess it’s much the same: running around with no purpose, no job, and all of my friends going “lol where have you been for the past 12 years;” also, doing small amounts of menial labor to acquire money to meet a goal that, ultimately, isn’t of much consequence at all.

WOW, WHAT A LOVELY NOTE TO END THIS ON, HUH? 😂

OKAY TIME FOR MY QUESTIONS

Have any unpopular opinions? Now’s the time to say them. It doesn’t matter what they’re about; whether or not you think people will care about them, or if it’ll change people’s perceptions of you. Just let ‘em fly.

Do you cling to summer, or are you typically more than excited for autumn? (Or do you not have a strong opinion either way?)

What’s something that you’ve been wanting to tell somebody, but haven’t been able/felt ready to? (Of course, if you’re still not comfortable saying it in a public post, then you definitely shouldn’t feel obligated to do it. This is just for fun. ♥)

What would the soundtrack for the film of your life look like? (FOR THOSE WILLING TO TAKE IT UP A NOTCH: if you were to write a Broadway musical about your life, what would some of the songs be titled/be about?)

What’s a poem, story, or song lyric that you think about often? What about it captivates you?

If you had to epitomize yourself with a Wikipedia article title, what would it be?

What do you daydream about?

What’s your go-to character/kart/track in Mario Kart? (ANY ITERATION)

What’s something people would be surprised to learn about you?

If you could name a crayon/nail polish color, what would it be, and what would the color be?

What’s a question you wish I would’ve asked? ASK/ANSWER IT HERE.

Y’ALL ARE ON DECK:

@trashalot @nicodoublele @theexitgarden @jollysailorswan @brazenbutterflyfragilewings @bringingclawstoagunfight @curlyscottishlady @diabeetus01 @naturallybecca @haruzumiya @durnesque-esque

[trippingonroads-blog1]

The Things You Learn While Traveling Abroad

We didn’t make it to La Tlayudería. Hell, we almost didn’t make it anywhere after striking out nearly everywhere. In fact, our restaurant debacle last night is an excellent jumping off point for the topic “Lessons Learned While Traveling Abroad.” First lesson:

Have a plan.

Lindsay and I had a plan but we didn’t account for the restaurant not being there. (When we came home and looked it up, we discovered Google had led us to the wrong address so maybe it does exist but we may never know.) We walked about 1.5km and up and down the same street twice before realizing the place was either closed or just plum not there. So we went to the backup, a place called Mercado Roma.

That, however, turned out to be a market, which you probably could have surmised by the name but when Yelping it earlier in the day, it looked like a restaurant. Someone was playing loud, bad Alannis Morrisette covers and there was only bar seating at the seven or eight different vendors inside. Not exactly the kind of authentic meal we were looking for. So we Googled a taco place, found Tacos Orinoco, and went there.

Tacos Orinoco was an absolute mob scene, with a walk-up bar and some dining room seating but, again, not what we were looking for. So we decided to walk back in the direction of the Airbnb and stop anywhere that looked good.

Turns out, in a Mexican city that is absolutely packed with restaurants, it was damn hard to find a Mexican place open for dinner. Plenty of American, Italian, Mediterranean, and even a Thai food place, but all of the street vendors had closed up shop and so had seemingly every other Mexican restaurant except one or two takeout chicken places. There is no end to the panaderias and cafes open past 8 o’clock serving breakfast food which made it especially irritating that we couldn’t find dinner.

By 8:30, we had been walking for two hours and were exhausted, though shockingly not super cranky just yet. We covered a lot of ground and saw a lot so that was nice. We were literally back at the Airbnb when we decided to try one more place we had seen earlier in the day and if that didn’t work, we’d grab a torta from the one street vendor we’d seen and head back to the Airbnb.

Resi was open and looked decent enough so we got a table. Resi was also, however, pretty mediocre. The band was good, playing Spanish arrangements of American covers like “On the Boardwalk” and “Put Your Head On My Shoulder” but it was a real small space and they were loud. Lindsay got a headache and we couldn’t hear each other’s voices from across the table. We each got a well-earned margarita that was delicious, although Lindsay took a few sips of hers before opting to order a red wine instead. The queso fundido con chorizo was solid (not literally lolz) but Lindsay’s steak was a thin slab of just okay, and my huauzontles (had no idea what these were but they sounded interesting) were really dry, which may be exactly how they’re supposed to be. I probably shouldn’t have been so adventurous. Live and learn.

