#i am a homeowner but at what cost

[askinnyblackman]

thirty six thousand one hundred twenty two dollars and forty one cents

[a-lil-strawberry]

One outcome I didn't expect from an outing with coworkers at a bar after a long week was an extreme state of existential dread, but here I am

[attapullman]

If Only the Neighbors Knew | Neighbor!Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: A month of stolen kisses culminates in Robert hosting the HOA meeting and getting you on his couch. The ladies of the neighborhood may make him blush, but only you can make your sweet neighbor weak in the knees.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings + Notes: Robert "Bob" Floyd x f!reader, 18+ only folks, swearing, unprotected pinv, oral (f!receiving), self-indulgent as per usual, too many italics. Oh, I am blushing and humbled at all the love that Neighbor!Bob has received! It's exactly a month later and now he's back and making us collectively drop our panties again, as well as all the other women in the neighborhood! But don't worry, he's only got eyes for you ;) Happy Holidays, my dears, thanks for reading!

meet Robert From Next Door here

He’s setting up refreshments in the dining room. The perfect viewpoint to where you perch on his slate gray sectional, making small talk with the neighborhood. Knees primly crossed under your skirt, smile wide as you laugh about the neighbor kids’ shenanigans. And all he can think about was when you walked in, the soft flush in your cheeks when you said, “Hi, Robert,” and gave him the lightest peck on the cheek, as if you did it all the time. As if it didn’t make him weak in the knees.

The only perk of hosting the HOA meeting is that you’re in his home. The fact other people are also here? Not ideal. It’s been a month since he had you straddled on his lap, sweetly moaning into his mouth, and frankly he wants to send everyone home so he can try the same thing on his couch. 

But he offered to host because it’s the neighborly thing to do. Swung by the market on the way home from base and grabbed crackers and cheese, mixed nuts, and too many bottles of wine because once someone brings up the length of grass everyone turns to drinking.

He’s replenishing the plastic cups and water jug when he catches your eye. The small quirk of your smile, a silently flirty hi, has him flustered. Time to start this godforsaken meeting so he’s closer to getting you alone.

“So, Lieutenant Floyd, what’s new with you?” Mrs. Jacobs has already helped herself to enough wine by the time he joins the neighborhood in his sitting room. She’s flanked by her cronies - minions in matching sweater sets - and all instantly turn their attention on him. While not someone who normally turns heads, the day Robert Floyd bought his little bungalow with the creaky porch he was instantly the talk of the street. A young single Naval officer? The women could barely believe their luck. They were all married, but shameless flirting had never been out of question.

He takes a slow sip of his iced tea, biding time. On the other side of the room, he can feel your amused smile. The rumor mill would churn violently if anyone found out what was going on with you two. So you had been sneaking around the last few weeks. A few stolen afternoons kissing on the couch, errand trips turned into steaming up his truck’s windows. It’s been the best month of his life.

The WSO is spared answering when the president of the homeowner’s association clears her throat to start the meeting, shushing her grumbling husband. The collection of husbands sat at the back with their beers, arms crossed, giggling like schoolgirls at their comrade’s chiding. Normally Robert sat with them, but felt bold and came to sit near you on the sectional, one large decorative pillow acting as a barrier.

As expected, the meeting is trivially boring. While he tries to focus on repair costs and chimney safety, all he can think about is your hand only inches away. If he only shifted a few inches - only a few, it would be subtle - he could run the tips of his fingers along the back of your soft hands, intertwining your fingers and rubbing his thumb soothingly along your wrist. And if he was that close, he might as well dip his face into the crook of your neck, where the scent of your perfume was strongest and most delicious. While he was there, it would be so easy to press a k-

“Anyone have any questions about this?” He’s abruptly distracted from his daydream by several neighbors raising their hand, disgruntled by potential disruptions to their homes.

You catch his eye, eyebrows raised, curious on his thoughts about filter replacement. Or if he's as bored as you are. But he simply gives you a dazed, shy smile, his eyes lingering just a second too long on your lips.

The meeting adjourns - thank god - and neighbors create their cliques to download. It feels safe to start your own conversation (the first the two of you have spoken since you pressed a kiss to his cheek) and you turn to him eagerly. Just as you’re about to compliment his selection of cheese, a manicured hand reaches past you and touches Robert’s bicep.

Mrs. Jacobs and company have returned. “Lieutenant, before I head out I wanted to thank you again for taking care of my lawn last week. Such a big help.”

The tips of his ears blush pink, the tone of his neighbor’s voice a tad too suggestive for a simple chore. Mr. Jacobs was nearing his sixties and spent most of these meetings complaining about an old sports injury. It seemed the least the young WSO could do was offer landscaping help after all that rain last week. His mower was already out and he’d mown the Jacobs’ lawn without a second thought. 

It had helped you had been outside planting bulbs. He liked the eye candy in your slightly too tight jeans.

The women continue to praise him and his generous ways. His cheeks on fire as Mrs. Connelly gushed about how great it was to have a big, strong Navy man in the neighborhood. As much as he wants to look at you, the embarrassment flooding his system has his eyes glued to the hardwood.

“You know,” Mrs. Branaugh began, exchanging an excited glance with her friends, “the city hall fundraiser next month is a little short on volunteers for our auction. Any chance any other lieutenants would be available?” Her eyes shamelessly rake down his chest, practically salivating at the idea of fighter pilots parading around in suits. 

You feel the licks of jealousy itch at your palms. 

He sputters out words, unsure if they’re agreement or excuses. Robert’s suffocating on his embarrassment. Mrs. Connelly and Mrs. Jacobs delight in his blush. The latter gushes, “I’d be happy to pay any of them to mow my lawn this summer.” She turns to her friends and winks. “Shirtless, of course!”

You nearly spit out your drink. The host of the evening looks moments from passing out. Your middle aged neighbors are cackling, lost in their tipsy fantasies. It’s time for everyone to go home.

Thankfully most of the men are ready to leave the gossip fest and return to their abodes. Gathering up their wives and thanking Lt. Floyd for his hospitality, the neighborhood departs the tidy bungalow, calls of, “Come over for dinner sometime!” thrown over their shoulders.

Amongst those leaving is you, slipping on your winter jacket and adjusting a thick scarf for the short walk. Barely recovered from his neighbors’ lascivious comments, he’s sad to see you go. Wishes you would straggle behind and pretend to help clean up, only to ignore the dishes and catch up in the biblical way. He can practically feel your soft skin in his hands. But you give him that sweet smile of yours and follow Mr. Sampson out the door, the promise of another time.

He’s never hosting these meetings again.

After much coaxing from her husband, the last of his neighbors finally leave and he’s alone in his bungalow again. Finally. The cheerful oxford blue walls, the hand-me-down dining chairs, the framed photo of his squadron above the mantle. Being permanently stationed has its perks.

He makes quick work of cleaning, bringing the remnants of his makeshift cheeseboard to the kitchen before wiping down the dining table and straightening the couch cushions. The multitude of empty wine bottles are taken out to the recycling before turning off the porch light, ready to retire for the night. He’s getting a glass of water when a sound pricks his ear.

The faintest knock. So quiet he would miss it had he been anywhere else in the house. Instantly on the defense, tall, broad frame coming to its full height, he’s prepared for the worst as he approaches the back door that leads to his small yard. 

Another timid knock. 

The biggest, warmest smile takes over his face as he opens the door and sees his visitor. There you stand, cheeks pink with cold and your lip trapped between your teeth. You sneak. 

Robert quickly invites you inside, enveloping you with his warm body once you’ve toed off your boots. The hug has tension escaping every muscle, finally back in each other’s arms as it should be. The secrecy, while necessary, is the worst.

“Did you forget something?” His deep voice mumbles into your hair. You push back to look at his face, but his hands are steadfast on your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you. In the month of shared kisses and lighthearted flirting, he’s never had you alone in his house.

Resigned to resting your cheek against his shoulder, you reply, “Didn’t want anyone suspicious if I stayed behind.”

