#im doing them 10 at a time to keep things more orderly

[proserpine-in-phases]

Woof, got all the nine patches I'll need done for this quilt

Now I just have to make them all disappear

20 done only 80 left to do!

Also testing out more layouts and pumpkin is as helpful as ever

So helpful

[nohoperadio]

What do I want to read? This is the question @perdvivly asks us to consider in a recent book meme thing. This is not something I'm very orderly about most of the time, I don't really have a list (untrue but we'll get to that) I just possess a lot of unread books always and when I finish one I just kinda look around and see what seems good. I guess I'll be doing the post version of that here. I might not end up with 10 categories and they might not all be proper categories, dunno let's see what happens! Stuff I want to read in 2025:

Three English women I've mostly read and need to finish off who have not a ton else in common

So obviously we have Iris Murdoch, whose novels I've been deliberately rationing at 1-2 per year for the past 15 years; currently at 21 out of 26 read. I'm not gonna finish them all this year but I am thinking of picking up the pace a little bit, it would be embarrassing to die or something without getting to the end, the above numbers don't even include the philosophy and other bits that I intend to get to too, and I mean I'm obviously just going to keep rereading one or two per year for the rest of my life anyway so the sense of "oh no there'll be no more left" is maybe a little silly? Like it's cute that I've made her last this long but come on. Anyway I love her I love her I love her I love her.

There's less Jane Austen to get through, I read Northanger Abbey in January thus finishing the novels so it's just the incomplete Sanditon and then the juvenilia so I can say I've read all of her. Looking forward to seeing her get silly with it in some of this stuff. Oh and maybe there's some letters but I don't think very many?

And Virginia Woolf, again already finished all the novels as of this year but then there's--well there's a lot, I'll obviously finish the short stories soon but there's a lot of essays and stuff and I'll have to play by ear how deep I want to go there, I read vol 1 (of 6) of her diaries a while back and it was like half-fascinating half-boring, which I guess is the best we can hope for from unedited diaries... I possess the second vol but we'll see, we'll see. Do I care about her book on Roger Fry? Who knows. I wanna read Hermione Lee's biography of her too, I read the one by Quentin Bell (her nephew) which was pretty entertaining but I want to read a proper one too.

It's weird I'm pretty obsessed with her but like, you have to really get on her wavelength to actually enjoy her fiction ime, and getting on her wavelength is a mental trick I'm... kind of mid at? Like when I do fall under her spell it's like nothing else, you can really get swept up in her evident sincere conviction that every single thing that happens to everyone is intrinsically fascinating, but when the spell fails to work, I can't lie to you, it can be pretty boring? But I keep coming back to her because I crave the magic and probably always will.

(A year ago on this very tumblr I linked one of her (actually pretty unWoolfian!) stories and two people actually read it and liked it and that felt really good. If anyone's reading this please check it out and tell me what you think and I will give you. A little kiss.)

17th century British history

Fuck I gotta make these shorter than that. Alright well I've never really been a history reader tbh but I've randomly become a bit fascinated with the period around the civil wars and I'm seeing how far I can ride this, aside from like wikipedia and podcasts I've read Jonathan Healey's The Blazing World (which is kinda bleh, pretty loose narrative that often is just jumping around various anecdotes and quite shallow-feeling analysis), started Blair Worden's The English Civil Wars (much much better so far! It's short but feels way more grownup and less documentaryish). Have also bought but not started The Noble Revolt by John Adamson, intimidatingly long but highly regarded, and then for a primary source I have my eye on Edward Hyde's History of the Rebellion, written by Charles I's chief advisor and supposed to be fun... yeah we'll see how all this goes.

All this fucking poetry I have

I had to ban myself from buying poetry a long time ago because I kept falling in love with volumes in the bookshop and then when I get them home I just can't get it up for them somehow. I know I can like poetry because I can tell you poems I love but they're always isolated encounters, somehow sitting down with a book of poetry and spending real time with it is, not a thing I can really do? Or not a thing I can do on purpose very often. But like I don't believe that's my heart, this feels like it should be a solvable problem. So this section represents, I suppose, an intention to have another stab at solving it. Oh I guess I should mention some actual books right? Well this here anthology of Metaphysical Poetry is surely a promising start because the metaphysicals are clever and I value cheap cleverness extremely highly. Don Paterson's collection Rain is one I did actually succeed in getting deep into back in the day so perhaps I'll try his 40 Sonnets which I have here, a lot of it looks annoyingly avant-garde though (wrong type of clever). Two of my favourite bands have written songs about John Berryman which is probably as good a reason as any to pick up The Dream Songs. TS Eliot because I still know the first couple pages of Prufrock off by heart although I couldn't really get a handle on The Waste Land.

Muriel Spark too! Fun fact one of my earliest original posts on this account was just me posting a Muriel Spark poem I really loved and it didn't get any notes, go read it and give it some notes. I will give you a little kiss.

Phenomenology?

Okay this one is like, I'd be pretty surprised if it happens in a big way this year. Sad as fuck to say but I'm not sure the version of me that has a full time job is capable of accessing the requisite levels of not-being-tired to read long dense philosophy tomes, but I mean it's not like I've really tried lately. When I was a teen I started-didn't-finish all three of Being and Nothingness, Being and Time and The Phenomenology of Perception, and while they did technically defeat me this stuff was what convinced me philosophy was important, it's still really the only philosophy I've ever read whose value really seems beyond question. I've never really touched Husserl but at some point last year I impulse bought Ideas so clearly some part of me wants to do it. I don't know man! Maybe.

I want good nature writing to exist

This one is mostly not about specific books and is more of a cry for help, I ranted in the tags of this post about how frequently nature writing seems to go out of its way to like, be about anything other than nature? And I know it can't all be like that but I've been burnt a lot of times... I guess I've had more luck with the ones that are more pop sci branded than "nature writing" branded so maybe that's the way to go. But yeah if anyone has any recs for who is the anti-Helen MacDonald please do let me know.

Should I start reading the cool kid books?

In a way, I work in a bookshop, and I hope to keep doing that actually, so it might be professionally prudent to know something about like RF Kuang or Sally Rooney or whoever the fuck. However, I don't really care. So it's a dilemma!

I want to re-read Claire-Louise Bennett,

which might actually be doable this year because it's only two books and they're not very long or slow, but fuck she's good. The only really recent author I truly love I think? If I were asked to write a quippy quote to go on the back of her books I'd say she was equal parts Woolf and Tristram Shandy and then they wouldn't use my quote. I quoted Pond at some length in this post, I actually think Checkout 19 is probably better but there's not much between them. If you go with Pond don't be put off by the prose-poem shorts, I can take/leave 'em they're not really representative of the rest.

Weird depressed Europeans who go on about stuff too much

Some years ago I walked into the bookshop that would eventually become my workplace in a mood to find something totally new-to-me and fall in love with it, I came across Laszlo Krasznahorkai and something about War and War really grabbed me and for some reason (apparently about a guy whose suicide plans are interrupted by his randomly discovering an unknown ancient epic and his felt duty to make sure it's preserved? Sounds cool right) I bought everything they had by him (four books). And for some reason I started reading The Melancholy of Resistance instead of that one, a very unhinged and sprawling philosophical novel with no paragraph breaks that was hard-going but compelling, then I lost the book halfway through. Months later I found it again but by then I had gotten too sad about it and it's not the kind of book you can really dip back into after a long absence so like, that was kind of the end of my Krasznahorkai thing. Well I'd like to try again. And I want to start with War and War this time since that was clearly what fate intended in the first place.

The other guy in this category is Knausgaard, who I feel like I don't gotta talk about as much cos everyone has already heard about how great he's supposed to be, I read the first volume of his struggle and yeah it's pretty great. Wanna get to the second vol soon.

I want to start writing in my diary again

I'm a firm believer that every list should contain at least one item that doesn't belong on the list, so: I've proven that keeping a regular daily diary is something I can keep up for at least like a three-month continuous period, I proved it last year. If I can keep it up for three months then I can keep it up forever, right? Three months is a long time, it's like a small forever. And there's a lot of reasons why "a few words per day of record-keeping/minor self-expression that no one gets to look at" is a really useful thing for me to have, but after that initial run got derailed I never managed to get it back for more than brief episodes. Well, I hope it wasn't a fluke and I hope I can find my way back into it this year.

Oh I don't know, maybe my actual fucking list of books I want to read that I actually supposedly have? Hmm what about that? What about that maybe

So I do have a goodreads (Viv I want to be your goodreads friend but last time I looked through my read shelves like a ton of the ratings made no sense to me and I'm just kind of embarrassed by it, I've been planning to start a fresh account for a while, when I get around to that I shall add you; it looks like you went through a similar thing so I trust you understand!), and I do add stuff to the Want to Read list on there occasionally. I never look at this list, so it serves no purpose at all. I'm looking at it now and I don't even know what half this stuff is. Like wtf is South Wind by Norman Douglas, with only 314 ratings? I'm sure I've never seen this book in my entire life. Who is Witold Gombrowicz? I recognize Elias Canetti as the name of a guy who might have slept with Iris Murdoch I think but that doesn't seem like a good reason to want to read him. Yeah this is a completely useless list and I will continue to never look at it. Oh sometimes at work I take photos of books that momentarily catch my interest, and those photos are like, another one of this.

---

Okay that's ten! Hey Viv this was actually a lot of fun thank you for tagging me, I'm not really proofreading it because it's too late so uh, sorry about how it is. Everyone else, obviously I'd enjoy seeing you talk about books if we're mutuals, I hate tagging people but I'll do some anyway: @lloke @medlinka @autogeneity @jerkeline @robustcornhusk @wellmetmat @abodywithorgans, if I didn't mention you you should take it as a calculated insult obviously

[stormyoceans]

Have a nice day, Monica! 🌸How are you feeling? Do you sleep better or are you worried about insomnia? I have a question for you: what are your favorite interviews with JimmySea? Can you make a top? I like their interviews, where the boys tell something special about their character, about hobbies outside the set or about their family. But I think the most favorite interview is Mint Hang Out. Very beautiful bright cafe, delicious dishes, Jimmy and Sea in flirting mode, and Jimmy, who did not come out of the image of Puen, because there were shootings the day before, and driving everyone crazy with gentle looks. Take care of yourself!🌸

hello, dear anon!!!! 💜

this is such a sweet message and that’s also a very interesting question!!! unfortunately im not the best at keeping track with interviews and events, so im probably going to miss some major one, but im going to try to make a small list of my favorites anyway!!!

praew magazine Q&A. YOU WILL NEVER GET ME TO ADMIT HOW MANY TIMES I’VE REWATCHED THIS INTERVIEW JUST KNOW I WOULD HAVE ORDERLIES AT MY DOOR READY TO DRAG ME INTO A PADDED ROOM IF I ADMITTED IT OUT LOUD. im not sure why i like it so much tbh, maybe because it’s a recent one and you can really see how much more comfortable they are in front of the camera and with each other, especially sea. my favorite part is how after the 15th time sea touched jimmy’s leg in the span of 3 minutes even the editor of the video was like if im forced to bare witness to things not even god could withstand then so are y’all [zooms in]

mint hang out vlog. jimmy truly be having some residual method acting left in his system with how ridiculously FOND he looks throughout the entire video. the only reason it doesn't get first place to me is because technically this isn’t exactly an interview but more of a vlog, as the title says, however since i love it and the ACTUAL interview doesn’t have any subs (if anyone asks this is my villain origin story btw) i’ve decided that i don’t care and that im gonna add it to the list anyway. ALSO THIS PERFECTLY SHOWS WHY WE NEED A JIMMYSEA EATING PROGRAM @ GMMTV LISTEN TO THE PEOPLE!!!!!!

our skyy vice versa interview. LISTEN i know it doesn't have any subs so it's not fully accessible to international fans, however it deserved a place here even just for THEE HUG™, i know it was for a challenge but sea clearly didn't expect it and you can tell he is SO DELIGHTED by it AND SO AM I OKAY IDK WHAT TO TELL YOU I AM ONLY HUMAN. also even if you don't know what they're talking about the vibes are just so immaculate and unmatched i would listen to them FOR HOURS

open the world interview. im so very fond of this one because i feel like it's a very good starting point to get to know them. sea is still very shy here, but you learn a lot of things that if you follow them for a while you find out are true: that behind the scenes sea is clingy and determined, that jimmy is always there to guide him, that the way they express their love (even the platonic kind) is by supporting and taking care of the other person, that they do end up spending time together swimming and singing and wakeboarding......

let's talk BL podcast. i knew i could trust them with my life when they were asked which was their favorite vice versa episode and jimmy replied that it was episode 10 (because he is so proud of himself for the derangement he unleashed upon us) while sea eventually picked episode 11 (because he is a man of culture) TRULY KINGS OF TASTE VISION AND CORRECT OPINIONS ONLY!!!!!!! honestly it's just a great interview all-around and i always love how both jimmy and sea try their best in everything they do

i wish i could add more but sadly all the other ones that come to mind (like the oishi magic of zero episode with milklove and the jd's birthday party live with earthmix) don't have any subs ;;;;;; let's hope we're gonna get a lot more when last twilight finally airs!!!!!