Don’t bring a hot drink in an Uber in a foreign land.

Lindsay and I had been getting around pretty okay and I nailed our cafe order this morning until the lady asked if Lindsay wanted “aderazo”. Both of us were completely stumped, this was not a word we had ever heard, and it was pretty essential to the conversation. Neither of us knew if she was even talking about our drinks or the sandwich. Another woman who spoke a little better English had to come out and after a hesitant “como se dice…” she came out with “ranch dressing.” We definitely would have never guessed that. Anyways, problem solved, and now you know how to say ranch.

That’s a fun anecdote but the real lesson here is that you should wait to finish that coffee you ordered before you get in an Uber. We had tickets to the Frida Kahlo Museum and have heard you should get there early and that it can be a long trip from Roma Nte, so we called the Uber about an hour and a half before our scheduled entrance time, well before I had even taken a sip of my Americano.

What you need to understand is that drivers in Mexico City are insane. The driving experience is straight out of Mad Max: cars swerving between lanes recklessly, lane lines either barely visible or completely absent, and everyone desperately trying to get ahead, never giving an inch to the cabron trying to merge. Blinkers? Yielding? These are for the weak! In Coyoacan, there are four-way intersections everywhere and not a single one has four stop signs. Most have two, many have none. We literally saw an “Alto” sign that had been stuck behind a tree and over which some clever vandal had added a cross-out sign. Instead, cars dictate the flow of traffic by figurative testicle-weighing. Whoever is the boldest and most recklessly aggressive will win the right of way for his or her direction.

All of this is to say, it was a damn good thing I grabbed two napkins before I got in the car on the way to Coyoacan because my pants would have been even more soaked in hot coffee if I hadn’t. The drivers are nuts but the streets are also spotted with speed bumps to try and address some of the driving mania. That’s not a great formula for passengers in the backseat with their hand wrapping two napkins over the top of their coffee lid. Even with the napkins… complete mess. When you don’t know the roads, don’t trust the coffee.

Okay, don’t plan too much.

Besides the Frida Kahlo Museum, which was excellent by the way and well worth the visit, we planned to just walk around the neighborhood of Coyoacan. Keep it spontaneous, ya know? We know all the best lessons are the ones you learn with leeway. There’s so much to see in Coyoacan just carousing the streets. The neighborhood is beautiful, all rainbow adobe, open air cafes, and greenery. Nature and architecture blend seamlessly everywhere you walk.

We walked around the enormous local market and allowed ourselves to be panhandled into a seat at a tostada bar that took up a large amount of space right in the center of the market.

(A sub-lesson here: Don’t get too crazy with your food orders. I was feeling adventurous again and ordered a pata tostada, which is beef leg, which is like raw chicken-looking cold, slippery, gelatinous nastiness that tastes a little like those jello snacks you find in Chinatown. Not for me.)

Coyoacan is famous for tostadas, serving them with sour cream and cheese, and the cochinita, chicken with mole, and steak were all delicioso, the operation was just so large that most of the meat was pre-cooked so the tostadas came out room temperature or cold. Tasty still, but not ideal. We ordered a chicharron quesadilla at the end, figuring that had to be hot, and it was easily the highlight of the meal.

From there, we had a drink in La Plaza Hidalgo (mojito for me, Pinot Grigio for Lindsay) and enjoyed the beautiful weather, buzzing plaza, and the spontaneous mariachi bands and music boxes. Then a quick coffee at Cafe Avellenada, a literal hole in the wall with a bar and a couple espresso machines, where we sat on a bench against the wall sipping cold brew and watching the world roll by.

Always pee before you go.

Lindsay nearly made a puddle in the Uber on the way home. Got caught in traffic so the way back to Roma Nte. took about twice as long and I could practically hear her gritting her teeth next to me. Don’t worry, she took care of it. But yeah, if you feel like you have to go even a little, might as well try. I’ve been peeing and pooping all day and I feel great.

We’re back at the Airbnb for a quick break before heading out to El Hueqito, a taco place Anothony Bourdain covered on Parts Unknown.