“Ah, so you did the ol’ double back?" You nod. "And you’re sure no one saw you?” His mischievous smile shows he’s all jokes, but in the back of his mind he’s curious if any of his neighbors saw you in the minute gap between your backyards. The same trek he’s been making for weeks after all the lights on the street are out.

You shake your head against his soft crewneck. It’s been three days since you’ve felt his warmth and you’re melting. The faint smell of sage and citrus - and a tinge of jet fuel - flooding your senses and you’re so glad you risked sneaking over. 

Watching him host the HOA meeting with his little refreshment table? So hot. 

While you both want to sit down over a cup of cocoa and catch up on how silly your neighbors are, something else is on your minds. It’s been lying dormant for weeks now, awaiting the moment to rear its head. And in the dim lighting of Robert’s house, on a quiet winter Friday night, the moment is just right.

The first kiss is intended to be innocent, lightly brushing his lips against yours to remind you of his affection. Enjoying the plush softness of your glossy lips. But when the softest of moans leaves you, desperation hits.

He needs you.

The two of you have been playing it safe - you are neighbors after all - but as mere mortals there are needs to be met. The softness of your skin. The broadness of his shoulders. The tension that has been building and building since he watched you dunk that tea bag and knew it was now or never.

You tear away from his face, as painful as it is, to rasp against his jaw. “Robert, your house is so nice. Can you show me your bedroom?”

Squeals of delight bounce off the hallway walls as he all but drags you to the other side of the house. His fingertips dig into your hips, a little too eager, his glasses slipping down his nose as he steals kisses. As he showers you in affection, you appreciate his home out of the corner of your eye. The small collection of black-and-white snapshots from different naval bases he’s worked on. A pencil holder that looks handmade. Your heart lurches for this man whose heart is too big for this bungalow.

Feet slow at a doorway, his hands steadying you against the frame. As you look up into his sky blue eyes, nerves shoot down both your spines. The delicious thought pops into your head that you’re finally going to see him naked and you feel lightheaded.

He can’t let himself think about your body or he will pass out.

His bedroom fits him. Lamps cast a cheery glow onto the mahogany dresser where he keeps a majority of the US Navy paraphernalia he’s been collecting since he was a child - little figurines and framed airshow stills. A large wingback chair sits cozily in the corner, laden with a flannel he had debated wearing; you’re glad he stuck with the buttery soft crewneck you can’t help running your palms over. And the main event, against the far wall, looking as inviting and luxurious as anything, is Robert’s king size bed. He prides himself on the curved wood headboard he spent a summer working on.

Tentatively, he takes your hand and invites you over the threshold. Your eyes rake over everything to find any red flags (none found - it’s okay he has a lot of plane figurines and not a lot of houseplants - he’s gone half the year, those plants are gonna die) before you let your fingers brush over the blue gray of his heavy plush comforter. Similar to his living room walls.

“You must like blue.”

Cerulean eyes sparkle. His fingers tangle in the cobalt cashmere of your sweater. “I really like blue.”

This time, your lips brush his. The softest sweep before letting yourself lean into him, greedily running your tongue across his thin lips, begging for entrance. His cheeks the softest mauve as he opens his mouth to groan his pleasure. Despite your new surroundings, it feels like home when your tiny pink tongue finds itself nestled against his.

A bolt of heat travels down your spine and your hands fist in his crewneck, torn between enjoying the soft fabric and wanting it off. While your hands are desperate and needy, running up and down his torso in indecision, he’s so soft and gentle with you. Fingers tracing the delicate slope of your jaw, a warm hand on your hip teasing the skin above your skirt. Sweet noises blown directly into your mouth as he savors your taste.

The past month has built this up. That year of tension? Absolutely nothing compared to the burning heat across your skin every time you see him now. You know how he tastes, how he smells, how he whines when you lick the spot behind his ear. The itch consuming your body needs to be scratched, needs to be tamed. You need him.

He seems to be on the same wavelength as you feel his hands lead your hips toward the bed, legs awkwardly backing up until they hit crisp bedding. The man keeps a tidy bed. You’re hopelessly more attracted to him.

Tenderly Robert lowers the two of you to the bed, your back relaxing against the blanket as your hair frames your face. The tips of his fingers trace your cheek as he appreciates how beautiful you are. Embarrassed by the attention, you pout until he brings his lips to yours again, loving the way his entire body encloses around you, keeping you safe.

Your legs have a mind of their own as they wrap around his hips, arms sliding down his torso. His cheeks heating as he catches onto you, his own hips rolling into yours. The low noises escaping your throat as he grinds against your bare thigh, turning him on even more. Your chest pressed against his, the swell of your breasts as your back arches - it’s heaven. If it weren’t for your grounding presence stroking a hand through his hair he would think Phoenix crashed the jet that afternoon.

Finally too impatient to wait any longer, you tug on the hem of Robert’s crewneck, silently begging for it to go. He sits up - awkward to do when his pelvis is glued against yours - and pinches the neck of it, shrugging it off his solid frame. Knocks his glasses askew a bit. When he turns back to you, white hot desire slaps you in the face. This six foot pilot, shirtless, with smoldering blue eyes behind fogged glasses and mussed hair? There are no words.

Who would have thought peppermint tea would lead to all this?

You lose yourself in his kisses again, running your hands along the smooth expanse of skin now available. Your hips desperately rutting against his for more friction, a pool of arousal settles in your underwear with how fucking good he looks covered in your affection. Your lips find his neck and suck, the sounds emitting from him indecent. His hands settle at the hem of your skirt, brushing the skin of your thighs as he worries the fabric, contemplating his next move.

“Please.” It’s quiet, but your plea nearly echos in the room. His eyes meet yours. “Please touch me.”

There’s no going back anymore. Reluctantly pulling away from your body, he lowers himself to his shins, large hands smoothing over your thighs. As he rubs soft circles into your muscles, the hem of your skirt shifts higher. His heart thuds at the sight of your gorgeous, soft thighs, completely on display for him. Tentatively he presses a kiss to your inner knee. When you don’t shy away, he pecks another slightly higher. His nose skims the thin skin and you whimper. It’s music to his ears.

Your skirt is nearly around your waist, delicate panties in view. Robert’s heart violently slams in his chest and his erection throbs, begging to be freed from his jeans. He can’t help but focus on the spot that conceals your center, your arousal wet and dark. 

His lips kiss your inner thigh again, just inches from where you desperately want to feel them. “May I?”

You’re frantically nodding, your fingers crashing into his as you work in tandem to get the offending little piece of lace off. As they come down, his kisses trail up, teasing the skin to elicit tiny whimpers. Hot breath skims your pelvis and it’s torture. He delicately places your knees on his broad shoulders, warm skin on warm skin.

Propping yourself up on one elbow, desperate to see his face, his pretty blue eyes smile at you as he finally, finally licks one broad stripe up your folds.

Your brain effectively short circuits.

Like a broken dam, once he’s had a taste there is no going back. Hot, thick swipes over your wetness, desperate to soak up your sweet arousal. Unintentionally his nose crashes into your clit, his messy tongue work bringing him deeper and deeper within you. Above him, you’re singing his praises, mouth open wantonly. “Right there! Right there!”

The hours he’s spent wondering what you taste like, if you’re even sweeter than your kisses, have paid off. He’s addicted. Wrapping his arms around your gorgeous thighs, obscene sounds squelching from his lewd tongue, he brings a thumb to your clit to draw deliciously tight circles. The way your back arches has him panting. 

It’s hard to tell whether it’s the tingle in your toes or the fiery knot in your stomach that grows faster. The way his tongue flicks over that ring of muscle has your head spinning. His lips capture a fold and suck, moaning at how sweet you are for him. 

“Taste so good, baby. Knew you would, my sweet girl.”