[lulu-spooks]

thanks for the tag :)

1. Do you make your bed?

You’re lucky if there’s a sheet on it

2. Favourite number?

I was born on 7/7 weighing 7lb 7oz so it’s gotta be 7

3. If you could go back to school would you?

Yes yes yes. Applying for uni soon after taking 2 years out. School keeps me sane. My favourite bit of my life at 17 was studying for my a levels. I’d stay in school 12 hours a day just to avoid my mums house. Academia is my escape.

4. Can you parallel park?

I mean i could try but I’ve not got my license nor have I ever been in charge of a car for more than 6 seconds

5. Do you think aliens are real?

Yes of course. And I think they would be best friends with me.

6. Can you drive a manual car?

I reckon if I was given a lot of space I could probably floor it at 90 for about 14 seconds and then flip the car 5 times as a finishing stunt

7. Guilty pleasures?

I have 0 guilty pleasures. I take part in everything that brings me joy with an absurd amount of gusto. I will attempt to involve my friends with every weird thing I am enjoying at any moment in time.

8. Tattoos?

I have some planned out I’m just waiting to get some money and find the right artist

9. Favourite colour?

Changes every day but I’m really digging lime green and reddish purple today

10. Favourite type of music?

Everything and I mean everything. Love 90s-2000s American indie, any period of Celtic folk revival, 80s Japanese citypop. big fan of pretty much anything. I could talk about music for years at a time.

11. Do you like puzzles?

Yes and I’m pretty good at them. Jigsaws I mean. In terms of brain puzzles I’m really odd. I’ll either get them immediately or still be struggling for hours. There’s no inbetween.

12. Any phobias?

Spiders ugh I hate them. Had a run in with a wolf spider on my bath towel today and I did not come out on top. Im also scared of heights above water but not heights above ground. Bit irrational but most fears are I suppose

13. Favourite childhood sport?

I really did not like most sport as a child but I got weirdly into rugby around age 12 (talk about gay foreshadowing) and as a teen I really liked rollerskating. Still do just can’t skate anywhere near where I live now

14. Do you talk to yourself?

Yes often. I don’t have an internal voice in my head at all so if I want to think through something in an orderly fashion I usually have to say it out loud. I also talk to myself without realising. Sometimes I do it on public transport which is awkward.

15. Tea or coffee?

Neither I like milk :)

16. First thing you wanted to be?

At 4 years old I wanted to be an artist who lived in a windmill who made bread every day and sold it to the local Tesco. I still think that’s a solid career aspiration

17. What movies do you adore?

I have a comprehensive list of over 100 movies I adore but some are kikis delivery service, mamma mia, Amelie and eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

Open tags because my brainpower is low but yeah anyone who sees this feel free to answer the questions.

I was tagged by @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands thanks! This is a fun one :)

1. Do you make your bed?

Nope, I still sleep in a top bunk and it's just too much of a hassle

2. Favorite number?

5! It's the day I was born, it's a prime number, and some other reasons. It's just a very neat number

3. If you could go back to school, would you?

I still am in school, but no I wouldn't

4. Can you parallel park?

A car? No. Other vehicles? Yeah, depends tho

5. Do you think aliens are real?

Yeah. My old bio teacher said thah with a universe so vast as ours, it would be very egocentric to think that earth is the only planet that developed life, and I think so too. I don't think that aliens ever visited earth or ever will, nor do I believe we'll ever get to meet any during space travel.

6. Can you drive a manual car?

Car? No. Tractor? Yeah. I also can fly the manual equivalent of planes. I just got switched to the automatic equivalent (plane with fadec) and damn it's so nice thah I don't have to manually change the manifold air pressure and rpm.

7. Guilty pleasure?

Romcoms

8. Tattoos?

Not yet, sadly. Hopefully I'll get some after I get a job

9. Favorite color?

Black and green

10. Favorite type of music?

Metal! Specifically very nerdy, gimmicky power metal

11. Do you like puzzles?

Do y'all know professor Layton? The puzzles in those games are really nice. Regular puzzles I so not like.

12. Any phobias?

The dark, the sea

13. Favorite childhood sport?

Horse riding! I also recently took speedskating back up after a 6 year break and I realised how much I missed that.

14. Do you talk to yourself?

Constantly

15. Tea or coffee?

Neither actually. Only hot choccies for me

16. First thing you wanted to be when you grew up?

Veterinarian. Funnily enough I ended up growing up to be a pilot (well hopefully, I'm in training currently) so I often joke that my job is a childhood dream, but just not mine.

17. What movies do you adore?

So many. Some of my favourites are Jurassic Park, Top Gun, Labyrinth. Those are the movies I own merch of, but there's so many more

I tag @lightineventide @frenchish-water @what-is-wonderland-anyway @severalpossiblemusiks

[shmaptainwrote]

10 AND 4 FROM ANGST 10 AND 4 FROM ANGST PLEASEE

i want u to rip my heart out and then piece together with duct tape plzzz idc if the tropes are over used im a sucker for them oops

- ssa-h0tchner

Bestie this was destined to break hearts

Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Warnings: blood, guns, hospitals, angst, sadness, ambiguous ending

Prompt List - Send in a Request

Slipping Through My Fingers

“Agent (L/N)! What are you thinking?! Get back here!”

“No Hotch!” you yelled back, tossing your vest to the side. “There’s people in there that need help. I'm not just going to stand outside and wait!”

Aaron hated hearing that, because you never used to call him Hotch. He was always Aaron, but now he was back to Hotch and you just kept fighting back. Pushing against him at every instance you could, but this was the last straw.

He was about to storm in there, gun in his hands when Derek stood in front of him and placed a firm hand on his chest.

“Hotch, no,”

“Morgan, let me go.” he said in an orderly tone. “She’s without a vest in there alone and-!”

“Hotch, we both know if you walk in there the situation’s only gonna get worse for her,”

“Derek, I can’t just leave her,” his voice was desperate. “She hates me, I know that, but i’d she’s going to be stupid someone needs to make sure she won’t get hurt and that’s my-,”

Aaron’s voice stopped dead when he heard the gunshots.

“Job,” he finished, his voice a dry whisper as the echo fizzled out.

No amount of physical training could have helped Derek keep Aaron back. He sprinted towards the building, not caring for his own protection when he broke down the door of the house and rushed into the different rooms until he found you.

The unsub was lying, dead, across from you along with the three victims he had been holding hostage. And there you were, laying limp on the ground while your blood soaked the white carpet underneath you. Crimson red, warm, sticky, metallic.

Aaron could feel himself yelling into the comms but he had no idea what came out past his lips as he fell to his knees gently bringing your head into his lap while he tried his best to put pressure on the wound, but you were bleeding so hard and he could feel the blood along with your life slowly slipping through his fingers.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Aaron repeated over again, until his voice was nothing but strangled sobs, “You can’t (Y/N)! You can’t!”

You coughed a few times, red droplets dribbling out of your mouth, but no words followed.

“I know you hate me for leaving you,” he whispered as tears streamed down his face, falling onto your blood soaked shirt. “And you hate that I ended things, but I need to tell you now it wasn’t you, I swear, I swear it,” he quickly lifted one hand to his face to wipe away the tears, much to his mistake, the large streak of blood under his eyes, on his eyelids made him see red everywhere. “Sweetheart, you were perfect, but I wasn’t, I wanted you to have more than me, okay? So don’t you dare leave before you have the chance to be happy,”

Your eyes started to flutter and Aaron’s heart stopped.

“(Y/N)! Look at me!” he held your face firmly in one hand. “Look at me! Listen to me!”

You could feel yourself slipping away but you fought, you fought hard for him.

“I still love you! I didn’t stop loving you!”

“Hotch-,”

“No!” he roared at whoever had just come into the room.

“Hotch, get back, let them do their job,” Derek pulled him back again and he broke. Just like after Foyet, but this time he stayed in Derek’s arms, his loud sobs ringing through the empty home as his colleague, his friend, held him tightly despite his bloodstained clothes, and the streaks of red across his face, the only intelligible thing he whispered being,

“Not again, please not again, no, no, no,”

He wasn’t sure how he ended up at the hospital, or with a change of clothes in his arms, but after he had managed to stop the tears he shut everything off. Aside from the bloodshot eyes you wouldn’t have been able to tell he was crying.

He sat unbelievably still in the waiting room while the rest paced, or talked in hushed whispers.

They had all known about you and Aaron, and it came as a shock when things came to an end, but seeing now just how complicated things were. There was never a loss of love, for Aaron there was too much and it blinded him. And now the only thing he could think of was how if he hadn’t left you maybe this would have never happened.

Hours passed before a doctor came and addressed them, he informed the whole team that you were currently in the ICU and only a family member would be able to come and stay with you.

“I’m her family,” Aaron said, the lie easily slipped past his lips and no one dared counter him, you needed someone next to you if you woke up.

The doctor led him down the hall, informing him that you had suffered multiple gunshot wounds, some of which hit internal organs.

“But you were the one who was there with her right? You saved her life,”

“No I didn’t,” Aaron whispered. “She wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me,”

The doctor pursed his lips and patted Aaron comfortingly on the back.

“She’s a fighter. I’m sure she’ll make it out,”

But seeing you in that hospital bed, different tubes and machines all hooked up around you, it almost caused him to break down again.

But all he could count on was the steady beat of the heart monitor, night after night until, he hoped, one day you’d wake up.

[dearest-alexander]

You Are The Reason Chapter V (Tom Holland x Reader fanfiction)

Summary: “I could be anything in the world, yet I wanted to be yours. But you don’t love me yet…or do you?“ The whole world thought you’re together but something’s stopping you, something’s stopping him.

Summary Chapter: “Dreams are excursions into the limbo of things, a semi-deliverance from the human prison.I’   - Henri Amiel

Chapter 5

YOUR POV

Much to our chagrin, traffic jam had caught up right after leaving the hospital premises. Harrison and a sleeping Gabby dropped us off first before heading back to our place. We called out the old guy at the reception who raised a mug of something at us in acknowledgement. My watch read 10:46pm by the time we reached their doorstep. Our dogs’ excited barks could be heard from the other side of the door as Tom wrestled with his keys for a bit.  

“Im telling you, he’ll find a way to do it.” Tom argued, pushing the apartment door open.

“Uhm, no. Cause I know Gabby, once she’s tired, she’s tired. You can’t make her do anything not until you’re bleeding to death that is.” I debated back cheekily.

The traffic seemed to go on for the rest of the night ergo, to past boredom, Tom and I exchanged text messages whether Harrison would be able to pull his plan or won’t, among many other silly things. We still have to keep it under wraps since Gabby still has no idea. “What are you two scowling bout back there?” she asked before falling asleep minutes later.

“Fine! Alright! Let’s just ask Harrison tomorrow!” he exhaled with resignation in his voice.

. I brought a clenched fist and elbow to my knees in a sign of victory.  

“Bloody hell, you don’t give up do you.” He said after a moment, putting everything on the countertop separating the living room and their kitchen.

I wriggled my eyebrows at him. His face contorted for a second to fight the smile from slipping through. He failed.  

“Only for you love.” I said with a laugh, hugging my dog who won’t stop bouncing up at me from the moment we enter the apartment.  