[greyias]

The Sprawling ATM Epic (as requested)

A long time ago (last week), I mentioned my tendency to occasionally spin epic tales out of really mundane activities, including one time that I visited the ATM.

And @elveny​ said: 

Okay, who else wants to hear the ATM story now? :D

To which I replied that I would tell it if people were really interested.

And the Tumblrverse took up that cry:

@elveny​ said: 

Yeeeees!! Tell it! :-D 



@aearyn​ said: 

YES TELL THE STORY 

@quax-of-dorne​ said: 

I’m pretty is as epic as your swtor hunts…

Well, I can’t let everyone down! A little delayed (because this past work week was a little intense despite being shortened), but let me see if I can remember this epic tale of adventure…

(But under a cut, for I’m sure someone doesn’t want to scroll past all of this)

A LONG TIME AGO… in a town probably far, far away, there once was a teenager, who was stuck in a car with her mother and baby sister, the latter of which had made the mistake of asking her very bored older sister “what did you do yesterday?”

Being a good, good big sister, this teenager, who had recently gotten her drivers license and had a vehicle at her disposal, wanted to regale her younger sibling with a tale worthy of such a question. Sure, she could have just said something quick and let the conversation turn to other topics, but that would have been unfair to young pre-pubescent child, who always hung on her older sister’s every word and definitely never snarked at her in the way middle schoolers sometimes do that some less charitable folks might call “irritating”, but this narrator insists are “charming in their own way”.

And thus… she told her tale.

See, back in ye olden times of 2000, things were a little different than they are now. Back then, teenagers weren’t allowed to have things like Debit and Credit Cards™, but minors were allowed to have Savings Accounts. (Or perhaps our brave heroine was just ignorant of the finer points of finance. But that would be another tale.) Boring talks of legalities aside, the lack of access to funds via the simple swipe of a card was very troublesome for this teenager, for she had a Car™ that used to transport her to work (and occasional teenager things like The Movies and Stupid Adventures With Friends). And Cars™ required Gas™. And Gas™ required Money™.

Money itself was not the problem, for this brave teenager had a job and a paycheck, but she had to deposit said paycheck into a Savings account (manually, because this was back in the dark ages, before Direct Deposit™ became a Thing).

(Okay perhaps it was a thing, and our brave heroine really just didn’t understand the finer points of the banking system. We are getting sidetracked though, with all this talk of Reality. Le us focus instead on the story)

At this point, a cry came up from the back seat of the vehicle, “I just was curious, I didn’t want all this backstory.”

(Somewhere in the depths of the internet, @elveny, @aearyn, and @quax-of-dorne nodded in agreement.)

“You asked about my day,” the big sister replied, “and I don’t want to disappoint.”

Regardless of the finer points of the banking system of America in ye olden year of 2000, our brave, brave heroine was faced with a problem. She needed Gas™, for her faithful steed was edging close the empty line, and Mustangs were not known for their stellar fuel consumption. But as she opened her wallet, to her great dismay, flies flew out, and an empty money pouch greeted her.

“This will not do at all!” She cried. “If I try to pump gas without paying first, the constabulary will be after me, and rightly so!”

So, emboldened to take care of her mode of transportation so Teenagers Things could still be done, she hopped into ‘Stang the Magnificent (for that was his name, fite me), and began the long arduous mile and a half trek from her suburbia house to the closest bank. It was a long, road, and she had to turn many, many corners, and pull her steed to a stop at even more cursed stop signs. (This particular burb was known for its constables, who liked to spy on teenagers pretending to slow down to a stop and writing them tickets. And if you thought having to get cash was an epic at this point in time, try having to deal with traffic court.)

But, after a long, long road, she finally arrived at the bank, and to her great luck, the ATM lanes were empty. She rolled up to the first kiosk, hardly believing her luck. These lanes had been recently added, and she no longer had to find a good spot in front of the bank to sable her mighty steed so she could stand in line to procure her cash, which was far preferable to having to deal with standing in line inside, or go through the actual lanes. (For she was a minor at this point, and occasionally the tellers got snippy with that fact and forced her to go get her Mommy so she could withdraw $20 for gas monies.)

She reached over for her wallet, but to her great horror—it was missing! She gasped, wondering what evil had befallen her beloved coin purse, until she realized… she had left it at home. This was doubly troublesome, for her wallet also contained her drivers license, and that was not something she was supposed to be without while at the wheel of ‘Stang the Magnificent.