Your head falls back when a finger prods at your opening, slipping through your silky wetness. If his tongue was good, his fingers are a gift. A thick digit that reaches deep, finding that spongey spot that makes your stomach curl. It works its way back and forth, bringing moans to your lips and entrancing him as he watches you take him so easily. He can barely help himself when he slips in a second, salivating over how effortlessly you stretch for him.

“That’s my girl, so good.”

Two fingers deep and a hot mouth on your clit, the world is careening around you. All sense of direction lost, too hot in your sweater, hips desperately following his lips and fingers. Your hand shoves in his hair, holding him there because it feels so good. He thrusts deeper, stretching his fingers within your tight walls. The pressure against your cervix and clit make your head pound. And then suddenly…

“R-Rob-by!” You wail into the bedroom, voice lost amongst the hot air and salacious sounds coming from between your legs. Thighs tightening around his cheeks, knees buckling as you bring your legs to your torso, curling into yourself as your orgasm blindsides you. Your brain dizzy with pleasure and relief as he keeps working his tongue within you, one hand stroking your stomach soothingly as the other disappears over the edge of the bed.

Time disappears as you lazily ride his tongue until the oversensitivity kicks in. As your hips squirm away, he presses one last kiss to your clit before dragging himself up to stand. Despite only having two brain cells left after your orgasm, you’re instantly wet again watching how he grinds his palm against the thick bulge in his jeans. 

“That feel good?” Your eyes droop happily as you nod, a little sheepish. “You are so gorgeous, so good for me. I’m a lucky man.”

As you sit up on boneless limbs, he swoops down to press a kiss on your sweet lips. The tangy linger of your taste coats his mouth. By itself it’s sexy, but then you see the wet smudges and fog of his glasses, askew on his nose from where he pressed so hard into your cunt, and a deep groan escapes as you attach yourself to him again.

Reaching down, your fingers are desperately working the button of his jeans - the need to feel every part of him against you so dire - but he’s stilling your hands, kissing along your neck. A little flushed at how close he is to cumming at the thought of your hands on him.

His lips brush your ear. “Want to enjoy your mouth any other time, but I really need to be inside you. Please.”

You’re both openly moaning out your insatiable hunger as you fall back and scoot toward the pillows, sitting up on your knees to unzip your skirt and discard it and your sweater. His hand dips beneath his jeans as he soaks up your skin, the way your bra just barely covers your nipples. He makes no show of pushing down his jeans, pulling them from around his ankles along with his socks. His mind is carnally focused on getting you completely naked as he tugs the front of his boxer briefs down to relieve the pressure on his cock.

The two fingers suddenly make sense. Robert is a big guy - not quite as big as the rest of his squadron, but naturally takes up space with his broad shoulders and large hands - and you feel silly for not connecting the dots. His cock is thick, veiny and red tipped, balls bulging with cum. You gulp down a thick breath knowing he’s about to cram every inch of it into you. This is what you’ve been waiting for.

Since the moment Robert stood on your stoop and introduced himself, the magnet between you has fought harder and harder to bring you together. Pulling by invisible strings, bidding their time, until they finally snapped and you gave into your desires, hands rushing all over while taking time to learn the curve of each other’s bodies. Finding the freckles on his shoulders. Exploring the dip of your back. And as you lay beneath your next door neighbor, breaths heavy and nervous and excited, you allow the magnets to snap together fully as he slowly thrusts his hips until they mesh into yours.

He’s deliciously thick, stretching every part of you as he pants heavily into your neck. Kisses sooth your skin while your nails mark his. In the low light of the room, he gazes at you, so enamored with the way you look taking him. The obscene wet sounds of his hips meeting yours, slow and steady so he can savor the way you squeeze him. Your whimpered noises spurring him on.

You bring a hand to his cheek, using every ounce of will to focus on his sweet face. “This is…this is even better than I imagined.”

He couldn’t agree more. Paired with the dreamily debauched smile on your face, his hips piston faster, arms squeezing tighter as you moan wildly. Bodies vibrating with pleasure, your legs wrap around his thighs for the leverage to meet his thrusts. He grunts as hands tangle in his hair, pulling lightly. The eye contact is intense, unable to look away as you both feel the build up. God, his eyes are the perfect shade of blue.

Your fingers slip to your clit, ready to propel you to the finish, when his thumb knocks you away. His circles are tight and rough as he gazes at you with desire-dark eyes. “It’s okay, let me help you.”

Your kind and overly helpful neighbor. Who lends you his lawn mower and hangs up Christmas lights. Who always compliments your coffee. Who times his thrust with a harsh push to your clit and has you immediately careening off the cliff, seeing bursts of light as your second orgasm of the night envelopes you.

His mouth attaches to yours, tongue lapping up your taste, as you moan through your aftershocks. His cock is still deep, stroking that spongey wall as he works you through and chases his own pleasure. You’re still so tight around him and he’s ready to cum. Making sure his lips don’t leave yours, he draws back and thrusts deeply, watching the way your body surges with his strength. Once, twice, and your eyes roll back as he lets go, filling you with his spend so you have everything he can give.

A streetlamp flicks on through the window. You’re only just catching your breath when Robert slips from the bed. A tap turns, there’s some rustling, and he returns with a soft cloth to help you clean up. Too tired to speak, the two of you just exchange sweet smiles as he once again comes to your aid.

The bed dips and he’s back against your body, cocooned in his dreamy coverlet, clean-shaven face pressing kisses against yours. His cheeks the lightest pink as he lowly whispers, “Hi.”

You can’t help the wide grin that overtakes your features. “Hi.”

No other words are needed to express the satiated happiness bursting through your hearts and every pore. His arms wrap around your bare shoulders tighter. A full year of pining for you, of making any excuse to help out to be in your presence…so worth it for the way his whole body feels whole when you’re around.

Sleepy eyes flutter up at him, trying so hard to stay awake and enjoy this time together. He presses a kiss to your temple, letting his lips linger on the light layer of sweat his deep thrusts caused. If only his squadron could see him now, his sweet little neighbor half-asleep after a night with him.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he mutters into your hairline as he pulls the blanket around your shoulders. You barely hear him as you begin to dream about a sandy-haired man who brought you the sun, the moon, and the stars.

When the first streams of morning light begin pouring in - because someone was a little too busy doing the deed to close the curtain - two sets of eyes pop open. You’re facing each other, foreheads rested upon the same pillow, eyes half-slits as you adjust to the light. Robert radiates heat, and you curl even closer into him. His lips turn in a satisfied smile as you burrow into his chest.

As the sun rises higher in the sky, the two of you continue chatting in low voices. Legs tangled under the sheets, Robert’s head propped up as he listens to your story about accidentally setting your old kitchen on fire trying to make pancakes. His deep laugh crinkles his eyes, pausing to press the lightest kiss to the corner of your pouting mouth. 

You’re just starting to lean into the kisses - hard not to when he looks so kissable - when a grumbly gurgle sounds out from below the covers. Both of your eyes shoot toward your abdomen, a hungry monster in the midst.

“You hungry?” His eyes are so impossibly sweet. You nod slightly, embarrassed at your crass stomach. But he’s already giving you a kind smile and helping you out of the bed, finding a pair of sweatpants and a weathered soft hoodie to keep you warm. 

In plaid pajama pants, your neighbor guides you to his kitchen, with the cheery maple cabinets and old-fashioned diner clock, and settles you onto the bench seat in the breakfast nook. “Coffee? Tea…peppermint tea?”

It should actually be illegal how good he looks when he winks at you with that little smirk shirtless. 

“Coffee is fine,” you reply, your cheeks hot. He busies himself with coffee and contemplates what he has to constitute for breakfast, and you busy yourself with the day before’s paper. He’s started the sudoku, but abandoned it when his sister called. 

Vaguely familiar with the puzzle game, you look at the little scribbled numbers in the boxes to see where he’s left off. Either the mind-blowing sex or lack of caffeine has gotten to you, because you haven’t a clue where to start from.

A steaming mug is placed before you before an arm wraps around your shoulders, looking over your progress. “Yeah, I was stumped too.”