“Whatever… How are you lovely?” he knelt down to give Tessa a smooch on her gray head.  

I filled the pet bowl with water before dragging my body onto the couch, face down with a heavy groan. I hate traffic.

“You wanna hit the shower first or should I?” Tom asked after minutes of shuffling in and out of the room. I propped my chin but kept my eyes closed as I replied.

“Go ahead, I need a second so these cushion could suck me in.” I wiggled my body as if it would dissipate the stiffness of my legs from sitting too long.  

“You know where my room is.” He answered with a small laugh. I heard a creaking noise of the cabinet door then a wisp of wind when he threw something soft and large at my opiate position. I lifted my head when I heard him dematerialized behind the bathroom door.

I scanned the two-bedroom flat from my lying state. It was too tidy for two grown men to live in. Not a crumb or bottles of energy drinks in sight. Perhaps Gabby’s controlling nature had finally rubbed off on Harrison. He and Tom had decided to rent this place from Gabby’s cousin whenever they want to stay a while longer after wrapping up press junkets. Possibly, it was Harrison who wanted to stay longer and Tom being wherever his mate was, would stay until he pleased.

Willing myself to get up, I grabbed my overnight bag and the towel he threw at me to his room, the wall behind the mounted television. Two dogs sniffing happily behind me.  

His room reeked with ocean breeze laundry detergent and embodied late adolescence-ness. I noted the lack of articles of clothing and trainers scattered on the floor, unmade bed and wide open luggage last time I was here. His double bed stood at the center of the room, two end tables on either side and dark clothes hung and were neatly stacked on the exposed clothing rack. 10 pairs of shoes in an orderly pile on the floor.  

Despite the fact that he had let me sleepover a thousand times, I never heeded nor have I ever had the slight urge to interest myself on what he is like in his solidarity. I pride myself to never the one to snoop around. The prevalent awareness of being in his room haven’t bother me. Up until now. Which was the case I found myself in, prancing around his room as if for the first time in an unnamable light.  

His room can’t be categorized as neither pristine nor disorganized. Stuff  that usually don’t go well with each other –not that I know anything about interior styling- somehow complemented and blended with his impulsive personality. His obsession on shameless hoarding of any Spider-man merchandise he could get his hands on endured after all these years. “What a total nerd.” I chuckled to myself, setting down his action figure on the same spot. The red and blue collection disparate from the gray overall theme of the room. Letters and artworks from his fans were all compiled inside three black dossiers.  

I was lazily lugging my index finger on his dust-free shelf, along the lines of books and photographs of his family, co-star photo calls, sceneries when a solid wooden framed picture halted me in my tracks.  

Memories gushed in an unstoppable wave. The picture was cropped from the chest and up. I snapped this shot right after the first successful jumping obstacles I finished with my mare. We’re smiling. His cheek pressed onto mine, his other eye was squinting in order to avoid the harsh glare of the sun and my face reddened with sweat and excitement in his riding helmet. My arm was draped around his shoulders while the other extended the camera to fit us in the frame. I remembered  hurriedly leapt down to Tom, who was already reaching out for me before my booted feet even touched the damp ground. I remembered stalling in his embrace, his body radiated as if he had somehow swallowed the whole sun, his thumbs that were drawing circles on my hips, pushing down the hitch emanating from my throat. I remembered how I  together with his family went to their lake house later in the evening, his dad, stood by my side, with one comforting and familiar arm on my blanket-ed shoulders, staring ahead the setting day had said, out of the blue:

“Sometimes it’s practical to test waters first cause no one wants to dive in murky water, knowing whether we’ll hit the rocks or sand. But this day..” he trailed off, smiling and shaking his head. “He may be daft sometimes but thank you for sticking by him. Thank you for everything you’ve done. Thank you for making him happy.”  

Before I could even ask Senior Holland to elaborate, an added weight made the docks screech in slight objection. Tom trudged to where we were, my bottled juice in hand. Frankly, I momentarily lost contact with my body, with my surroundings upon seeing his delightful face, how his curls bounced voluptuously like he’d just been prepped for some bloody movie minutes ago.  

All these years, I  try not to abide on what would  happen if Tom and I just.. that maybe we could… I shook my head to eliminate the thought that’s been trying to eat me ever since once upon a time. 

Tom’s POV 

We were left to ourselves. Again., I think Harrison and his girlfriend liked to do this on purpose. There's a part of me wanted to strangle them both for doing this, albeit, the half part wanted to get down on my knees and hug them both with praise and reverence, saying "I owe you, big time."  

I turned the shower knob off and quickly dressed in a shirt and sweats. I walked out into an empty and barely lit hall. The only evidence of her presence was her dog sitting outside my slightly open bedroom door. I patted his furry head before I knocked gently. She was not the one to get un-clothe with the door left ajar so I peeked inside when I didn't hear a response. She was leaning on my table, holding a picture frame in her hands, and the other clutching the desk. She didn't look up until I spoke.  

"Hey, everything ok?"  

She seemed startled for a swift second before smiling at me and waving the frame in her hands.

"I had no idea you printed and framed this."  

"It was a good day. I should dare you more often." I went to her side, brushing against her as I lean over to look at the picture. I crossed my arms over myself to hide the goosebumps running from the tip of my fingers up to the hairs on my neck.  

"Yeah. Really was." She sighed then locked her gaze with mine. I hugged myself even tighter, my fingers dug into my palms to keep from pulling her and crashing my lips to hers.. Heaven knows how badly I wanted no, needed to kiss her. But I’m waiting for her. Waiting for something to cross her eyes that will somehow tell me that she wants this just as bad as I do. I do not want to come across as one of those hot-blooded exes of hers who tried to force her to do something  she does not like. But it’s me, I try to tell her with my eyes. I will never hurt you. . I hugged myself tighter to keep my heart from sprinting out of my chest as the moment of pure electricity stretched between us.  

Until it wasn't anymore.

"I uhh.. Need to.... Take a bathe." She mumbled and broke her gaze. She handed me the frame and walked away. If she was nervous or felt at least something, she’s hiding it extraordinarily. I could feel my cheeks as they started to redden. She stopped at the door and crouched down in a playful defensive stance against her dog who wagged its tail gleefully. We let out short laughs before she disappeared.

I hung my head to the ceiling and I swear I could hear Harrison say  “Youre the world’s greatest idiot..” I groaned.

I couldn’t sleep. My mind has not accustomed with Harrison’s four walls of a bedroom for the past two hours.. Every time she and Gabby would come over, I’ll let her have my bed like the perfect gentleman that I was raised. I didn’t mind the couch nor Harrison’s bed because I knew my sheets would smell like her for the remainder of the week and I would wake up in the morning and bury my face in the pillow. A sweet torture.  

I fluffed Harrison's pillow to try to make myself more comfortable. Laying like a starfish on the bed and stared up the ceiling, my mind recalling one type of conversation that  had always seem to play out every morning whenever we were alone together..

The couple would show up, their elbows leaning on the countertop, hyperexcitable faces on the palm of their hands, kind of like children waiting for their slices of chocolate cake.

"So...... Did you do it?"  

I kept quiet while rummaging the kitchen for  her favorite breakfast. Eyes never leaving my task. But shook my head.. "Nah. Wasn't the right time."

"Oh c'mon man!" Harrison exclaimed, dropping his head  on the countertop in between in forearms.  

"Alright Osterfield ,  hand it over ." Gabby opened and closed the back of her hands. Harrison produced a 20 dollar bill from his wallet to give her.  

“You guys are the worst. I hope you know that.” I scowled under my breath.

"Thanks H olland " She patted me on my naked back..

"Man! How can you chicken out on me like that, you said you're gonna tell her last night....or the night of last week..... or the fortnight......or the months before that."  He whined,  Emphasizing each time frame then   his forearms inching  dangerously near the breakfast I'm making. I moved the plate out of the way and my eyes darted cautiously on my bedroom door. Checking for any signs or sounds of movement.

I shrugged, frowning.  

"As much as I like winning against Haz, dude, you have to make a move. That window's not gonna be open forever.  Take that hunky actor from GQ for example.”  

“What? Who?” I snapped my head at her. I tried to sound less nervous and irritated but even to my own ears, I knew I came up short.  

“I forgot his name . But we saw him at Jamba juice last week and the punk’s leaning a bit closer, in my opinion.”  she shrugged

"She doesn't like me that way." I countered, hoping to get the melancholy disappointment out of my voice. Eyes still casted down.

"She likes you. Everyone with eyes can see it. You're just both too stubborn to admit it." Gabby retorted, before gulping down a carton of orange juice.    

“Why? Did she tell you anything ?” I deadpanned but a little hopeful.  

"Actions, Holland. Actions. They speak louder than words, like the song, dumbass." She had an elbow leaning on the counter at my side as she regarded me with slight irk and concern.

"But no... She doesn't tell me anything. You know she's always been like that, bottling up her feelings til she knows she can hold it."  She placed  the cap back on her carton box.

"Well then, i  think i'll  just wait for that bottle to spill."

"Tom." Harrison interrupted in a quiet tone that I finally   looked at him.

"You know she's not her right?. They're both, different. This is a new story. It's gonna be different this time around. You're not running blindly here, not this time." Harrison was never soft spoken  and sober , not unless he could help it.

"Maybe we'll just lock you guys up in here for a week and then maybe we'll see. Don't make me do it." Gabby remarked, staring at the something behind me  

"Don't make you do what?" Our heads frantically turned to the sound by my bedroom door. Dressed in a sleeveless loose top and pyjama  bottoms, her bedridden hair falling on her shoulders, the palm of her hand digging on his left eye.  Her healthy skin glowed along with the morning sun. Eyes still glossy from sleep and puffy lips pouted adoringly. It's almost impossible to be that alluring  during this early hour in the morning.  

"Hey!!!!! Good morning sunshine! Did you just wake up?" Gabby asked, a little too cheerfully, three of us following her every movement.

"Um yeah. I didn't even hear you guys come in. How was your night?" She sat on the bar stool in front of me and Gabby, Harrison seated on the stool by her side then faced his body towards her, chin leaning on his shoulder. I exhaled a great sigh of relief, our kitchen conversation safe from her ears.

"It was fantastic …” Gabby said in a haste, “ , by the way, I heard you got drunk last night?"  

"I did. And I'm never doing it again." She moaned, pressing her forehead on the cold counter, arms folded in front of her.

"Here you go." I pushed the garnished plate in her direction and the glass of juice.

She smiled, "You're brilliant. Did I ever tell you that?." pulling the plate near her.  

Gabby made a tsk sound then walked back round to the couch. Harrison grabbed the ripe banana off of her plate before jumping out of his seat.  

"Hey! That's mine!" She leapt up abruptly but regretted it in an instant. She grunted, dropping her head onto the surface again.

"You're a buffoon." I threw the dish towel resting on my shoulder at Harrison's figure who hustled out of the way. I hand her another.

"Don't you just love them?!" She mumbled under her breath, sarcastically

"Oh and would you mind putting some shirt on Holland, she and Haz may  be used to it, but I'm not besides it's completely unhygienic." She instructed, flinging the shirt I discarded upon waking up from the armrest.  

"You tell me." I chuckled, putting my shirt on.  

It didn’t take long before I became conscious of her little quirks: the way she would pinch her lips when she’s trying to decide about something, how she likes to pop her knuckles that always seem to creep out Harrison and how she always find something nice to say about mean people. Something about her just felt…right; like everything seems to fall into place whenever she’s near.  

My body almost jumped when I felt the incessant and loud ring of my phone on the bedside table.. I clicked answer right away .

"You still up?"  

"No." I kid.

"Idiot. I Can't sleep." She sighed.

"Me neither. What are you doing?"

"Reading one of your books"

"What book?" I got up and leaned against the headboard.

She laughed. "You know we can just talk to each other, You're literally just across the hall.

"Ok, let's meet."

I hurriedly put on my shirt and walked out the door. She's already on her way to the fridge when I appeared in the kitchen.

"I'm hungry. How come you don't have anything here?" She complained and closed the fridge door behind her.

"Well, we're always at your place anyway."  

"Urgh! Let's order pizza. You're paying." She picked up the phone line in  the living room and dialed.