(She was also quietly grateful she had been so careful to come to a full and complete stop at every stop sign. For the police officers of her village were very gleeful in their ticket writing. It’s almost like teenagers had a general reputation for mouthing off to their elders. Not that our brave heroine was one of those. Of course not. She just liked to tell increasingly long stories to her baby sister who was definitely not crying for mercy at this point in the back seat.)

Sheepishly, she pulled away from the kiosk without a word, and had to navigate the very poorly designed parking lot, that required her to completely exit the bank onto a Busy Main road that she couldn’t turn left on back to the easy path home, but having to wind through an even longer and circuitous path back home. She did so cautiously, holding her breath the entire time, for she was without a license, and getting pulled over would be a Bad Thing.

She eventually made her way back home, but alas, she could not find her wallet! She searched high. And low. And then high again (just to be sure). Where, o where could it have gone?

She returned back to her faithful steed to commiserate with it, and apologize for not being able to get it the sustenance it so needed, when she found it. THE WALLET.

It had fallen underneath the passenger seat sometime on the long trek to the bank.

Oops.

Crisis duly averted, she and ‘Stang the Magnificent retraced their steps, through all of the twists and turns, and the many, many stop signs as well. Even though this time she came to a full and complete stop, she felt more confident, now that her License of Driving was securely back in hand. She reached her destination once again, although she had to wait for several other gentlefolk to conduct their affairs with the ATM Merchant, for she had dallied too long in her search.

Eventually, though, she came up to the ATM, and with card in hand, requested her $20 bill that would procure enough gasoline to satiate her mighty steed’s hunger. It flashed a warning at her, that since she was withdrawing from a savings account, this was the last withdrawal she’d be allowed without incurring a mighty fee.

“Oh no,” she muttered to herself, “will $20 be enough to get me through for the month?”

To be safe, she got an extra twenty, although she did so warily, for this was the Dark Times before we had pocket computers that always told us what our balance was. She would have had to keep this tally manually, in a checkbook, and she was sixteen. She had no time to be balancing a checkbook!

But fortune was with our brave heroine, and she did not overdraw her account. She hastily stuffed the cash into her beloved coin purse, and urged ‘Stang the Magnificent back toward the busy main street that would take them to the gas station.

“I can tell you about how I filled up the gas tank,” the older sister graciously offered at this point to her younger sibling in the back.

“No, no, I can’t take it anymore!” she cried. “I will never ask you any probing questions about your life ever again!”

And thus, the older sister won an even greater battle that day. And even to this very day, her younger sister never even realized it.

THE END

[djatoon]

I’m sick of fighting moronic culture wars The best weapon against people who take themselves too seriously is not to denounce but to make fun of them. BY LIONEL SHRIVER

Lionel Shriver is an author, journalist and columnist, who writes regularly for The Spectator. She is based in London.

When I left Australia in September of 2016, I didn’t expect to ever go back.

I’d been invited to deliver the opening address of the Brisbane literary festival. The organisers had originally requested that I speak on the theme of “Community and belonging”; I told them for such a soft, sappy topic they had the wrong speaker. By all means, choose your own subject, they wrote back. I proposed to speak about identity politics in fiction, and received wholehearted approval.

I chose to focus on a concept I’d only recently encountered, which at the time had primarily been used to castigate adventurous musicians and fashion designers. ‘Cultural appropriation’ was a brand new taboo: ‘stealing’ from other people’s traditions for your own evil creative purposes without ‘permission’. Although it was baffling however one might go about securing such a licence.

In 2016, I was hard-pressed to come up with examples of this peculiar no-no being used to impugn works of fiction. But I did manage to dig up the fact that a white male British novelist had recently been chided in reviews and on social media for daring to employ a female Nigerian character. I worried that if this sort of rebuke spread, the new taboo could be catastrophic for my occupation, one wholly dependent on imagining what it’s like to be someone else.

Alas, only three years later, I’d have found copious examples of fiction writers who’ve had their knuckles rapped for helping themselves to what didn’t belong to them.

Before delivering that lecture, I’d been solely concerned that my thesis was so self-evident that the speech would be boring. Afterwards, I was informed that one audience member, a 24-year-old from Southern Sudan, had flounced down the middle aisle and out of the venue – to be followed, after several minutes, by her concerned mother.