He walks you through his thought process, thick, long fingers tracing over the paper as he points out what should fill out each box. Your eyes stray to him over and over, enjoying how passionate he is about his daily activity. Watching him blush and tilt your head back to the puzzle every time he notices you staring.

You’ve finally gotten a few boxes sorted out when you remember your coffee. Placing a thankful kiss to his cheek, you take a small sip. 

“I don’t know how to say this nicely, but this is the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had in my life.”

Your expression is neutral, trying to keep the disgusted look off your face (unsuccessfully) and he bursts out laughing. Pushing the mug as far as possible from you, missing the delicious imported coffee in your own kitchen, you gladly accept the kiss he presses to your cheek as an apology for the worst thing you have ever consumed.

“How about you are in charge of drinks from now on and I’ll be in charge of food?” 

You eye him wearily. “If that’s how you make coffee, I’m scared to see what your cooking skills are like.”

He promises you that his mom requests his lasagna recipe every time he’s back home, and that he’s fairly capable of putting pre-made things in the oven. Good enough for you. Leaning in and molding your mouth to his, the two of you share enough kisses that his bad coffee grows cold.

Turning your attention back to the sudoku puzzle, eager to finish, Robert tightens his grip on your waist. Appreciates the way you look in his clothes after spending the night in his bed. The excited look in your eyes as you solve another box. God, you look so good in his life.

He muses privately that you should just sell your house. He has no plans to ever let you go.

taglist: @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @creatchie8 @hangmanapologist @just-in-case-iloveyou @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @rhettsluvr @roosterforme @topherwrites @yuckosworld

join the taglist here

[marzipanandminutiae]

Another Logic Exercise With Marzi

Claim: during the 19th century, homeowners built in "disappointments rooms" in which to chain up/hide disabled or mentally ill children (or modified existing rooms into such), with special features like metal floors with grates or doors that locked from the outside only

Discussion questions:

Most builders were hired locally back then. Do you think that entire crews of builders constructing or renovating these rooms could have been trusted to keep quiet about their existence?

The original "disappointments room" that went viral online was in the 1857 home of Laurie Dumas, in West Warwick, Rhode Island. It featured a metal floor. Would a child trapped in a room with a metal floor make or less obvious noise than one in a room without? What does this mean for the effectiveness of such a room as a hiding-prison?

Above, but with the fact that the room has exterior windows on the front of the house.

The girl they assumed was locked in there- Ruth Carpenter, who died in 1900 at age 5; no known evidence of disability or mental illness -has a very public grave and was therefore known in the community. Is it likely that a child that people wanted to hide away would be publicly acknowledged?

Laurie Dumas was told about "disappointments rooms" by a random lady at the public library. Is that a reliable source?

Would building a purpose-made room to lock someone away be more or less cost-effective and private than just confining them to an existing room in the house or institutionalizing them?

Is there any other sort of use for an attic room that IS attested at the time? Like, say, a nursery, staff bedroom, storage room (coal or otherwise), etc? Could a given alleged disappointments room be explained by one of those known, documented room types?

And once again: am I believing this because it sounds like a horror movie- there literally is a horror movie about this concept, in fact -and I want to believe it even though it falls apart when one applies logic?

[skysometric]

there's no place to call home on the fediverse

i've been using Mastodon since long before the implosion of Twitter brought it into the mainstream conscious. i'm a fan of the tech, in theory. i have my hangups, like the fact that switching servers means you lose all of your post history, or the many instances that still play social politics with each other. some of these problems are being worked on, others i've (usually) been able to work around.

but something else is festering lately, and it's more than just the usual social politics.

the promise of the fediverse is alluring: you can follow all of your friends on any other site, from the comfort of your home server! except, lately, that seems to be impossible. no matter what i try, there's always friends of mine that i cannot follow for one reason or another.

for example: i'm not a big fan of Meta's new Threads, but i know a few friends who use it exclusively – and the promise of interoperability with Mastodon means that, in theory, i could just follow my friends from my Mastodon account. win-win, right?

well, no, because my instance has outright blocked Threads. and so have most of the smaller instances i've seen. this is purposeful, because they are (understandably) distrustful of Meta and anything Meta touches.

no matter how much i sympathize, though, it does mean that i cannot follow my friends on Threads from Mastodon.

i mean, hey, i could switch back to the flagship instance mastodon.social! they've openly allowed access to Threads! but there's a problem with that too, because a lot of the smaller instances (that my friends are on) also block mastodon.social.

as to why, many of them cite the waves of spam and bots that harass other users on a daily basis – that kind of thing is hard to moderate on both ends, so i vaguely understand the intent behind this decision. (i do not understand most of the other reasons for blocking the largest instance on the fediverse and alienating folks from their friends, such as disliking its owner. but whatever.)

long story short, right now i am denied access to many of my friends – and if i switch servers, losing all of my post history in the process... i will still be denied access to many of my friends.

"so run your own server!"

okay, let's pretend that i have the spare resources to spin up a server, and the desire to be a sysadmin for that server. like let's just set aside the tech cost that most people cannot afford, just for one second, because there's a more glaring issue here:

i'd still get blocked from many of my friends.

know why?

because many servers AUTOMATICALLY BLOCK small instances with only one user, citing security concerns and data scraping!!

there is literally no right answer here. no matter what i do, i will not be able to follow all of my friends on Mastodon. it is an impossible problem.

many folks like to call Mastodon the Linux of social media and say that the reason it hasn't caught on is that it's too complicated to understand. but even as a techie who understands exactly what's going on, i find Mastodon an impossible to parse social graph of blocked instances and inter-server drama. as things stand, there is no person who can join a server and follow all of their friends – there will always be compromises.

all i want is to find a home on the fediverse... but every house is part of a homeowner's association that wants to secede from the city.

[heavensickness]

Some thoughts about the LIs & their living conditions:

Kuras: Only homeowner with an actual, permanent space to live in. I think he would have a living space connected to his clinic, maybe upstairs? He probably doesn't need to eat but he has to afford other important things such as medical supplies, clothes etc. but being the angel he (literally) is, he doesn't charge his patients. So how he makes a living? 1) We know that he does some "work" with Leander, so he maybe gets Leander to acquire medical supplies for him. 2) Scamming the Senobium people. I love that chaotic man

Mhin: Only one who has a profession that they actually make a living out of. They get their paychecks & leave. Attracted to men, women and the bag. Call them biflexual. They probably stay at inns without a permanent place to go. Maybe Leander also helped and offered them a room at the Wick when they first arrived Eridia, but they left the moment they got some coins. Can you imagine staying in a room every night listening to bar brawling & Leander getting head from someone random. I would go insane

Leander: I have thousands of different theories about this man, I can't count them all here. Only thing I am sure about is that he is living in the Wick, aka occupying a room there for an indefinite time being. How does he make a living? W̵̫̣̻̲͂̍̈́̀̂̀̏o̷̜̗̣̳͚̘̓̇̐̄̏u̷̺͕̘̬̭̰͑̀̑̓̃͊̋͘͘l̵̦̫͗͐̊̔̅̾̕͘͝͠͠d̷̳̦̩̫͙̱͉͓̜̱̞̝̬̐̓ͅņ̶̛̫͕̦̯͎͓͍̠̝̼̼͊͠'̶̯̹͍̹̳͈̬͕̔̀͛ţ̵͙̖̳̳̗̠̪̭̹̑̿͊̏̈͛͠͝͠ ̷͎͔͕͎͍̱͖̞̲̣͍̊̋̉́̔̔̄̈́̅͊̂͝y̵͖͚̣͎̳̓͂̈̾̿͋̎̾͊́͘̕͘ờ̶̝͍̰̤͎͓̼͕̏̀̅̽̓̀̇̉̅̈́͋̄ͅu̴̯̳̾ ̵̼̣̙̐̓̄̊̈́̄͌̒̇̓̽͌̇̊l̵̨͇̬͉̳̓ͅi̷��̬͈̜͉̳̯̻̲͋͑̉̈́ķ̴͍̪̲̝͎͓͗è̸͕̹͕̹̙̹͓ ̷̛͙̳͙̭̙̋̎̌ͅt̸̖̫̫̪̜̲̤̹̫̤͎̲̄͆͂̋́̈͑͑͂̃̄̔̀͜o̶͖̯̱̙̗͎̘̬͚̩̯̜̲͋́̃̎̈́́̄̌͑̈́͊̕̚͠͝ ̷̛͔͕̣̗̟͕̦̺̬̪̙͔̊̈́̓̿̐͐͠͝k̶̠̘̗̘̜̻̝̓̈̈́̐̈́̒̀̿̒̿͘̚n̷̛̳̜̭͔̦͎͖̠̥̯̳̈̈́͂͛͌̄́́͌́̈́̂̚ͅo̴̢̡̝̼͓̓̈̈́̍͒̿̽̂͋̈́̀́̑͋̕ẅ̷̤͕͇̳̰͔̬̲̒́̇̈́̌̒͐̕͠͠?̷͓͉͓͋̿͆̓̆̋́̕͝