I made my way to the couch and will my body  to heel before I do something I will regret. Like, I don't know, maybe kissing the day lights out of her until I die from deoxygenation..  

"Hey you wanna watch a movie?" I initiated, grabbing the remote from the floor.

12:47am

"You know what? Fine fine! Let's just watch The Breakfast Club and we'll see who's right." She retorted, getting up from the sofa and inserting the dvd on the player, a slice of pizza dangling from her mouth.

"You're gonna be so bummed out when I win the fourth time today." Putting my hands behind my head and stretching my feet under the blanket we shared on the couch. It's already 2 am and All attempts of falling asleep diminished after indulging on a box of pizza, 2 bags of chips and 4 cans of root beers. My previous jitters had died down to a embers as we fell back into an amiable and platonic routine.

"Ha-ha! Move." She sneered jabbing my foot with her finger.  

I scooched over backwards for her to settle comfortably on the opposite side her. She rested her head on the armrest. Her sock clad feet lying near my stomach, I boldly closed my hand around them.  

We watched in silence for the rest of the movie until we got to the part at the end where Claire gives John his diamond earring.

"See! I told you, I told you! It was an earring not a ring." I sat up and gestured towards the screen. "Oi yow Pizza!" When I didn't hear or feel a slightest of movement I extended my arm on the floor, half my body still sitting on the couch and look at her. I must have known she had dozed off. Her even breaths were calm and soothing halfway through the movie, her face appeared pallid against the television screen. I got up as gently as I could and sat on the floor, over her side. I watched her for a little while, memorizing the way her shutted eyes would twitch every few seconds, her long eyelashes fanned out attractively across her features, her pouted lips carnation in color. I saw a crease formed at the center of her eyebrows and felt a lump clogging my throat. "What are you dreaming about?" I whispered. I reached an index finger to carefully smoothen it out, and lingered.  

"I swear, you'll be the death of me. " Before I could help myself, i pressed a feathered kiss to her forehead in replace of my finger.

8:17 am

I felt more than heard the sound of barely audible mumbles as it vibrated from my chest. I squinted my eyes open to see panting smiles from two dogs and instantly became aware of the soft weight nesting on my chest. I don't remember sleeping in this position earlier in the morning but damn it to bloody hell, I wasn't complaining.  

I or she must have moved positions during our sleep because now, on this glorious Sunday morning, our bodies lie snugly on the sofa, both my arms around her, one of her hands rested underneath my shirt, atop the unsteady thumps of my heart. Her head on my shoulder.  Blanket still draped over us.

"Want. Pancakes." She mumbled, eyes still closed.

A chuckle crept up onto my already- smiling face. I never knew she talked in her sleep as we've had never been in this position before. I stayed still for quite some time, careful to maintain our position in case she woke up and assess the situation with regret or something . It Could be minutes or hours;. I lapsed the ability to comprehend anything right now as I committed this moment to memory

The smell of her hair dominate the entire room, happily suffocating me to my death.  

Or How every inch of her molded perfectly into mine; her breathing patterns almost lulling me back to sleep

Or How her warmth masked and overpower my senses, making me forget to think, to breathe.  

A nagging thought entered my mind that I was, in a way, taking advantage of her slumberous state, and was about to separate my body from hers but was snapped out if it when I heard her next words. Making my world rattle to smithereens then build back up again.

"Mmmm.. I like you Tom.”  

I looked down on her to see if she’s woken. It probably meant anything that I hope to be but still, I couldn't fight the grin that jeopardizes to split my face in half or the euphoria openly transuding over my skin. I pressed my lips on her forehead and slowly pulled her even tighter. And i could die right after this, because she shifted closer- if that was still even possible-and lightly scratched her fingers on my bare and beating pectoral. 

I’ll just put the links of my A03 and Fanfiction pages. :)

[pinkhoodiemark]

My experience at my first got7 concert;

Part 1: Before the concert was SO shitty

Okay! SO

I arrive to the venue at 7am day of the concert (and lemme tell you right now, for the people who stayed over night at the venue who were in Pit 1 Pit2, its completelyyyyy unnecessary because I ended up getting to the very front without doing that 💁 also, super dangerous to do that but you do you i guess)

So these like 5 girls who slept over night (they said they were there for 2 nights straight then they said they were there for 4 days so they were basically full of BS) they take it upon themselves to start numbering people in line by writing numbers on the back of peoples hand who are lining up AND in case the marker washes off or something they wrote peoples names on a notebook with there number on it.

It was basically to keep everything in control and orderly and thats good. I respect that. BUT NO IT WAS AN INGREDIENT TO UTTER DISASTER

So these girls literally just did this because they were so fucking paranoid of losing their spots in the front of the line (which i would be too if i stayed over night and waited that long dont get me wrong). But They wanted to be like "OH IM NUMBER ONE" and solidify that statement with this numbering system that THEY came up with (not an official thing WHICH I THOUGHT IT WAS LIKE THE ENTIRE TIME)

So BECAUSE it wasnt an official thing and they werent telling people who were lining up about this number thing some people lining up had numbers (thankfully i knew about the numbers because i was in a group chat for the concert and they told me about it) but a ton of people didnt and because the girls who started this whole thing got sick of writing numbers on people they were like "oh we're stopping at like 163" or some shit when there was like 400 people.

Then this is where MADNESS commences. Fucking for god knows WHAT reason. Subk decides to put a merch table RIGHT AT CLOSE TO THE BEGGINING OF THE LINE FOR THE CONCERT so people who were bunching up to by merch didnt move back to their spot in the line because now they were closer to the front of the line (most of these people were not numbered).

So now theres this MASSIVE crowd of people in the frontish of the line and im like wtf is going on and panicked and joined them because i was 140th or 150th in line or something but now i was like 300th and i was NOT having that. Like i wasnt waiting in line for 10 hours to be 300th

ALSO SUBK AND VENUE STAFF NEVER EVER CAME OUT TO ORGANIZE THE LINE OR PUT DIVIDERS OR ANYTHING BUT THEY FUCKING DECIDE TO PUT THAT MERCH TABLE IN LIKE THE SINGLE MOST WORST AREA LIKE ?????????????

Okay so at this point venue staff and subk staff were like freaking tf out. And telling everyone who is now in a jumbled fucking mess to be in a single filed line. Like sweety no ones going to listen to you. And of course no one did. So they just start SHOVING people back. And i, who was amongst this crowd of people and is very short had no idea wtf was happening and i was just flowing with the crowd getting pushed back and then i ran into like this pole thing behind me but the crowd kept going back and my leg got stuck on it and i alMOST FELL.

I was legit having a panic attack because i was alone in this mess

After like 10-20 minutes of this mess. Here comes those girls at the front of the line taking charge because they feel like they have authority. They start screaming numbers to get the numbered people back in order. Once they got to 100 though they just STOPPED (??) And they just made any numbers above 100 (me) and the rest non-numbered people (a ton of fucking people) to move back to the back of the line and they just shoved me in some random spot in like the end of the line and im like WTF BITCH I HAVE A NUMBER???

So i take it upon myself to find my own spot in the numbered people line and i eventually find it. But heres where this is fucked up

People who had been waiting in line maybe longer than me or just as long as me or just waiting a really fucking long time AND DIDNT HAVE NUMBERS basically just got sent to the back of the line because these bitches were too lazy to give everyone numbers even though they were the ones who started it all. Yeah its kind of an annoying task but YOU GAVE THE RESPONSIBILITY TO YOURSELF SO FINISH IT??

So people who couldve been like 100th in line could now be at the end of the line because they didnt get a number because why would they know about this numbering system when it was unofficial and these girls werent going around telling people to get numbers because AGAIN they just wanted to solidify their own first placing they didnt actually care about the rest of the people (which is backed up by not finishing the number system they started. Like they didnt care)

So all in all, those girls probably ruined some peoples nights because of there fake system and i hope they feel so great about that. And also SUBK AND VENUE STAFF SHOULD BE MORE ON TOP OF ORGANIZATION LIKE WHAT THE FUCK? like the girls are just a bunch of dumb girls but staff is STAFF like get it together and organize shit better.

I literally was feeling like there was going to be chaos because i kept looking around and not seeing security, not seeing staff, and not seeing any subk people. Okay thats it

BUT STAY TUNED IN FOR THE NEXT PART WHICH IS WHERE I HAD THE BEST TIME OF MY LIFE

[prompt-master]

What Asshole Invented Allergies?

@cup-of-blue: Random fic prompt idea thing cuz the allergies are striking at half past 10 in the evening: Michael is having the allergies and doing the suffering, and he’s chill with it, it’s just an annoyance. Until he runs out of tissues and freaks out cuz he can barely breathe now cuz too much snot help

@orderly-opaline: Ok, I know this is dumb but think about it. As a follow up to the fic where Michael has hayfever, what if Michael went to school and was ACTUALLY CRYING. Jeremy just assumed that he had allergies so he went on like normal. And Michaels just like, wait does he not see that im crying?? Does he not care about me??? I know its dumb but like, IDK man I just like the idea?

Not dumb at all lovely! Hope you two don’t mind i combined your fics! Let’s mcfucking torture some kiddos

Michael woke up that morning already knowing he was in for a miserable day. His alarm felt louder than usual, each ring banging down doors against his sensitive ears. When Michael turned it off and went to take a deep breath he found that one of his nostrils was blocked and he could barely breath through the other. Great, nothing like being a mouth breather. Michael had a pretty bad case of hayfever last Friday and figured the weekend would be plenty of time to rest. But judging by the itching on his nose had to stop to scratch every five seconds and the dripping of his nose he had to keep inhaling he’d say he might be even worse off. Fuck spring, honestly.

Michael was so miserable in fact that he didn’t have time to take allergy medicine seeing as how he slugishly moved around the house. That’s how he ended up shoving a bunch of tissue packets into his pockets and driving to school. In the parking lot Michael had to stop to blow agressivly into a tissue, groaning at how it didn’t clear his sinuses at all. He leaned back against the headrest of his car and stared into the mirror. He looked like shit. His hair was all down from a lack of gel, he ran his fingers through the locks only to have them flop back down. His nose was bright red, he stopped to scratch at it again and miserably sniffle. Briefly he looked away from his exhausted and miserable expression to glance up at the school entrance. Students were starting to pile in and talk to each other, and Michael wasn’t so sure he wanted to be seen. He felt a tickle of his nose and mentally groaned, he already knew what was happening before he began to take in two shaky breaths.

“Ah..ah, achuu! Ah….achuu!! Ugnh…” Michael groaned and furiously wiped the back of his sleeve against his nose, getting out of the car as he saw Jeremy’s bus pull in.

Jeremy walked down as Michael locked his car, and almost instantly spotted the red hoodie. When Michael turned the tall ass was looking down at him with that cute nervous lopsided smile. “Hey Michael- woah dude you look like shit”

Michael sighed, his back slouching more than usual. He let out a long exaggerated sniff in a last attempt to breath normally, “wow, thanks.”

Jeremy laughed and patted Michael’s shoulder. His hand seemed to hesitate. It was a small subtle detail, but both of them noticed. Jeremy instantly felt compelled to say ‘no homo’. But instead he said, “so what’s wrong?”

“Still allergies.”

“Still? Spring is not your season, Michael Mell”

“Yeah no shit- ah…achuu!” Michael buried his face into his sleeve, stumbling towards the entrance.

Jeremy held the door open for him, neither of them mentioned how it was usually the other way around, “bless you”

Michael sniffled, pulling out a tissue and blowing his nose, he cringed at how stuffy his voice sounded “thanks..”

First period Michael realized just how ineffective blowing his nose was when he was this badly stuffed. His breathing was loud and obnoxious, each inhale rattling as his nose struggled to make room for air to actually pass through. He felt himself blush as people turned to stare at him, the room was quiet and all you could hear was Michael breathing and sneezing. It was even worse when a test was passed out. He sniffled over and over again, his irritated nose kept dripping and every time he blew it loudly over the trash can it felt like he had an endless supply of snot. To make matters worse whenever he got up to blow his nose it felt like a giant spot like was on his, showing every annoyed teen in the room who to be mad at. It was an endless cycle of sneezing misery. Whenever he’d sit down after blowing his nose he’d have all of a minute before he couldn’t breath quietly again.