The young woman — who has dined out on her rude exit ever since — promptly posted an indignant screed online about how deeply hurt and offended she was by my talk (much of which she did not hear). Said screed was so over-written that it was actually funny. Nevertheless, the Guardian, which has an increasingly, shall we say, ambivalent relationship to my politics, picked up the blog and posted it on the paper’s website.

The rest is history.

Media across the world piled on. The story, such as there was one, was widely misreported. One woman walking out, followed five minutes later by her mother, transformed into a mass audience desertion. My final flourish of donning a sombrero – a droll reference to the speech’s intro, and worn only during the last three words of the speech – was mis-described in every account. According to news reports, I’d worn the sombrero belligerently during the entire 45-minute address. Now, that was slanderous. I have a far better sense of theatre.

To set the record straight, I had had my publicist post the keynote’s text online. Meanwhile, the festival administrators informed the press that I had spoken “beyond my brief”, and had no permission to address this topic. When my publisher sent the organisers a copy of the email thread demonstrating that they knew perfectly well what I would speak about and had given the topic their blessing, we got back sorrow about my “hurt” and “pain”. I wasn’t hurt or in pain. I was pissed off. Advertising that I go rogue at the podium impugned my reputation, and potentially curtailed future speaking invitations.

In private, I received a surprising quantity of supportive email, some from friends I didn’t know I had, but most of these defenders didn’t take a public stand. Oh, and that British writer, whose novel I stuck up for? He’s never spoken to me again.

*

It had been my intention to nip in the bud a poorly thought-out hard-Left injunction that had the capacity, if widely applied, to make my occupation untenable. Instead I fear that I helped spread the very concept that I’d hoped to discourage. For ‘cultural appropriation’ has in this last three years become widely regarded as forbidden in fiction.

I confess that I’m sick of the subject. Nevertheless, my opposition to this harebrained notion has grown only more implacable.

It took me a while to figure out that the ‘appropriation’ foofaraw is, in part, about the commodification of identity. In those indignant 2016 comment pieces, I encountered outrage that pale-faced authors were making money from experience that wasn’t theirs to sell. Thus the idea must be to reduce supply of writing about ‘marginalised communities’, and thereby to increase demand. Presumably, if we white writers are prevented from using ‘stolen’ material – if we’re required, in the latest lingo, to ‘stay in our lane’ – then, clamouring for fiction about characters from Southern Sudan, the minority-starved reading public will turn the recent first novel of a certain huffy African-Australian activist into a bestseller. I fear this model displays a poor understanding of economics and publishing both.

In literature, too, ideological predation on established writers is intended to allow younger, woker folks to take their place. When I was coming of age, we younger writers were eager to find mentors whom we admired, and with whom we often tried to ingratiate ourselves in Master of Fine Arts programs. We inhaled the work of accomplished predecessors, the better to hone our own skills.

We now have a generation that simply ‘cancels’ the older generation, the better to clear the stage and clamber onto it. (None of these people read anymore, but mysteriously they all still want to be writers.) What I encountered in Brisbane hewed to an ugly behavioural model that has more in common with big game hunting than with art.

More fundamentally, I challenge the propositions that any of us ‘own’ our own culture, that a culture is even subject to strict definition, and that a culture has any borders that can therefore be rigidly policed. Because we are all elements in other people’s landscapes, our experience – how we act, what we say, what traditions we observe – is also an ingredient in other people’s experience. Thus I would submit: we do not even own exclusive title to ourselves.

I reject this hoarding, hostile, selfish, and perplexingly commercial relationship to ‘identity’. Better that we all conduct our work and social lives in a spirit of sharing, generosity, exploration, curiosity, experimentation, and even willingness to fail in our sincere efforts to understand one another.

But apparently we white writers are now on notice that we don’t have “permission” to write non-white characters. There was actually a headline I tripped over online during the Brisbane hullabaloo, atop an article I didn’t choose to read: “Lionel Shriver Should not Write Minority Characters” – just in case I hadn’t got the message loudly and clearly enough. Ironically, this implies that authors like me are obliged to portray the Western world as if it’s still the 1950s. Off the page, our countries may grow ever more ‘diverse’, but between book covers we’re back to apartheid.