Ais: This man is just squatting at the Seaspring temple. He said finders keepers. He can avoid paying taxes though, so good for him. His interior includes 2 pillows (one chewed off by a Soulless and is covered in saliva), 2 blankets, a kettle, and a ridiculously classy teacup set. Who knows where he got it from. You know the sight when you would go to a guy's bachelor house while in university? That's the picture. This is why Vere never goes over to his place, because he can't stand the smell of BROKE (and wet dog fur). Where does he get money? Uhhh robbing the people he beat the shit out of? Let me know if you have any other solid theory on this topic bc this man isn't making any coins.

Vere: Ahh yes, my favorite classy bitch. His outfit costs more than your annual income. He hangs out in the Hightown, goes to operas, knows everything about expensive wine and champagne, and eats wagyu steak for dinner. How does he afford his lifestyle? I like to think that he buys or does anything he wants, and when it is time to pay he just tells people to add it on Senobium's tab. Tf Senobium people are gonna do when they find out? Demand him to pay? When they are making him work like a hunting dog and definitely not paying him shit in return? They literally put this man on a LEASH. I hope Vere buys anything and everything his little heart desires. Second opinion would be a high class, aristocratic sugar mommy/daddy from Hightown. *Bree Runway voice* "Do you know what a girl like me cost?"

[emometalhead]

Okay yeah no I need to talk about the measures in California.

I am extremely disappointed in the results of some of the measures that were on the state ballot.

• Californians voted against raising minimum wage.

California has a high minimum wage in comparison to most other states in the US, but we also have one of the highest costs of living. I am a firm believer that minimum wage needs to keep up with the cost of living, so this measure failing was disappointing. (BTW in case it isn't clear, I also believe the federal minimum wage needs to be raised and all states should have wages that reflect cost of living.)

• Californians voted against rent control.

This measure had an insane amount of money going into advertising against it. If you live in California, I'm sure you were just as plagued by these advertisements as I was in the weeks leading up to the election. This measure would not have hurt the average homebuyer. This measure was intended to enact rent control to limit what landlords and companies can charge tenants.

• Californians voted against bonds for affordable housing.

My complaints for this one are in a similar vein as the one above. This would not have hurt people who are already homeowners. California has the largest population of unhoused people and one of the highest rates of homelessness per capita. The average house in California is worth $773,000. The median house cost is just over $900,000. This is a major problem. We need affordable housing.

• Californians voted against ending slavery within the prison system.

I really don't have words to express my outrage over this one. No person, incarcerated or not, should ever be forced to participate in labor. This is modern day slavery, and Californians voted to keep it legal. This is an abomination. Every person who voted against ending involuntary labor should feel ashamed. This measure didn't even have any opponents. No one put advertising money against it, and it still received over 5 million votes in opposition.

• Californians voted to increase the penalty for drug and theft crimes.

As a result of this measure passing, certain drug and theft crimes which were previously labeled as misdemeanors will be elevated to the status of felonies. Apparently we just need as many people to be in jail as possible to continue fueling the slave labor system. I am a firm believer that the justice system needs to focus more on rehabilitation than punishment, but it is clear that the majority of California voters don't agree with me.

I don't usually talk about politics on my blog, but they are important and I am too frustrated to censor my feelings at this moment.

[doberbutts]

I've been a homeowner for an entire year today!

I hit my six month testosterone milestone last week!

I've had Phoebe for four months and Evander's been in his new home for one and a half!

Next week I'll have been at my vetmed job for an entire year!

Last year at this time I had no idea what the future would bring. I had my keys in hand and when I walked across the threshold into my new life I was going in blind. This year I am so happy and content with where my life is. Sometimes it's difficult, money is a major factor because I'm the only person to afford things vs sharing the cost with roommates. But I make it work, and I carve out my little slice of happiness here.

[helenofsimblr]

Cat: And what will you do with her? IF you catch her?

Tynas: Agent Sterling, would you go out and coordinate with the Van Richtens and ensure they are taking proper precautions. It’s costing the Agency some considerable money to have them involved. Then speak to “Sally” is it? The homeowner, and ask the usual questions, make sure what she knows.

Kierston: Right.

****

Kierston leaves and shuts the door leaving Cat and Tynas. 

Tynas: Well Ms Brand, in answer to your question, we won't catch her. It simply won't be possible. The resources to bring down a super soldier are considerable. And given what Apex did recently, funds are tight, and all that…

Cat *sighs*: Then why come here and make formalities and assure me that your group will handle it?

Tynas: Because I am here handling it. You have the Van Richten Group outside, and you have my expert advice.

Cat: What? The kids outside? How are a bunch of children supposed to stop that which you cannot with a whole army?

****

Tynas: They’re all 18 or 19, and they're not, they are more of a placebo for you really. The truth is, far as I am concerned, you and Kali are opposite ends of the same snake. I'm not sure which one of you has the fangs though. Kali, is your problem. And believe me when I say, I expect you to fix it.

Cat: I'm not going back to her just to appease her. She's a psychotic freak that your military operations made happen by letting YOUR formulas leak. This is not my fault.

Tynas: I'm not asking you to go back to her, let me be honest here... what happened was a disgrace on all fronts, I know you've got this weak, pity for poor little me thing going on right now, but one day you're gonna need to deal with your ex. She will have to be stopped, and I'm laying that task firmly at your feet. You sent her crazy, you caused her to cooperate in an illegal experiment and when we find Eichler, I will have some harsh questions for him too. But right now, you better start preparing yourself because at some point you are going to have to step up and do your part. You think I'm talking harsh, you think I'm hurting feelings? You ain't seen nothing yet, I know what Kali is capable of and trust me... the darker days have not started! She has not yet begun to fight! And you are nowhere near ready.

[jazzhandsmcleg]

I don't know how to ask this without sounding rude but..... You were super rude first. Why were you soliciting somewhere that had a no soliciting sign? Like, why did you think that was going to work out for you?

The homeowner was not in the wrong to point out that you were quite rudely doing something they specifically have a sign against lolol

hi anon! thanks for stopping by my inbox, and for coincidentally solidifying my resolve to address this issue at some length. for now you get the cliff notes version. bear in mind that this info a) is American, b) varies by state, and c) sometimes even varies by county or city, so the specifics may not apply to where you live. but this is what's going on where I am, and I think the bit at the end applies generally anyhow.

also all mentions of "you" are general. I'm not irritated at you specifically, anon.

signs that simply read "NO SOLICITING." this only applies to people representing businesses: people who want to install windows or solar panels, do your yard work, stuff like that. charities, religious groups, and political canvassers are exempt. notably, I am canvassing for a 501(c)(3) charity. additionally, I have only been doing this for a week and a half and have already gotten numerous positive responses from houses with "no soliciting" signs up once they know I'm not selling anything. finally, and crucially, presence of a "no soliciting" sign is not considered an excuse to not do my job, i.e. my employer tells me I still have to knock. we'll come back to that point.

more complicated signs, like this one.

this one will probably deter most people, out of common decency, but still not all. why not? because it's still not illegal for charities, etc. to come knocking. even within charitable organizations, etc., different people may have different personal rules on how to approach houses with signs like these, and they will pass those rules on to the people they train.