And Rich, oh god Rich. Rich had the lovely honor of being Michael’s only friend in the class. He decided to sit next to him because, you know that’s what friends do. And for the first time since they’d become friends he was starting to regret it. Rich liked to think that he was a fairly patient person, but that was a load of shit and right now Michael’s constant sniffling was really testing him. He tried to focus on a question about Israel, but Michael let out an especially loud sniffle, followed by a miserable grunt. Rich slammed his pencil down in annoyance and glared to his side, but his expression instantly softened when he saw the state Michael was in.

Michael lifted his head at the sound, albeit a bit delayed, and his teary red eyes stared at Rich. Instead of talking he gave a sniffle and a raised eyebrow. Rich frowned, his eyes glanced around the room for a moment before deeming it safe. He wrote a little note down on the edge of his test then kicked Michael from under his desk.

'U good?’

Michael sighed through his mouth, mostly because he couldn’t through his nose. He gave Rich a small nod, pushing his glasses up and going back to his test.

It didn’t go unnoticed how Rich mumbled “yeah well you look like shit” under his breath.

Michael had never felt more embarrassed in his life. Every class he disrupted and annoyed people. During third period he was told to walk in the fucking hallway. At one point he had sneezed so badly that snot shot right out in the middle of talking to a lab partner. He had to cover his nose for a tissue but she was clearly grossed out. He liked to think he wasn’t much of an annoyed guy, that he could handle these situations well. But he felt so miserably and all the sniffling hurt his head and his nose was itching and man he just wanted a nap. He reached into his pocket, and oh no. Only one tissue left. Fuck his life, seriously.

He made his way to the usual lunch table all too grateful when he saw Jeremy wasn’t there. He sat down, mentally willing the squad to not show up. But low and behold, that only worked on Jeremy.

Rich slammed his backpack down next to Michael and scanned his face. Michael grew uncomfortable under his intense gaze, and curled up under it. He tried to ignore it, but Rich was relentless, as if he planned to stare until Michael said hi.

And then Michael sneezed, three times. He groaned and used up his last tissues, knowing fully well he was fucked now. He could probably ask a teacher for some but let’s be honest he’d rather die then have unneeded social interaction.

“You look even shitter than earlier.” Rich so elegantly pointed out.

Michael turned to face Rich, giving him a grunt as a reply. He scratched at his nose yet again, “allergies”

“Dude. Go to the fucking nurse. Christ.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a fucking mess.”

“Who’s a mess bro?” Jake’s voice came from behind Rich, “if you’re talking about Stephanie then I agree, did you see what she twee-”

Jake stopped when looked over Rich to see Michael. Michael hated the instant look of concern that Jake, it almost made him wish he sat at a different table.

“Hey, Michael, bro, you alright? You look kinda-”

“It’s just allergies. Seriously guys can’t I just- achuu! Can’t I just chill out and eat my lunch?”

Rich propped his head up on his elbow, still watching over Michael, “Not if you get snot all over the table.”

“Oh my gosh Michael! Your face is so red and so are your eyes! Are you ok?” It was a lot harder for Michael to be annoyed when Christine came over, her face instantly became worried. She searched through her purse on hopes to have some zertec on her or something.

But still, all the worried faces on him were overwhelming and embarrassing.

Brooke and Chloe were walking over with their lunch trays. At first it seemed like they wouldn’t notice until Chloe made eye contact with him, cutting Brooke off mid-sentence.

“Woah. What bus ran you over?”

“Michael! You look so sick maybe you should go to the nurse…” Brooke pouted her bottom lip out, something she only did in worry.

“Guys seriously I’m- achuu! Achuu!!” Michael rubbed his nose off on his sleeve, groaning as his nose felt blocked enough to be painful.

There was a chorus of bless yous, and Christine’s hand rubbed his back soothingly. Michael sighed and lowered his head, face burning in embarrassment at all the sudden attention. He sniffled again.

“You should blow your nose, Mikey.” Brooke’s gentle voice spoke up, her hand touching his gentle.

He just shook his head, he hated the way his ears seemed to echo strangely at noise. Maybe not echo…maybe throb is the right word? Like a throb of fuzz that pounded against his ear at noise, obnoxious and nearly indescribable. His skin felt as though it were crawling and he felt everything from Brooke’s hand to her ring to the loose string inside his hoodie. Michael sighed and leaned his head down on the table.

“Just leave me here to die.”

They all exchanged worried looks, and Michael couldn’t ignore the more subtle hovering they did over the remainder of lunch.

Later on it was the end of the day and Michael had never regretted skipping out on his medicine more. He thought he was going to die. He was supposed to meet up with Jeremy at his locker but all he could think about was how there was too much going on at once and how fucking miserable he felt. He had no more tissues so his nose kept dripping grossly and he had no choice but to rub it off on his sleeve and breath through his mouth. That alone sent his mind into a uncomfortable spiral. It bothered him every time he went to naturally breath only to find he couldn’t, he hated the restraint. He could hear the students buzzing in the halls and every bump of his shoulder. Hell, he could feel when someone just came close to him. It was all too much against the fuzzy pounding and the itching and the headache and the sore stomach and just everything. He felt lost in the hallway, like he was going down a mile long hell chain. When he felt the tears running down his face from something other than allergies he knew that he needed Jeremy, and he needed him now.

Jeremy shut his locker and looked up when he heard a weak sniffle next to him. He frowned when he saw tears running down Michael’s face, Rich wasn’t kidding he did look worse. There was snot dripping down his face that he was too miserable to even feel or be annoyed. Jeremy got off of his knee and stood up tall, his backpack slung over his shoulder as he took in Michael’s shaking form.

“God Michael, we should get you home. Gimmie your keys, I’ll drive.”

He put a hand on Michael’s back breifly, not noticing the subtle flinch, and guided him to his car. Michael balled fists into his eyes and tried to stop the wave of tears, he felt so uncomfortable in his own skin and just wanted to sleep for a year and wake up healthy. But now his mind was on another thing. Did Jeremy not see him crying? No he was looking right at him. He didn’t ask if he was ok though. Does…does he not care anymore? Maybe the SQUIP is blocking Michael’s tears from his vision. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. Michael felt even more overwhelmed, more tears falling down into his sweatshirt sleeve.

It wasn’t until Jeremy was all set up to drive that he noticed something else was wrong. Usually Michael would recline his chair as much as possible and try to sleep for the 15 minuetes they had to drive. But Michael sat there curled up with his face in his sleeve, only moving to wipe furiously. His shoulders were shaking and it filled Jeremy with this…urge to protect and comfort. God, poor Michael. And those tears wouldn’t stop. Was Michael actually crying? Jeremy frowned and turned the A.C. up, knowing having cold air on his face helped Michael calm down. The boy lifted his head up at the gust of wind, sniffled, and just silently stood facing it with tears rolling down his chin evenly.

“Michael…?” Jeremy finally dared to ask, “What’s wrong..?”

Michael let out a shaky exhale, adjusting the fan to hit him more directly, “I just…feel so awful, Jeremy…” the broken tone in his voice broke Jeremy’s heart too.

Jeremy turned the key into the ignition, “I know pal. But me and you are gonna hang out at your house and we’re gonna eat a shit ton and you’re gonna feel so much better, that sound good?”

Michael nodded, his face going red to his ears when he asked, “can I have sick cuddles too?”

“You can have sick cuddles too.”

Michael finally relaxed and reclined into his chair, relishing the steady feeling of the car as he shut his burning eyes. He picked his dry lips, feeling Jeremy start to back out of the parking lot. Jeremy tried to give Michael his space, especially now that he was starting to actually relax, but he couldn’t help but focus on the way Michael still heavily took breathes through his mouth.

“Michael?”

“Mm..?”

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah…I guess.”

“Why are you breathing like that?”

Michael sniffled and tried to test the waters, but nope, still can’t breath, “my nose is so blocked dude…”

“Oh geez… I think I shoved like Wendy’s napkins in your glovebox.”

Michael reached for the pile of napkins, they’d rub harshly against his nose but god he needed to breathe. “You’re a mcfucking life saver”

After about 5 harsh noseblows, his nose giving a strange crinkingly feeling as it slowly opened up, Michael found for the first in he was able to fall asleep in less than the 15 minutes.

[lovebyithil]

Letter to you from months ago to now

I have full confidence that we can get through these next few years because I do believe you are my soulmate. And I have never used that word lightly as you know. But you mean more to me than almost (Lilly) anything, we have gone through so much that I can't event think about this ending. Hopefully the meds I get this weekend and the constant work and skyping with you will help me with being on my own. I want to make this work, I want to one day walk down an aisle smiling like an idiot, and falling in love with you all over again just because I know you'll be wearing a bow tie and that half smirk/smile that you always have. I can't wait to travel together, no matter the expenses. I want to watch you become the amazing photographer I know you will be, and who knows maybe one day I will have the confidence to let you take pictures whenever you want. My plan is to write each day to you before you leave, and separate them by month, then once you leave I plan on writing each day what I've done even if you know, writing what I plan to do, and each week I'll send you a letter. Cause I remember you once saying you missed writing to people. And each week I will send you a part of something I wrote, or a drawing or picture of painting I finished or started. And I want copies of the photos you take, just because I know I wont get to see them for a long while. I have a lot of plans that I hopefully will accomplish. I want to work out, tan, get braces, keep a stable job, plan trips to see you once a month, plan trips for when you come back for summer, starting with a camping trip seeing as we weren't able to go this year. I want to work on your room and around June start asking about potential new roommates. Or at least have the apartment more orderly if Chris and Jordan decide to stay. I want to start writing a book, about what yet I am not sure. I want to get the altar more organized, of course continue building my collection of herbs and oils, and maybe even start one for you of the stones. I want to get enough information to start writing my own grimoire in my leather bound journal. And start a small one for you on your stones and metals. There's so much I want to do and it's weird knowing I will actually have time to do it, but at the same time I hate that I will have time to do it, because the reason behind me having time to do all this means you won't be here. At the same time it's a good thing, because then I can show you I can survive on my own, and hopefully when you get back I wont be the same broken little girl you left. I know it's going to take a lot and I know the emotional toll it will take on me, but I know I can do this..,I just hope you'll be my side through it all. One day I want to get away from it all, start a life somewhere new, maybe not even in Michigan, who knows I may got to Salem and not leave haha. You'll be getting off work soon, so I'll have to end todays letter quickly here. I know I am a pain in the ass but I am trying to not be that way forever. I am sorry for the hell I have put you through while we have been together. But I also thank you for staying with me though it all, even though there were a few times you questioned why you stayed. I don't know what I would have done without you darling. TE AMO AHORA Y PARA SIEMPRE NIN DRAUG! Always and forever, Miaulin. 10/14/2016 Dearest Love, We are on our way back now from our weekend in Chicago, I may have slightly drifted on the whole writing every day part, but I believe it's because I am still with you every day so I do not have much to write. This weekend when it started I felt like I was invading your's and Ma's space, just from the vibes I got from both you and her, I mean it is to b expected you guys have been on this twice before this, and it was just you two. By the end though that feeling went away, I had fun, except for the not eating part, sorry that I can't eat the pizza you enjoy love. As I have told you before, I wasn't a big fan of classical music but going to the Symphony with you, I loved it. I loved watching the pianist play, and watch you as you gazed admiringly down at the Orchestra. I think I enjoyed that most. Going to the Alchemy Shop was of course my favorite part of our trip, but did you expect any less? Im sorry the hotel wasn't exactly what you were used to, I did the best I could, I know you guys weren't exactly the happiest there, next time Ill try and go somewhere different. I know you aren't exactly happy that we had to leave but you'll be back there soon, and I would give anything to be down there with you. But I understand why you don't want me to. I just know that you'll be happy there, you already were with just the few short days there, I now understand why you fell in love with the city. So many adventures to go on just by going down the street. I know this one wasn't as long as the last but I think you understand what I am trying to say. I love you Nin Draug, with all my heart. 10/24/2016 My Dearest Love, It has been a long while since I wrote to you in this. Funny part is you don’t even know about it all yet. It's been about five months since I last wrote and so much has happened. I have done terrible things to you…and even after it all you forgave me. Why you did I will never understand, why you haven't walked away I will never understand. Threatening my life against you…I cannot believe how low I went. You will never know how truly sorry I am darling. Realizing my horrible mess up has put me back in position that has crushed me. I haven't been this bad since I left my fathers. You have no idea the pain of it realizing I have to rebuild myself all over again, after years of getting to where I was. Maybe one day I will be the girl you fell in love with like I once was, the first girl but it will take me time. And as of right now you have chosen to stay by my side, whether or not you do I do not know. But I will never stop trying this I swear to you my wolf. I always tell you that you are not my only reason to change…but you are a huge part of why I want to, why I am going completely out of my comfort zone to try and fix myself. That is how much you mean to me, how much this means to me. At this point you have been in Chicago for almost three months, and I have seen you twice since you have left. Each time was amazing. Waking up to you is my favorite thing, it’s the moments I cherish most. Even now watching you walk away while I leave to head home still kills me. Right now I am at work, just writing down this letter. Even in these moments I still think of you, I wonder how often the things you do in your daily life remind you of me. I am going to wrap this up for now. I love you always and forever Nin Draug. Love, Miaulin 03/13/2017

[the-werid-the-wild-the-panda]

Game of thrones

Ok so ive started watching game of thrones. Everynight with my older brother. Im creating these strings of posts to express my thoughts so far. Also im still learning names so if i dont refer to someone by there name its because i dont know their name or because i literaly still haven't put the name to the face so gimme time to figure out names.for the first 3 episodes all be blending them together because im on the forth episode and will be watching that tonight so i lm kinda doing this 2 days late.