*

The strictures now constraining the imaginations of fiction writers are not limited to a ban on cultural kleptomania. All artists today are encouraged to be political, but only in the service of a narrow hard-Left orthodoxy. Any novel that challenges the trans movement or the 100% socially and economically beneficial character of today’s mass immigration to the West will attract a Twitter mob and scathing reviews. And that’s assuming you could get such books published in the first place.

Cutting-edge artists were once famously ‘transgressive’.  Now to be cutting edge is to be cookie-cutter. Despite the reputation of the artist as a maverick, I live in a world of conformity. I don’t personally know a single fiction writer in London who supports Brexit.

You know, even having characters voice views or behave in a manner that runs contrary to progressive mores is now dangerous. At the 2016 Sewanee Writers Conference in Tennessee, fellow authors accused Allen Wier of a “microaggression” because three old men in a baseball park ogled a young woman in his short story.

It’s especially perilous for a novelist to express anything but officially approved progressive opinions in non-fiction – and as a prolific comment writer and columnist, I should know. I should have kept my noxious libertarian views about tax policy, the EU, and affirmative action to myself. I’ve made myself a target of animosity for virtually all the people who can influence my career – who commission the manuscripts, judge the literary prizes, award the writing residencies, and assign the reviews. For politically, my professional milieu is almost perfectly homogeneous. In outing myself in journalism, I’ve branded myself an outsider, if not an exile, among my own kind.

Hence I now get a brand of review I’ve come to recognise —whose author pre-hated me, and read my novel only with a view to locating unforgivable sins against social justice.

A friend of mine who teaches criticism at Columbia’s Master of Fine Arts program in New York confirmed that this recent inclination to judge literature in accordance with its adherence to a political catechism is not all in my head. Over a glass of white wine last summer, she despaired that all her criticism students think the job of a critic is to assess a given work in accordance with its implicit racial or sexual mores. Her students won’t even cut historical texts any slack if the content doesn’t line up perfectly with contemporary progressive values.

*

Writing fiction used to be a hoot. Now it’s fraught with anxiety. My colleagues and I have been made destructively self-conscious about any sentence that touches on race, ethnicity, disability, gender, sexual harassment or assault, Israel, colonialism, imperialism, diversity, class, or inequality – and that list keeps getting longer. As a consequence, too many of today’s artists are struggling to be ‘good’ rather than to do ‘well’. Perpetual nervousness that a foot wrong could get you banished from civilisation for life is not conducive to making art at all, much less outstanding art.

Publishers’ practice of employing “sensitivity readers” to vet and censure manuscripts is currently restricted largely to Young Adult fiction, but could soon be coming to a mainstream publisher near you. Self-appointed experts in the delicate feelings of a range of protected special-interest groups supposedly ensure that the text doesn’t offend anyone —although at this point if your book doesn’t offend anyone, it’s probably not worth reading.

After #MeToo, we authors are also fearful about how we behave at parties, which could not only invite personal censure but get our books withdrawn from the shelves. Now that the presumption of innocence is out the window, we have to protect ourselves from both our real sexual lapses and mere accusations of such lapses. Ask Junot Diaz. It took months of ignominy to clear the author’s name after he was accused of planting an unwanted kiss, and meanwhile booksellers banned his work.

Remember when writers like Hemingway were expected to be licentious hell-raisers who drank too much? I’m perfectly capable of batting the odd hand from my knee, so please give me back the old days, when being a novelist was good fun.

*

What are we all to do?  Because this watch-your-step environment is not only a problem for artists. We’re all being coached to use dumb expressions, to edit what we say lest we violate a host of unwritten regulations, and to be increasingly avoidant of people different from ourselves not because we’re bigots but because we might say something wrong.

The hard Left’s code of conduct is drafted by people with no authority. A small group of self-nominated tyrants concocted ‘cultural appropriation’ as an unpardonable transgression, but that doesn’t mean we have to pay any attention to these bullies. The only thing that gives made-up rules any teeth is obeying them.

I’m an old-school rebel. Tell me I can’t do something and my immediate impulse is to do it. I write minority characters. You can only dispense with silly rules by breaking them, and any freedoms that you don’t exercise you’re bound to lose.