(side note: really not sure what "no menus" means.)

3. "NO TRESPASSING" signs. this is a bit of a complicated one, because their placement can have repercussions. sign on a gate? don't come down the driveway, or up the walk (depending on which gate). sign in a window? don't set foot in the house. sign on a fence? don't set foot in the yard; depending on the placement of the sign, the driveway may still be okay. the real hard line is if the person lives there verbally notifies the canvasser of "no trespassing" rules and requests that they leave. ignoring that is very illegal. but for the purpose of this post, this is beside the point.

--

so my first point is that, if the canvassers in your neighborhood are more well-versed in signage and local laws than you are (which they may very well be; it is our job, after all), you as a resident/homeowner will have a problem of miscommunication on your hands. this is your problem, unfortunately. canvassers have no way of determining in advance who means what and how seriously. we have to go by gut instinct and the textbook definitions of what is presented to us, i.e. the law. if you don't like it...regrettably, the only thing to be done is to try to change the law. (or complain to my employer, but I would be surprised if that had any effect, tbh.)

my second point is that there are much better ways to deal with someone ignoring a "no soliciting" sign -- even a more complicated iteration -- than coming out swinging. mainly, JUST DON'T ANSWER THE DOOR. it costs you nothing, it saves you and me time, and prevents the situation from getting fraught.

because here's the thing: I'm just doing my job. you may not like it and that's fair, especially because I don't much like it either. but I am being paid to knock on your door and try to engage you in conversation if you answer, and so that's what I will do.

I don't mind if you close the door in my face; it's a valid way to get rid of canvassers and I don't take it personally, though I am instructed to continue to talk until I literally hear the click of a latch or until I hear three hard "no"s (again, that's my job). I don't mind when people don't answer their doors. I've done my due diligence by knocking, after all, and I totally understand why people don't want to talk to me.

but door-to-door canvassers are, at the end of the day, salespeople. ambulatory customer service workers. we are people, not rodents or cockroaches, and we do not deserve your hostility just for doing our jobs. predatory canvassers absolutely exist, and if you smell something fishy by all means close your door in their face or ask for their organization's contact details and report them. but if you decide to take time out of your day to be a petty jerk to a visibly hot, sweaty, and tired (because let's not kid ourselves about the nature of this work) person speaking politely to you at your door because they happened to know what your "no soliciting" sign means better than you do (even if you're not aware of that fact, or if your jurisdiction's laws are a bit different!)...that's a note against your character, not mine.

[vamuelle]

If you want to be a home owner please look into local assistance for first time home buyers.

In the US there are special loans for first time home buyers as well as assistance if you want to live in a rural area ( FHA and USDA loans). Special loans are more flexible with minimum down payment and credit score minimums as well as don't have some requirements that Conventional Loans have.

Ie one thing that helped us is Conventional loans require you to work full time consistently in the same field for 2 years. FHA only requires 6 months of employment and a letter explaining your history and to have an income that can afford the loan. I didn't have the work history needed for a Convention Loan.

The Loans, Grants, and Assistance vary state to state and you may have other options if you live in a major city. (Our second grant was only for our area.)

There also may be government backed housing assistance agencies which will help you with going through the process for free or a low payment (our state requires you to do some education with them for the FHA loan, and it was free).

My partner and I recently bought a house with a FHA Loan/Grant and a First Homeowners Grant from our lender (which has the qualifications of being a low income area, low income, as well as first homeowners). We were able to forgo any down payment or closing costs and will be paying less monthly costs then the rentals we were considering month to month.

We still had to pay some things. We paid for inspection, appraisal, insurance upfront, refundable deposit and 1000 dollars at closing.

FHA loans also have the added cost of loan insurance for month to month costs, but overall is still cheaper then renting so 🤷 I am not complaining.

Another thing to expect as a lower income buyer is you likely will only be able to afford fixer uppers so expect to have a lot of initial repair costs as well as maintaining your home over time. There is assistance for those things as well but be careful of loan scams when looking for those.

If you do consider going this route, make sure to be thorough with inspections and negotiate with what you find. It is a lot of upfront costs for something you may not go with, but can save you thousands in the long run. We needed to change out knob and tube in our house and since we found it in the inspection we were able to negotiate 12k from the sellers to fix it rather than paying that out of our pockets later. We also saved over a thousand by getting them to service the neglected HVAC. You're not likely to get a seller to fix everything, but you can save a lot with negotiating.

More homeowners can stabilize communities and help rent to not skyrocket uncontrollably. Especially if the homeowners arent nimbys who only care about their property values and instead actually care about their renting neighbors. Homeowners also have more power in your local politics, so taking advantage of these programs and getting more power to disadvantaged people and communities is so important.

[alphaman99]

Tomas Estevan it all a damn ruse....

From a California school teacher:

I am in charge of the English-as-a-second-language Department at a large southern California high school which is designated a Title-1 school, meaning that its students average in the lower socioeconomic and income levels.

Title-1 schools are on the free-breakfast and free-lunch program. When I say free breakfast, I'm not talking about a glass of milk and a roll, but a full breakfast and cereal bar with fruits and juices that would make Marriott proud. The waste of this food is monumental, with trays and trays of it being dumped in the trash uneaten. Well over 50% of these students are obese, or at least moderately overweight. About 75% or more have cell phones. The school also provides daycare centers for the unwed teenage pregnant girls, some as young as 13, so they can attend class without the inconvenience of arranging for babysitters or having family watch their kids.

I was ordered to spend $700,000 on my department, or risk losing funding for the upcoming year, even though I had little need for anything. My budget was already substantial, but I ended up buying new computers for the Computer Learning Center, half of which, one month later, were carved with graffiti by the appreciative students, who obviously feel humbled and grateful to have a free education in America. I have had to intervene several times for young substitute teachers, whose classes consist of many illegals here in the country less than 3 months, who raised so much hell with female teachers, calling them putas (whores) and throwing things, that the teachers were in tears.

Free medical care, free education, free food, free day care, free housing, etc. Is it any wonder they feel entitled not only to be in this country, but also to demand more rights, privileges, and entitlements? To those Americans who point out how much these illegal immigrants contribute to our society, because they happen to like their gardener and housekeeper, I say: Spend some time in the real world of illegal immigration and see the true costs to American taxpayers. Higher insurance, medical facilities closing, higher medical costs, more crime, lower standards of education in our schools, overcrowding, new diseases, etc. are the real costs of illegals.

America, we need to wake up. The "guest" worker program will be a disaster, because we won't have the guts to enforce it. Does anyone in their right mind really think illegals will voluntarily leave and return? It does, however, have everything to do with culture: A third-world culture that does not value education, that accepts children getting pregnant and dropping out of school by age 15, and that refuses to assimilate; and an American culture that has become so weak and intimidated by "political correctness," that we don't have the will to protect ourselves.

Cheap labor? Isn't that what the whole illegal immigration issue is really about? Business doesn't want to pay a decent wage; consumers don't want expensive produce. The phrase "cheap labor" is a myth, a farce, and a lie; there is no such thing as cheap labor. An illegal qualifies for Section-8 housing and subsidized rent; he qualifies for food stamps; he qualifies for free (no deductible, no co-pay) health care; his children get free breakfasts and lunches at school, where they get a free education; he requires bilingual teachers and books; he qualifies for relief from energy bills; if he is, or becomes aged, blind, or disabled, he qualifies for social security income; once qualified for SSI, he qualifies for Medicare; he doesn't worry about car insurance, life insurance, or homeowners insurance; taxpayers provide Spanish language signs, bulletins, and printed material; he and each member of his family receive the equivalent of $20.00 to $30.00/hour in benefits, whereas Americans are lucky to have $5.00 or $6.00/hour left after paying their bills and his; American taxpayers also pay for increased crime, graffiti, and trash clean-up.