Episode 1 and possibly 2and 3: that royal dick i really dont like him. Brah if there is dead mangeled bodies its a fucken sign to run. Run bitch. WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE BLUE EYED ZOMBIES. RUUUUUUN BITCH RUN.oh damn. Whelp. Bro said white walkers weren't real and they real.brah dont kill the dude hes talking the truth. Little kid likes to climb. Adorable. Must protech climbing boi.well ok i know keeping it in the family is a royal thing but really queen and her brother you have to. WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU PUSH A SMOL KID OUT THE WINDOW. HIS 10 HES A BABY AND YOU HEARTLESS SON OF A BITCH PUSHED HIS ASS OUT CUS YOU CANT STOP DIDITLING YPU SISTER.IF HE DIES IMMA REACH THROUGH THE SCREEN AND BEAT YOU TWO WITH AND INCH OF YOUR LIVES. Why the fuck is the king obseesed brother such a fucken asshole.TELLING YOUR SISTER WHO IS TELLING YOU SHE DOESNT WANT TO MARRY MISTER HORSE CLAN AND YOU TELL HER YOUD LET ALL OF HIS MEN AND HORSES RAPE HER. YOU DESERVE TO BE PUNTED IN THE GRONE YOU COCK SUCKING LITTLE BITCH. ALSO YOU DONT UNDRESS YOUR SISTER AND TELL HER SHE HAS A WOMENS BODY YOU CREEPP!!!!!!!!horse clan dude is kinda hot and scarey.Very uncomfortable sex scean. Oh god i feel sad for her. Why does everyone refer to my favorite brother out of the northern family as a bastard.........oh thats why. Ok mama north hes just saying good bye to his brother. I get hes an embodiment of your husbands fault. But please dont be a dick to him. Let him do what good brothers do. Giving your sister a sword speaks the most pure and awe streaking brotherly love. I wish my brother gave me a sword. Adorable wolf doggos has grown into beautiful wolfs. Jaffery oh my fucken god. I hate you. So much. YOU THREATEN TO KILL A LITTLE GIRL YOU HEARTLESS BITCH AND YOUR MOM SOUNDS LIKE THE MOST ENTITLED BITCH. OFH NO HES GONNA HAVE A SCAR OH NO ITS A SMALL FUCKEN SCAR BITCH. AND ITS GONNA BE COVERD BASED ON THE FUCKEN CLOTHES STYLE LIKE SHIT.hey dragon egg chick and mister horse clan look like they are getting along. And shes picking up the language.but her brofher is still a dick. Pissing off the edge of the wall. Something i now want to put on my bucket list. Atlest there is one brother in the set that is actually fucken charming. Half stack is such a damn character. I hope nothing horrivle happened.also waiting for (brono i still dont know his name the climing boi) remebers what happened to him and why.also can the queen stop trying to murder this kid. Like bitch your assasin got numb by his doggo.

This has been a scrambled mix of my thoughts. From now on thou things will ne more orderly.

[samanthasroberts]

My Husband Isn’t My “Type”and He’s Definitely Not My Best Friend

“Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really? Because mine isnt.”

ByRobin O’Bryant

Im going to need everyone who has posted a Facebook status along the lines of, Happy Anniversary to my best friend and the love of my life! to form a line, so that in an orderly fashion, I can walk down said line and thump each of you right in the middle of your foreheads.

Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really?

Because mine isnt.

When people ask me how I met my husband, I usually just say, Church. You need to know someone pretty well before you say something like, God told me he was my husband and even though Im not used to hearing voices, I just went for it! Whats to lose, amiright?!

It was the summer of 1997, I was 19 years old and spending the break working in the office of a new evangelical church my mother had started attending.

My parents had just gone through a shocking divorce, and by shocking, let me just say that to this very day, almost 20 years after their divorce, Ive never heard my parents argue. Ever. They woke us up one fine Alabama Saturday morning and told us they had gotten a divorce a few weeks earlier and my dad was moving out. There was no warning shot fired, no attempt at counseling or reconciliation, just that one sucker punch when we werent paying attention. A year later, I broke up with my boyfriend of four years and my heart was still tender from both events.

Maybe I was naive to think I could bargain with God, but nevertheless, I laid out my terms in my journal:

Ill never give my heart away again. Im giving it to you. Maybe Im ridiculous to never want to date again, but if you could just give me a sign or something when I meet my husbandTHEN Ill date him and fall in love. I dont want to risk picking the wrong person again. After everything…I dont trust my own judgment. So a burning bush? Im not in a hurry. Im ready to go all Sister Mary Clarence about this (thats a Sister Act jokeGod gets me). So, please. Smoke signals? Something…

Before I headed back for the next semester, my older brother Matt and I decided to go to Texas for a Christian motorcycle rally with a family from our new church. (And yes, I do realize this story is getting weirder by the second.) It was kind of a Christian convention meets county fair/campgrounds, but with former Hells Angels who have converted and love JesusIm sure you have the perfect mental picture.

We borrowed a tent, loaded Matts car and joined a caravan of cars following the OBryant family to Texas. One of their sons, Zeb, was a year younger than me. But even if I hadnt been in my Sister Mary Clarence phase, I wouldnt have looked at him twice.

Zeb wasnt my type. My type was clean cut and all-American, the kind who wore lots of Polo shirts and khaki pants, possibly played golf and most definitely was a member of Key Club. Zeb rode a metallic blue 1976 Harley-Davidson everywhere he went, had a goatee that was a little longer than I thought sanitary and his naturally brown hair was bleached blonde and spiked in a manner not unlike Edward Cullensor Edward Scissorhands, for that matter.

Regardless, meeting Zeb began a weekend-long love affair with his vintage Harley-Davidson and Texas back roads. Every time Zeb jumped on his bike, hed give me a nod, Id hop on and wed take off. The rumble of the Harley and the twisting roads through the Hill Country almost hypnotized me. The wind blasted my face and ratted my hair as the sun warmed my jeans. I was careful to keep my hands gently on Zebs hips and to not lean too close against himSister Mary Clarence didnt want to inadvertently press any boobage against his back and give him the wrong idea.

We were sitting in a tent revival type of meetingfolding chairs and open air with the stars hanging low and lazy in the night sky. Our faces were still grey with the road dust and we smelled sweetly of sunshine and gasoline. I was sitting there with my Bible open on my lap when I had a crazy thought:

My husband is here somewhere…

My eyes scanned the crowd and as they did, they fell on Zeb, who was sitting to my right, ripped jeans and motorcycle boots propped on the chair in front of him. Now Im not saying I heard an audible voice, but something deep inside of me clearly shouted, Its him.

I knew from that moment on I would marry him. And its a damn good thing I was hearing voices that nightotherwise I wouldve totally missed it.

Zeb is my polar opposite. Hes an extrovert; Im an introvert. He loves nature and the outdoors; Ive wondered if I could get a PhD in Netflix. Hes calm, steady and always in a good mood. Im creative, a roller-coaster of emotions and quite franklyprone to hysterics.

I want a best friend who will tell me I need one more pair of shoes and a man who will remind me to save for my retirement account. I want to call my best friend when I feel Ive been wronged and hear her say, What a b*tch! I cant believe she said that to you! I want to be married to a man who says, Who gives a sh*t what she thinks? And I want to get into bed at night with a man who ignites things in me no one else can.

Zeb isnt my best friend.

I have never been so angry at my best friend that I fantasized about throwing a lamp or other miscellaneous piece of furniture at her head. I cant say the same for ole Zeb. For example, once our 3-year-old had walking pneumonia. Sadie was running a fever, listless and refused to drink anything. I tried all manner of juices, an assortment of sippy cups and silly straws all to no avail.

Zeb, will you go to the store and get some Popsicles? I asked.

Do you really think she needs sugar when shes this sick?

I think she needs any type of fluid she can get down because shes going to get dehydrated. So yes, I think she needs Popsicles. I replied.

Give her some water, Zeb advised.

I HAVE.

Try some juice.

Really Zeb? Ive tried everything. Thats why I need Popsicles. I was starting to get pretty pissed.

I just dont think she needs sugar. He said, again.

Noted. Now go to the store and get Popsicles. Please. I said please out loud but in my head I was screaming, YOU SOB!

He was as mad as all get out, but he went to the storevictory was mine! Sadie would be hydrated! All was well with the world…until he walked in the door carrying a box of 200 Otter Pops that werent even frozen.

Is this really happening?! I yelled, What the hell? POPSICLES, Zeb! Why is that so hard?

These ARE Popsicles! He yelled back.

No they arent! Theyll be Popsicles in 36-48 hours but they are most certainly NOT Popsicles right now! Why didnt you get frozen ones?

He looked me straight in the eye and said, I didnt know you could buy them that way.

Are you sure thats how you want to play this? Do you really want me to believe youre that stupid? I asked.

I dont know that Ive ever been so completely filled with rage. Over freaking Popsicles.

But thats the way it is with me and Zebwe are passionate and stubborn. Sometimes I think I might see myself on an episode of Dateline, Josh Mankiewicz strolling down our street as a camera pans wide and says,In the small town of Greenwood, Mississippi, everything looked perfect for Zeb and Robin OBryant…until one day, in a fit of rage, Robin did the unthinkable…

But then, in a split second, Zeb is there with eyes the exact same amber brown assunshine filtered through a beer bottle. He wraps his arms around me while Im standing at the stove cooking dinner. Hekisses my neck and his beard tickles my skin, Sorry, he whispers. And I melt.

Zeb isnt my best friend. Depending on the movie I want to see, Ill ditch him in a second for my girlfriends. But when things gets real, I dont care if anyone is standing with me but him. Hes my partner, my equal and without a doubt, my better half. Zeb is the peanut butter to my jelly, the yin to my yang, the spiritual Xanax to my eight-ball of coke.

Im also going to need all of you people who say, Thanks for the best 15 years of my life! to stand in a separate corner and await your own punishment, because marriage isnt easy, and it most certainly isnt all happy.

Id rather say:

I really appreciate you driving me to therapy every week.

Thanks for not leaving me when I act like a lunatic.

“Thanks for acting like you thought I was sexy for the last 16 years even though Ive gained and lost hundreds of pounds and my stretch marks look like a topographical map of the Rocky Mountains.

I have lots of friends, hell, I even have lots of best friends…but there is and will always be, only one Zeb. Hes my husband and thats enough.

About the Author: Robin O’Bryant is the The New Times best-selling author of Ketchup is a Vegetable and Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves. You can follow her on FaceBook as Robin O’Bryantor Twitter.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/06/10/my-husband-isnt-my-typeand-hes-definitely-not-my-best-friend/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/06/10/my-husband-isnt-my-typeand-hes-definitely-not-my-best-friend/

[jimdsmith34]

My Husband Isn’t My “Type”and He’s Definitely Not My Best Friend

“Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really? Because mine isnt.”