This means resisting the all-too-rational protective urge to self-censor. In 1969, Philip Roth’s Portnoy’s Complaint outraged American conservatives, and Roth meant the novel to be outrageous. He recognised that artists are supposed to push the confining cultural boundaries of their times. But these days, that means pushing back against the rigid rectitude of the Left.

We can also maintain our senses of humour. The best weapon against people who take themselves too seriously is not to denounce but to make fun of them. They deserve it, and we deserve a good belly laugh at their expense.

It’s also important to come to the defence, publicly and not only in private emails, of artists, academics, journalists, and thinkers who have stuck their necks out only to have their heads chopped off. The august, yet temporarily disgraced philosopher, Roger Scruton, who was crucified by an irresponsible journalist taking his quotes out of context, was only restored to respectability with the assistance of friends and allies who advocated on his behalf.

Otherwise, we just have to weather the storm. This Left-wing mania for dos and don’ts can’t last forever. I fear what may be required is some sort of catastrophe, one that makes ‘microaggressions’ suddenly seem as trivial as the expression suggests. This lunatic authoritarian obsession with an infinitely growing list of rules in relation to an infinitely growing list of specially protected categories of people? It’s an ailment born of prosperity. It’s the ultimate first-world problem. A plague of antibiotic-resistant flesh-eating bacteria across the planet might kill billions of people, but it would also wipe identity politics right off the map. In my desperation to restore sanity, playfulness, mischief, and abandon to our cultural landscape, I just hope I don’t have to resort to disseminating the bacteria myself.

Both artists and arts consumers need to return to first principles. That is, the purpose of art is not to do good. A given novelist may choose to promote the author’s version of virtue, but being good-as-in-virtuous is not what makes a book good-as-in-excellent.

It’s time to return to valuing not only nuance and complexity, but anarchy, wickedness, and heresy. It’s time to stop feeling obliged to be such good little campers, at least in our heads. Both writers and readers need to feel free to explore the unseemly underbelly of our imaginations. After all — aren’t books the ultimate ‘safe space’?

And sometimes we just have to talk about something else — something besides whatever group is socially disadvantaged this week, or what remark some public figure made about race or gender that’s supposedly beyond the pale. Sometimes we authors have to write about something else — so maybe I’m even apologising for the very topic I’m speaking of right now.

Because for me, the biggest trap of this whole identity politics lark has been getting lured into debating a proposition that’s unworthy of my address. I get drawn into fights from which I’d be better off just walking away. I’m genuinely embarrassed to have continually explained what I think is wrong with the concept of ‘cultural appropriation’ for three solid years. It’s a dumb idea, and it’s dumb terminology. Call it ‘cultural appreciation’ and the argument is over. For there’s a way in which, when you spend your precious time on this earth battling something dumb, even if at length you prevail, you’ve nevertheless thrown your pearls before swine, and the morons have still won.

[smartshopperteam]

Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About The Role Of The First Lady

SAVE ON WEDDING & PROM DRESSES at http://ift.tt/23SccX9 Where Smart Shoppers Shop!

The public’s overwhelming fascination with the first lady of the United States pre-dates our current love affair with everything related to Michelle Obama. Just ask historians about the importance of Eleanor Roosevelt or Jackie Kennedy.

And this Friday, the U.S. will have a new first lady. As President-elect Donald Trump assumes his new role, his wife Melania will officially take on the role of FLOTUS — even if she plans to stay in New York for the time being.

So this is as good a time as any to answer all your burning questions about her new position: What are Melania’s official responsibilities? Has the office of the first lady always functioned this way? And hey, are we paying for her clothes?

Read on and find out.

How did the role of first lady came to be?

Martha Washington is considered to be the first “first lady,” but the term wasn’t used until after her death. Her main function was to play hostess for social events, and she set the standard for the subsequent first ladies.

The role has historically been reserved for the president’s spouse, but some first ladies have not been married to POTUS. Emily Donelson took over the hostessing duties during the presidency of her uncle Andrew Jackson, a widow. Harriet Lane did the same during the administration of James Buchanan, who never married.

However, our contemporary understanding of the role can be traced back to Eleanor Roosevelt, according to Dr. Katherine Jellison, chair of the history department at Ohio University, who has studied extensively the topic of first ladies.

During her time at the White House, Roosevelt expanded her duties beyond just being a hostess, spending her time working on social reform projects.