Cheap labor is such a ruse it is laughable.

---Sarah Jones

[mwcowan]

A Whole New Chapter

In past blogs I’ve written every week or two. Here I am nearly 3 months into this current adventure and I finally sit down to write. I was really planning to give this up but I’ve endured a fair amount of grief from some of my readers, and with a hopefully blog-worthy event coming up (road trip!) Georgia has encouraged me to get back with the program.

Lots of catching up to do! But before I even get to the Philippines, I’ll take you back all the way to our previous trip. One day, as I was paying the bills necessary to maintain a home in the mountains of California, I thought about the monthly costs for electricity, propane, water, sewer, home & auto insurance, property taxes, etc. and wondered why we were paying so dearly for a home we only used half the time, and planned to use even less in the future. Georgia and I thought about it and talked and decided to downsize and relocate our base in the US, and spend most of our time over here – maybe 9-10 months a year.

And between May 2023 and our return here in March, that’s just what we did. We first found a small home on a ¾ acre lot, still under construction, in Fernley, Nevada. This promised much lower expenses than Graeagle, plus Nevada has no state income tax. As one example, our homeowner’s insurance is $328 per year, while we paid more than that every month for the house in Graeagle. Everything else has scaled accordingly, and though we’re not particularly in love with Fernley, it gives us what we need when we’re there, and we feel safe just locking up the house and leaving for 5-6 months at a time.

The new US Headquarters in Fernley

The house in Graeagle was put on the market in September, and in one day we had a buyer, with cash, and the deal was done! We stayed in the house until after Georgia’s son Matt was married (in Graeagle) then began the move to Fernley. By November 15 we were Nevada residents.

Max

Although Max was well taken care of while we were gone, by Georgia’s sister Dignah, we were the ones who suffered, missing him terribly. We decided to bring him with us, and leave him here during our short return trips to the US. Our caretakers love dogs so it should work out well.

I asked my nephew, who flies for a major airline, about the best way to fly a dog overseas. “Easy” he said, “he just needs to get registered as a medical service dog then he gets to fly in the cabin, for free.” Lucky for us, he’d done that for one of his own dogs and knew the ropes. Soon enough, Max was a “trained and certified” service dog, able to alert to Georgia’s condition. And no, ADA laws do not allow you to ask what that condition is.

Doesn't he look handsome on his ID card?

That was indeed the easy part, and only guaranteed Max a comfy seat on the plane. The path started with Max’s vet, who researched the health and vaccination requirements both for import to the Philippines and export from the US. Max got to know his vet well over the next few months but, as attested to by the lengthy USDA export form, he was perfectly healthy. A complete medical and vaccination history was provided to the Philippines Bureau of Animal Imports to receive an import clearance, and various US DOT forms had to be completed.

Thus armed with a large stack of paperwork, and a suitcase full of Wubbas and Chuckit balls, we set off for our flights from Reno to SFO, then SFO to Manila. The gate agent in Reno didn’t want to see any of the papers; she told us that it would be handled at SFO before the international flight. Nope, at SFO we just walked onto the plane and settled into our business class seats. Max had it pretty good for sure!

Surely we’ll have to provide paperwork to get Max through the airport in Manila, right? Well, again, no. Through Immigration, baggage claim, and Customs, Max just trotted along beside us. The whole trip and not once were we asked to provide any documentation. Welcome to the Philippines, Max!

The most amazing thing though, was Max’s bladder control. He used an animal relief area outside the Reno terminal before our first flight, wouldn’t go near the stinky in-terminal relief station in SFO, held it through both flights, then through the terminal in Manila, finally taking a potty break outside the terminal. Super-human!

Kawayan Cove

It was nice to get back to our home, after being back in the states for a very busy 10 months. Nice especially as the caretakers had done a good job maintaining both home and gardens. Ready to move in and relax!

After greeting everyone and making some instant friends, Max spotted the swimming pool. It was a hot day (and he soon found out that every day is hot here!) and in he went. A quick lesson on where the steps were so he can get in & out and now swimming is a daily activity. Usually when one of us is there to throw the Chuckit ball, but we’ve seen him go down by himself and sit on the bench with water up to his chest, just cooling off.

Mabini

Last trip, I wrote about our visit to nearby Mabini/Anilao, a famous dive spot in the Philippines. We noted that the second hotel we stayed in was dog-friendly so for Georgia’s birthday this year we decided to go back, taking Max this time. We all enjoyed relaxing, swimming (both pool and beach for Max), getting massages (sorry, not you, Max), and of course the bar and restaurant. We went diving one day and I got in a couple enjoyable dives, spotting lots of fish, octopus, nice corals and crinoids, turtles, and a number of colorful nudies (nudibranchs).

Where's Dad?

New Car

I had a plan for this trip to replace our Innova with a Toyota Fortuner SUV (a model not available in the US but similar to the Toyota Highlander). More luxurious, better ride and handling, but still retaining a lot of utility for hauling people and stuff around. Georgia had a better idea (as she's prone to have), to get a really small car mainly for use in and around town, something that will be easier to drive and park in the crowded markets.

We originally settled on a Toyota Wigo (again, no equivalent in the US), a very compact “city car�� with a mighty 1.0L engine. Buying a new car here isn’t like in the US, where you practically have to shake salespeople off your legs. Even a test drive isn’t standard here; we actually had to go to 3 dealerships to get one. OK, one dealer did let us drive a Wigo, but only around the dealership parking lot! In the 3rd dealership though, we noticed a little bit larger mini-SUV called the Raize. About the same height and width as the Wigo, but somewhat longer and with lots more room inside. Comparison drives between the Wigo and Raize convinced us that the Raize’s even mightier 1.2L engine was worthwhile, plus it was more comfortable overall. A deal was struck and we’re now enjoying our new mini-SUV!

Georgia’s mom is also wanting a car for the Philippines, and it turns out that our Innova is exactly what she’s looking for. We’ve made a deal to sell it to her, so now we’re looking for its replacement. I may get my Fortuner after all!

Driver’s Licenses

Regarding the story above, I got to test drive the cars; Georgia didn’t. The salesperson noted that her license had expired the day before, which was her actual birthday. Mine didn't expire until July so I was good to go.

We’d been clued in to the existence of a Land Transportation Office (LTO) branch in a nearby shopping center that only handles driver’s license renewals, which was said to be very efficient compared to dealing with the full-service LTO. The requirements for renewal are basically passing a medical exam and a written test. We went to the medical office, conveniently next door to the LTO, for our exams. After filling out a short medical history, my exam consisted of getting weighed, height measured, and reading one line of inch-high letters on an eye chart. Every other result of the required “exam” was just filled in by the staff. And then, as I was waiting for my exam results to be registered, I was handed a certificate stating that I’d passed the written test with a score of 92%. VERY efficient indeed, considering that I’d never seen a test. I do wonder what questions I got wrong though…

In less than an hour overall, we both walked out with 10-year renewals on of driver’s licenses. I’ll be almost 80 when this one expires, hope I’m around to get it renewed!

And BTW, I’m mad because Georgia outscored me on the written test, getting a 96!

Billiards

Billiards is a popular activity in the Philippines, probably because it’s played indoors in air-conditioned rooms. I’ve played occasionally here with Herve, who has a table, but this year we’ve hooked up with Kawayan Cove neighbors Graham (of English garden fame) and Andy (a New Yorker who lives mostly in Singapore). Also in our group, from neighboring developments, are Jean (Belgian), and Robert (Canadian). We call our informal group the “Sandy Balls Billiards Club” and we play a “tournament” every weekend, each putting 100 Pesos (about $1.75) into a winner-take-all prize pool. I’ve won once, hoping to continue to improve my game.