ByRobin O’Bryant

Im going to need everyone who has posted a Facebook status along the lines of, Happy Anniversary to my best friend and the love of my life! to form a line, so that in an orderly fashion, I can walk down said line and thump each of you right in the middle of your foreheads.

Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really?

Because mine isnt.

When people ask me how I met my husband, I usually just say, Church. You need to know someone pretty well before you say something like, God told me he was my husband and even though Im not used to hearing voices, I just went for it! Whats to lose, amiright?!

It was the summer of 1997, I was 19 years old and spending the break working in the office of a new evangelical church my mother had started attending.

My parents had just gone through a shocking divorce, and by shocking, let me just say that to this very day, almost 20 years after their divorce, Ive never heard my parents argue. Ever. They woke us up one fine Alabama Saturday morning and told us they had gotten a divorce a few weeks earlier and my dad was moving out. There was no warning shot fired, no attempt at counseling or reconciliation, just that one sucker punch when we werent paying attention. A year later, I broke up with my boyfriend of four years and my heart was still tender from both events.

Maybe I was naive to think I could bargain with God, but nevertheless, I laid out my terms in my journal:

Ill never give my heart away again. Im giving it to you. Maybe Im ridiculous to never want to date again, but if you could just give me a sign or something when I meet my husbandTHEN Ill date him and fall in love. I dont want to risk picking the wrong person again. After everything…I dont trust my own judgment. So a burning bush? Im not in a hurry. Im ready to go all Sister Mary Clarence about this (thats a Sister Act jokeGod gets me). So, please. Smoke signals? Something…

Before I headed back for the next semester, my older brother Matt and I decided to go to Texas for a Christian motorcycle rally with a family from our new church. (And yes, I do realize this story is getting weirder by the second.) It was kind of a Christian convention meets county fair/campgrounds, but with former Hells Angels who have converted and love JesusIm sure you have the perfect mental picture.

We borrowed a tent, loaded Matts car and joined a caravan of cars following the OBryant family to Texas. One of their sons, Zeb, was a year younger than me. But even if I hadnt been in my Sister Mary Clarence phase, I wouldnt have looked at him twice.

Zeb wasnt my type. My type was clean cut and all-American, the kind who wore lots of Polo shirts and khaki pants, possibly played golf and most definitely was a member of Key Club. Zeb rode a metallic blue 1976 Harley-Davidson everywhere he went, had a goatee that was a little longer than I thought sanitary and his naturally brown hair was bleached blonde and spiked in a manner not unlike Edward Cullensor Edward Scissorhands, for that matter.

Regardless, meeting Zeb began a weekend-long love affair with his vintage Harley-Davidson and Texas back roads. Every time Zeb jumped on his bike, hed give me a nod, Id hop on and wed take off. The rumble of the Harley and the twisting roads through the Hill Country almost hypnotized me. The wind blasted my face and ratted my hair as the sun warmed my jeans. I was careful to keep my hands gently on Zebs hips and to not lean too close against himSister Mary Clarence didnt want to inadvertently press any boobage against his back and give him the wrong idea.

We were sitting in a tent revival type of meetingfolding chairs and open air with the stars hanging low and lazy in the night sky. Our faces were still grey with the road dust and we smelled sweetly of sunshine and gasoline. I was sitting there with my Bible open on my lap when I had a crazy thought:

My husband is here somewhere…

My eyes scanned the crowd and as they did, they fell on Zeb, who was sitting to my right, ripped jeans and motorcycle boots propped on the chair in front of him. Now Im not saying I heard an audible voice, but something deep inside of me clearly shouted, Its him.

I knew from that moment on I would marry him. And its a damn good thing I was hearing voices that nightotherwise I wouldve totally missed it.

Zeb is my polar opposite. Hes an extrovert; Im an introvert. He loves nature and the outdoors; Ive wondered if I could get a PhD in Netflix. Hes calm, steady and always in a good mood. Im creative, a roller-coaster of emotions and quite franklyprone to hysterics.

I want a best friend who will tell me I need one more pair of shoes and a man who will remind me to save for my retirement account. I want to call my best friend when I feel Ive been wronged and hear her say, What a b*tch! I cant believe she said that to you! I want to be married to a man who says, Who gives a sh*t what she thinks? And I want to get into bed at night with a man who ignites things in me no one else can.

Zeb isnt my best friend.

I have never been so angry at my best friend that I fantasized about throwing a lamp or other miscellaneous piece of furniture at her head. I cant say the same for ole Zeb. For example, once our 3-year-old had walking pneumonia. Sadie was running a fever, listless and refused to drink anything. I tried all manner of juices, an assortment of sippy cups and silly straws all to no avail.

Zeb, will you go to the store and get some Popsicles? I asked.

Do you really think she needs sugar when shes this sick?

I think she needs any type of fluid she can get down because shes going to get dehydrated. So yes, I think she needs Popsicles. I replied.

Give her some water, Zeb advised.

I HAVE.

Try some juice.

Really Zeb? Ive tried everything. Thats why I need Popsicles. I was starting to get pretty pissed.

I just dont think she needs sugar. He said, again.

Noted. Now go to the store and get Popsicles. Please. I said please out loud but in my head I was screaming, YOU SOB!

He was as mad as all get out, but he went to the storevictory was mine! Sadie would be hydrated! All was well with the world…until he walked in the door carrying a box of 200 Otter Pops that werent even frozen.

Is this really happening?! I yelled, What the hell? POPSICLES, Zeb! Why is that so hard?

These ARE Popsicles! He yelled back.

No they arent! Theyll be Popsicles in 36-48 hours but they are most certainly NOT Popsicles right now! Why didnt you get frozen ones?

He looked me straight in the eye and said, I didnt know you could buy them that way.

Are you sure thats how you want to play this? Do you really want me to believe youre that stupid? I asked.

I dont know that Ive ever been so completely filled with rage. Over freaking Popsicles.

But thats the way it is with me and Zebwe are passionate and stubborn. Sometimes I think I might see myself on an episode of Dateline, Josh Mankiewicz strolling down our street as a camera pans wide and says,In the small town of Greenwood, Mississippi, everything looked perfect for Zeb and Robin OBryant…until one day, in a fit of rage, Robin did the unthinkable…

But then, in a split second, Zeb is there with eyes the exact same amber brown assunshine filtered through a beer bottle. He wraps his arms around me while Im standing at the stove cooking dinner. Hekisses my neck and his beard tickles my skin, Sorry, he whispers. And I melt.

Zeb isnt my best friend. Depending on the movie I want to see, Ill ditch him in a second for my girlfriends. But when things gets real, I dont care if anyone is standing with me but him. Hes my partner, my equal and without a doubt, my better half. Zeb is the peanut butter to my jelly, the yin to my yang, the spiritual Xanax to my eight-ball of coke.

Im also going to need all of you people who say, Thanks for the best 15 years of my life! to stand in a separate corner and await your own punishment, because marriage isnt easy, and it most certainly isnt all happy.

Id rather say:

I really appreciate you driving me to therapy every week.

Thanks for not leaving me when I act like a lunatic.

“Thanks for acting like you thought I was sexy for the last 16 years even though Ive gained and lost hundreds of pounds and my stretch marks look like a topographical map of the Rocky Mountains.

I have lots of friends, hell, I even have lots of best friends…but there is and will always be, only one Zeb. Hes my husband and thats enough.

About the Author: Robin O’Bryant is the The New Times best-selling author of Ketchup is a Vegetable and Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves. You can follow her on FaceBook as Robin O’Bryantor Twitter.

source http://allofbeer.com/2017/06/10/my-husband-isnt-my-typeand-hes-definitely-not-my-best-friend/ from All of Beer http://allofbeer.blogspot.com/2017/06/my-husband-isnt-my-typeand-hes.html

[adambstingus]

My Husband Isn’t My “Type”and He’s Definitely Not My Best Friend

“Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really? Because mine isnt.”

ByRobin O’Bryant

Im going to need everyone who has posted a Facebook status along the lines of, Happy Anniversary to my best friend and the love of my life! to form a line, so that in an orderly fashion, I can walk down said line and thump each of you right in the middle of your foreheads.

Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really?

Because mine isnt.

When people ask me how I met my husband, I usually just say, Church. You need to know someone pretty well before you say something like, God told me he was my husband and even though Im not used to hearing voices, I just went for it! Whats to lose, amiright?!

It was the summer of 1997, I was 19 years old and spending the break working in the office of a new evangelical church my mother had started attending.

My parents had just gone through a shocking divorce, and by shocking, let me just say that to this very day, almost 20 years after their divorce, Ive never heard my parents argue. Ever. They woke us up one fine Alabama Saturday morning and told us they had gotten a divorce a few weeks earlier and my dad was moving out. There was no warning shot fired, no attempt at counseling or reconciliation, just that one sucker punch when we werent paying attention. A year later, I broke up with my boyfriend of four years and my heart was still tender from both events.

Maybe I was naive to think I could bargain with God, but nevertheless, I laid out my terms in my journal:

Ill never give my heart away again. Im giving it to you. Maybe Im ridiculous to never want to date again, but if you could just give me a sign or something when I meet my husbandTHEN Ill date him and fall in love. I dont want to risk picking the wrong person again. After everything…I dont trust my own judgment. So a burning bush? Im not in a hurry. Im ready to go all Sister Mary Clarence about this (thats a Sister Act jokeGod gets me). So, please. Smoke signals? Something…

Before I headed back for the next semester, my older brother Matt and I decided to go to Texas for a Christian motorcycle rally with a family from our new church. (And yes, I do realize this story is getting weirder by the second.) It was kind of a Christian convention meets county fair/campgrounds, but with former Hells Angels who have converted and love JesusIm sure you have the perfect mental picture.

We borrowed a tent, loaded Matts car and joined a caravan of cars following the OBryant family to Texas. One of their sons, Zeb, was a year younger than me. But even if I hadnt been in my Sister Mary Clarence phase, I wouldnt have looked at him twice.

Zeb wasnt my type. My type was clean cut and all-American, the kind who wore lots of Polo shirts and khaki pants, possibly played golf and most definitely was a member of Key Club. Zeb rode a metallic blue 1976 Harley-Davidson everywhere he went, had a goatee that was a little longer than I thought sanitary and his naturally brown hair was bleached blonde and spiked in a manner not unlike Edward Cullensor Edward Scissorhands, for that matter.

Regardless, meeting Zeb began a weekend-long love affair with his vintage Harley-Davidson and Texas back roads. Every time Zeb jumped on his bike, hed give me a nod, Id hop on and wed take off. The rumble of the Harley and the twisting roads through the Hill Country almost hypnotized me. The wind blasted my face and ratted my hair as the sun warmed my jeans. I was careful to keep my hands gently on Zebs hips and to not lean too close against himSister Mary Clarence didnt want to inadvertently press any boobage against his back and give him the wrong idea.

We were sitting in a tent revival type of meetingfolding chairs and open air with the stars hanging low and lazy in the night sky. Our faces were still grey with the road dust and we smelled sweetly of sunshine and gasoline. I was sitting there with my Bible open on my lap when I had a crazy thought:

My husband is here somewhere…

My eyes scanned the crowd and as they did, they fell on Zeb, who was sitting to my right, ripped jeans and motorcycle boots propped on the chair in front of him. Now Im not saying I heard an audible voice, but something deep inside of me clearly shouted, Its him.

I knew from that moment on I would marry him. And its a damn good thing I was hearing voices that nightotherwise I wouldve totally missed it.

Zeb is my polar opposite. Hes an extrovert; Im an introvert. He loves nature and the outdoors; Ive wondered if I could get a PhD in Netflix. Hes calm, steady and always in a good mood. Im creative, a roller-coaster of emotions and quite franklyprone to hysterics.

I want a best friend who will tell me I need one more pair of shoes and a man who will remind me to save for my retirement account. I want to call my best friend when I feel Ive been wronged and hear her say, What a b*tch! I cant believe she said that to you! I want to be married to a man who says, Who gives a sh*t what she thinks? And I want to get into bed at night with a man who ignites things in me no one else can.