“She is the first first lady to have press conferences, she is the first first lady to have a significant number of staff working for her,” Jellinson said. “She is the one who made the role of first lady as high profile as it is today.”

What are some of the first lady’s responsibilities?

Contemporary first ladies are expected to perform public and ceremonial duties. While they’ve always hosted state dinners and other official events, now they also serve as surrogates to their husbands’ administrations, taking on particular social projects or causes.

Michelle Obama, for example, spent a lot of time working on the issues of childhood obesity, girls’ education, and military families. Laura Bush championed education efforts, and Hillary Clinton focused on health initiatives and women’s equality.

But first ladies didn’t always focus on children and women’s initiatives.

Eleanor Roosevelt was dedicated to African-American civil rights, according to Jellison. Jackie Kennedy focused on historical preservation of architectural treasures, while Lady Bird Johnson championed the environment.

But Jellinson argues there was a shift toward women’s and children’s causes during the Nixon administration — and it’s stuck. It’s unclear if the role will shift again with future first ladies — or dare we say, a future first gentleman.

Okay, but they need money to champion their causes. How much do they earn?

Not a cent. Because they’re not elected officials and the role is considered an “office of honor,” the first lady position is unpaid. Yes, the job certainly comes with some perks, such as a house, personal security detail, and a pension. But you still have to consider that first ladies have given up well-remunerated jobs in order to perform her public and ceremonial duties, and are in the spotlight basically 24/7 just by virtue of being married to the president.

It’s no surprise then that first lady Pat Nixon called it “the hardest unpaid job in the world.”

Even President Ronald Reagan made note of just how hard his wife, Nancy, worked in 1982, “You know, with the first lady the government gets an employee free; they have her just about as busy as they have me.”

The first lady’s office does have a federal budget however, thanks to a 1978 law signed by President Jimmy Carter. This made it much easier for first ladies to funnel resources into social causes.

It was also during the Carter administration that the first lady acquired a particular workspace in the White House: the East Wing. His wife Rosalyn Carter was the first to officially call it “The Office of the First Lady.”

It’s important to note however, that Hillary Clinton broke tradition and moved her office to the West Wing, which caused a lot of controversy at the time. She is the only first lady to do so.

The FLOTUS office employs a staff of around 15, even though that number has gone up and down over time. And her personnel makes way less than the president’s staff.

The first lady goes to so many events, though. Does she at least have a clothing or styling allowance?

First ladies have traditionally paid for everything out of pocket.

It was something that took first lady Laura Bush by surprise when she assumed the role in 2001.

“I was amazed by the sheer number of designer clothes that I was expected to buy, like the women before me, to meet the fashion expectations for a first lady,” she wrote in her memoir. “After our first year in the White House, our accountant said to George [W. Bush)], ‘It costs a lot to be president,’ and he was referring mainly to my clothes.”

She also used to pay for a stylist to blow-dry her hair in the mornings “just so I could try to avoid a bad hair day.”

In the case of Michelle Obama, it was reported that she also buys her clothes out of pocket, except for special occasions.

“For official events of public or historic significance, such as a state visit, the first lady’s clothes may be given as a gift by a designer and accepted on behalf of the U.S. government,” her press secretary, Joanna Rosholm, told the AP in 2014. “They are then stored by the National Archives.”

Now that Melania Trump will be first lady, do we know how she will approach the role?

Kind of. During a rare public speech in early November, Melania said that as first lady she would take on combating cyberbullying and harassment as her main cause.

“We have to find a better way to talk to each other, disagree with each other, to respect each other,” she said at the time. “We must find better ways to honor and support the basic goodness of our children, especially in social media.”

But we will have to wait how she takes on the role and makes it her own during the next four years.

Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?

Why These Hillary Clinton Supporters Are Attending Trump’s Inauguration

I Was One Of Those Women Who Couldn’t Afford Birth Control — & I Got Pregnant

Chelsea Clinton Talks To R29 About What Happens Next

Be a SMART SHOPPER and shop at http;//http://ift.tt/1q0Qtcq #love, #weddingdress #weddinggown, #groom, #smartshopperteamdotcom, #weddingsuit, #onlineshopping, #bride, #instawed, #bridesmaids, #wedding, #marrage

from Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About The Role Of The First Lady