L-R: Robert, Jean, Graham, me, Herve (Andy not pictured)

Road Trip!

We’ve been talking about a road trip to the far northern reaches of Luzon for some time; we finally decided to do it. And just like our road trip to Baguio and Sagada in 2018, we’re not driving or taking our car, rather hiring both. Reminds me of an old commercial…

Car rental = $40/day

Driver = $20/day

Food and Lodging for Driver = $10/day

Sitting in the back and enjoying the ride = Priceless!

Our itinerary will include La Union, Vigan, Pagudpud, Santa Teresita, Tuguegarao, and Baguio. Stay tuned!

Sunset(s)

We’re still enjoying our sunsets, nearly every evening. Since it’s been almost 3 months I’ll throw in some bonus photos!

From our home:

From Mabini:

All for now, take care everyone!

[terrainofheartfelt]

No kiss for Dan's cheek on that finale lmao 😂 😂 😂. Jack Bass is at Serena's wedding? Can't believe Jack's a hero now. Also for rich people, those weddings were very tame and lame. Show was clearing dealing with some cost restructuring 😂🤣😂🤣

┏┓ ┃┃╱╲ in ┃╱╱╲╲ this ╱╱╭╮╲╲house ▔▏┗┛▕▔ we ╱▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔╲ know s6 is fake ╱╱┏┳┓╭╮┏┳┓ ╲╲ ▔▏┗┻┛┃┃┗┻┛▕▔

but seriously jack bass' continued accepted presence in the lives of the mains is sooooooooooooooooooo horrific and I am not gonna break down the reasons why (bc we all know)

I was informed via the ask box a while back that the chair house aka the derena wedding venue was someone's actual home that they filmed in, which uh, gives some credence to what you say about production being strapped for cash. and full offense to those homeowners, their house is hideous. what tf is up with that painting on the stairway???? the 🪑 was lame bc it was a gimmick for chuck to avoid prosecution, but the derena wedding...Disappointing.

I don't really think about it much (see graphic above) but if forced to reckon with such, I prefer to co-opt @mrs-nate-humphrey's idea that the derena wedding is a front for a heist. Ivy's explanation is better than any I could muster <3

[bripops]

Right now, the northeast is at really high risk for flooding so here's a friendly reminder from someone who learned the hard way:

CHECK YOUR RENTER’S INSURANCE FOR WATER DAMAGE COVERAGE

You will be shocked by how little a standard policy covers when it comes to water and/or flood damage.

Flood insurance almost always requires a completely separate policy managed by the National Flood Insurance Program (NFIP) under the scope of FEMA. You can get it as a renter, but it usually involves calling a local agent because it’s highly regional and takes a lot of different variables into account. NEVER assume the person you’re renting from has adequate coverage. Even if they have homeowner’s insurance, it probably doesn’t extend to renters’ belongings.

While you’re at it, MAKE SURE YOUR POLICY COVERS WATER BACKUP. This is different from flood insurance. A lot of basic policies only cover water damage from appliance malfunctions, like a washing machine overflowing. Coverage for water backing up out of a drain or sewer often costs extra (in my experience not more than a few extra bucks per month) and has to be opted into, it’s not included.

Doing this will save you.

Last December, after three days of nonstop pouring rain, the drainage system outside an entrance to the house we were renting just couldn’t handle the volume anymore and water started pouring in under the door. We used everything we had to try to slow it down, and we were up all night using a wet vac we borrowed from a neighbor to try to contain hundreds of gallons of rainwater. I will never forget the mounting horror as I realized the water wasn’t going to stop until the rain did. It's not like a plumbing issue or dishwasher malfunction where you can cut off the source.

We were lucky, and the rain tapered off by the next morning. The layout of our living room meant that most of our stuff was away from the door, and we were able to bail water fast enough that very little ended up being a total loss and nothing important was damaged. We did, however, need to take our dog and get a hotel for a week, and ended up having to find a new place to live in five days (the week before Christmas, while recovering from COVID) because the damage needed so much renovation that moving was pretty much the only option.

Our renter’s insurance covered nothing. Even without a NFIP policy, I was able to confirm with the insurance company that our claim would have been approved if we’d opted into the water backup coverage, because the rainwater was coming out of the overwhelmed drain. We could have replaced the stuff we lost, and probably a bunch of stuff we had to work really hard to salvage. That particular policy would have covered some of the moving costs too, and they would have paid for temporary accommodations for us. (once again we were extremely lucky, and the hotel costs got reimbursed as a courtesy because they took longer to make a decision than they were supposed to)

Renter’s insurance is not expensive. The tricked out policy I got for our new place with every add-on they offer runs me less than $30/month. It would have covered thousands of dollars of expenses that we’re still trying to crawl out from under more than six months later. In an ideal world you will never need to use it, but if you do, IT. WILL. SAVE. YOU.

I am by no means an expert, and can really only speak from my experience so if someone who knows more about this wants to chime in, please do! Keep in mind that all of this is going to vary significantly depending on which insurance company you use and your specific policy. Just please, for the love of god, get renter's insurance if you don't have it already, and read every page of the policy so you know what's covered and what you might need to opt into. Do it now, because shit like this

isn't going to wait.

[samwiselastname]

Samwise Lastname Life Update (Negative)

I moaned and groaned in that selfie a bit already but like. I have many people who have offered to help me with many things. Truly thankful.

At the same time I've always been The Person with the stable job and full time wage, like, pretty much since I finished DBT halfway through college that's been my defining character trait. Even before then, it was "person who is a prime target for financial exploitation."

My current situation is a shared living space where I am covering about 4/5s of our expenses, by virtue of being able to mask my disability well enough to work full time. We are still coming up $400 short a month. I've just gotten assurance that should change, a housemate is seeking work, but. It hasn't changed yet, and even once it does, I will not feel secure until we have an emergency fund for housing, and I won't feel safe keeping any personal savings until that's settled. Which is a couple years out at this rate - even farther with some necessary home repairs, which will push our deficit even higher.

We only get takeout once a month at most, our expenses have been essential housewares and home improvement items - pest control, plumbing maintenance tools, repair supplies. A few hundred of that deficit is just repeat homeowner shit. We planted a garden this year which was an expense but, not exorbitant. I don't know how to cut down more without like. Eating less? Historically that approach has turned into dangerous weight loss & migraines pretty quick. As it is we're only spending about $100 more a month than the FDA's recommended frugal grocery plan.

I can stop buying alcohol & weed and save... about $10 a month. I could cancel some of my subscriptions and save $20-50. Anything I can cut back on at this point is not financially worth the detriment to my well-being, especially when things like "watching youtube on the TV" and "playing FFXIV" are like. Some of my only safe and passive low-pressure recreational activities.

Don't really know what to do about this other than keep grinding. I'm making myself sick. Tacking on any extra work - hobby creative pursuits that might one day turn into commercial creative pursuits, any amount of job hunting, even a shot at adult content creation - feels unbearable.

I am trying to stop "working overtime" because even the 40 hours fucks with my ability to do anything else. I tried to work around this by job searching and side hustling. Now all my hobbies feel like jobs and every day I'm not working on income feels like self-sabotage. It's stupid - I can get better compensation at my current job picking extra hours. At least when I do that I don't go into a neurotic spiral and stop sleeping. As much. It's at least effective.

So I have this limbo - working over 40 hours physically destroys me, and it's the only way to tip the scales at all right now. I know one can often get a pay raise by finding a new job but - yall the market sucks. I'm trying. I need full time remote WFH and good god is it bad out there. Plus my current insurance rn is killer - I have a 3k out of pocket max. My medical costs would outweigh the raise at any job I've successfully applied for thus far, because my current employer affords me this bizarrely fantastic health insurance with HSA deposits.

Just feel hopeless. If I've gone dark on you that's why. We have four months to get this shit fixed before we're totally fucked and I'm doing everything I can to buy us time.