Zeb isnt my best friend.

I have never been so angry at my best friend that I fantasized about throwing a lamp or other miscellaneous piece of furniture at her head. I cant say the same for ole Zeb. For example, once our 3-year-old had walking pneumonia. Sadie was running a fever, listless and refused to drink anything. I tried all manner of juices, an assortment of sippy cups and silly straws all to no avail.

Zeb, will you go to the store and get some Popsicles? I asked.

Do you really think she needs sugar when shes this sick?

I think she needs any type of fluid she can get down because shes going to get dehydrated. So yes, I think she needs Popsicles. I replied.

Give her some water, Zeb advised.

I HAVE.

Try some juice.

Really Zeb? Ive tried everything. Thats why I need Popsicles. I was starting to get pretty pissed.

I just dont think she needs sugar. He said, again.

Noted. Now go to the store and get Popsicles. Please. I said please out loud but in my head I was screaming, YOU SOB!

He was as mad as all get out, but he went to the storevictory was mine! Sadie would be hydrated! All was well with the world…until he walked in the door carrying a box of 200 Otter Pops that werent even frozen.

Is this really happening?! I yelled, What the hell? POPSICLES, Zeb! Why is that so hard?

These ARE Popsicles! He yelled back.

No they arent! Theyll be Popsicles in 36-48 hours but they are most certainly NOT Popsicles right now! Why didnt you get frozen ones?

He looked me straight in the eye and said, I didnt know you could buy them that way.

Are you sure thats how you want to play this? Do you really want me to believe youre that stupid? I asked.

I dont know that Ive ever been so completely filled with rage. Over freaking Popsicles.

But thats the way it is with me and Zebwe are passionate and stubborn. Sometimes I think I might see myself on an episode of Dateline, Josh Mankiewicz strolling down our street as a camera pans wide and says,In the small town of Greenwood, Mississippi, everything looked perfect for Zeb and Robin OBryant…until one day, in a fit of rage, Robin did the unthinkable…

But then, in a split second, Zeb is there with eyes the exact same amber brown assunshine filtered through a beer bottle. He wraps his arms around me while Im standing at the stove cooking dinner. Hekisses my neck and his beard tickles my skin, Sorry, he whispers. And I melt.

Zeb isnt my best friend. Depending on the movie I want to see, Ill ditch him in a second for my girlfriends. But when things gets real, I dont care if anyone is standing with me but him. Hes my partner, my equal and without a doubt, my better half. Zeb is the peanut butter to my jelly, the yin to my yang, the spiritual Xanax to my eight-ball of coke.

Im also going to need all of you people who say, Thanks for the best 15 years of my life! to stand in a separate corner and await your own punishment, because marriage isnt easy, and it most certainly isnt all happy.

Id rather say:

I really appreciate you driving me to therapy every week.

Thanks for not leaving me when I act like a lunatic.

“Thanks for acting like you thought I was sexy for the last 16 years even though Ive gained and lost hundreds of pounds and my stretch marks look like a topographical map of the Rocky Mountains.

I have lots of friends, hell, I even have lots of best friends…but there is and will always be, only one Zeb. Hes my husband and thats enough.

About the Author: Robin O’Bryant is the The New Times best-selling author of Ketchup is a Vegetable and Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves. You can follow her on FaceBook as Robin O’Bryantor Twitter.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/06/10/my-husband-isnt-my-typeand-hes-definitely-not-my-best-friend/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/161673020527

[allofbeercom]

My Husband Isn’t My “Type”and He’s Definitely Not My Best Friend

“Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really? Because mine isnt.”

ByRobin O’Bryant

Im going to need everyone who has posted a Facebook status along the lines of, Happy Anniversary to my best friend and the love of my life! to form a line, so that in an orderly fashion, I can walk down said line and thump each of you right in the middle of your foreheads.

Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really?

Because mine isnt.

When people ask me how I met my husband, I usually just say, Church. You need to know someone pretty well before you say something like, God told me he was my husband and even though Im not used to hearing voices, I just went for it! Whats to lose, amiright?!

It was the summer of 1997, I was 19 years old and spending the break working in the office of a new evangelical church my mother had started attending.

My parents had just gone through a shocking divorce, and by shocking, let me just say that to this very day, almost 20 years after their divorce, Ive never heard my parents argue. Ever. They woke us up one fine Alabama Saturday morning and told us they had gotten a divorce a few weeks earlier and my dad was moving out. There was no warning shot fired, no attempt at counseling or reconciliation, just that one sucker punch when we werent paying attention. A year later, I broke up with my boyfriend of four years and my heart was still tender from both events.

Maybe I was naive to think I could bargain with God, but nevertheless, I laid out my terms in my journal:

Ill never give my heart away again. Im giving it to you. Maybe Im ridiculous to never want to date again, but if you could just give me a sign or something when I meet my husbandTHEN Ill date him and fall in love. I dont want to risk picking the wrong person again. After everything…I dont trust my own judgment. So a burning bush? Im not in a hurry. Im ready to go all Sister Mary Clarence about this (thats a Sister Act jokeGod gets me). So, please. Smoke signals? Something…

Before I headed back for the next semester, my older brother Matt and I decided to go to Texas for a Christian motorcycle rally with a family from our new church. (And yes, I do realize this story is getting weirder by the second.) It was kind of a Christian convention meets county fair/campgrounds, but with former Hells Angels who have converted and love JesusIm sure you have the perfect mental picture.

We borrowed a tent, loaded Matts car and joined a caravan of cars following the OBryant family to Texas. One of their sons, Zeb, was a year younger than me. But even if I hadnt been in my Sister Mary Clarence phase, I wouldnt have looked at him twice.

Zeb wasnt my type. My type was clean cut and all-American, the kind who wore lots of Polo shirts and khaki pants, possibly played golf and most definitely was a member of Key Club. Zeb rode a metallic blue 1976 Harley-Davidson everywhere he went, had a goatee that was a little longer than I thought sanitary and his naturally brown hair was bleached blonde and spiked in a manner not unlike Edward Cullensor Edward Scissorhands, for that matter.

Regardless, meeting Zeb began a weekend-long love affair with his vintage Harley-Davidson and Texas back roads. Every time Zeb jumped on his bike, hed give me a nod, Id hop on and wed take off. The rumble of the Harley and the twisting roads through the Hill Country almost hypnotized me. The wind blasted my face and ratted my hair as the sun warmed my jeans. I was careful to keep my hands gently on Zebs hips and to not lean too close against himSister Mary Clarence didnt want to inadvertently press any boobage against his back and give him the wrong idea.

We were sitting in a tent revival type of meetingfolding chairs and open air with the stars hanging low and lazy in the night sky. Our faces were still grey with the road dust and we smelled sweetly of sunshine and gasoline. I was sitting there with my Bible open on my lap when I had a crazy thought:

My husband is here somewhere…

My eyes scanned the crowd and as they did, they fell on Zeb, who was sitting to my right, ripped jeans and motorcycle boots propped on the chair in front of him. Now Im not saying I heard an audible voice, but something deep inside of me clearly shouted, Its him.

I knew from that moment on I would marry him. And its a damn good thing I was hearing voices that nightotherwise I wouldve totally missed it.

Zeb is my polar opposite. Hes an extrovert; Im an introvert. He loves nature and the outdoors; Ive wondered if I could get a PhD in Netflix. Hes calm, steady and always in a good mood. Im creative, a roller-coaster of emotions and quite franklyprone to hysterics.

I want a best friend who will tell me I need one more pair of shoes and a man who will remind me to save for my retirement account. I want to call my best friend when I feel Ive been wronged and hear her say, What a b*tch! I cant believe she said that to you! I want to be married to a man who says, Who gives a sh*t what she thinks? And I want to get into bed at night with a man who ignites things in me no one else can.

Zeb isnt my best friend.

I have never been so angry at my best friend that I fantasized about throwing a lamp or other miscellaneous piece of furniture at her head. I cant say the same for ole Zeb. For example, once our 3-year-old had walking pneumonia. Sadie was running a fever, listless and refused to drink anything. I tried all manner of juices, an assortment of sippy cups and silly straws all to no avail.

Zeb, will you go to the store and get some Popsicles? I asked.

Do you really think she needs sugar when shes this sick?

I think she needs any type of fluid she can get down because shes going to get dehydrated. So yes, I think she needs Popsicles. I replied.

Give her some water, Zeb advised.

I HAVE.

Try some juice.

Really Zeb? Ive tried everything. Thats why I need Popsicles. I was starting to get pretty pissed.

I just dont think she needs sugar. He said, again.

Noted. Now go to the store and get Popsicles. Please. I said please out loud but in my head I was screaming, YOU SOB!

He was as mad as all get out, but he went to the storevictory was mine! Sadie would be hydrated! All was well with the world…until he walked in the door carrying a box of 200 Otter Pops that werent even frozen.

Is this really happening?! I yelled, What the hell? POPSICLES, Zeb! Why is that so hard?

These ARE Popsicles! He yelled back.

No they arent! Theyll be Popsicles in 36-48 hours but they are most certainly NOT Popsicles right now! Why didnt you get frozen ones?

He looked me straight in the eye and said, I didnt know you could buy them that way.

Are you sure thats how you want to play this? Do you really want me to believe youre that stupid? I asked.

I dont know that Ive ever been so completely filled with rage. Over freaking Popsicles.

But thats the way it is with me and Zebwe are passionate and stubborn. Sometimes I think I might see myself on an episode of Dateline, Josh Mankiewicz strolling down our street as a camera pans wide and says,In the small town of Greenwood, Mississippi, everything looked perfect for Zeb and Robin OBryant…until one day, in a fit of rage, Robin did the unthinkable…

But then, in a split second, Zeb is there with eyes the exact same amber brown assunshine filtered through a beer bottle. He wraps his arms around me while Im standing at the stove cooking dinner. Hekisses my neck and his beard tickles my skin, Sorry, he whispers. And I melt.

Zeb isnt my best friend. Depending on the movie I want to see, Ill ditch him in a second for my girlfriends. But when things gets real, I dont care if anyone is standing with me but him. Hes my partner, my equal and without a doubt, my better half. Zeb is the peanut butter to my jelly, the yin to my yang, the spiritual Xanax to my eight-ball of coke.

Im also going to need all of you people who say, Thanks for the best 15 years of my life! to stand in a separate corner and await your own punishment, because marriage isnt easy, and it most certainly isnt all happy.

Id rather say:

I really appreciate you driving me to therapy every week.

Thanks for not leaving me when I act like a lunatic.

“Thanks for acting like you thought I was sexy for the last 16 years even though Ive gained and lost hundreds of pounds and my stretch marks look like a topographical map of the Rocky Mountains.

I have lots of friends, hell, I even have lots of best friends…but there is and will always be, only one Zeb. Hes my husband and thats enough.

About the Author: Robin O’Bryant is the The New Times best-selling author of Ketchup is a Vegetable and Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves. You can follow her on FaceBook as Robin O’Bryantor Twitter.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/06/10/my-husband-isnt-my-typeand-hes-definitely-not-my-best-friend/

[trendingnewsb]

10 Things My Mom Gave Me That I’ll Always Be Grateful For

You cant help who your parents are.

Whether you care to acknowledge it or not, their blood runs through your veins (which is such a creepy saying, if you ask me).

Were not always keen to admit were like our parents, but I know for a fact I would not be the person I am today if I didnt #GetItFromMyMama.

Here are 10 things about myself Im thankful I got from my mom.

1. My stubbornness

I hate admitting it (read: Im usually too STUBBORN to admit it), but I am just as stubborn as my mother, and Im sure shed hate to acknowledge it, too.

Being super rigid about the littlest things certainly does not make my life easier. But it does guarantee Im always looking out for myself.

My default preference is to do what feels right in my gut, but of course, my gut isnt always right about everything.

Still, I like that Im a woman who knows exactly she wants, and Id never want to be any other way.

2. My boobs

Giphy

Dont get me wrong, ALL BOOBS ARE BEAUTIFUL BOOBS. But, if Im being totally honest, my mom had, and still has, an impressive set of tatas on her, and she happened to pass those down to me.

Its not the best when it comes to shopping for a swimsuit that can actually cover everything up, but if anything, my large cleavage definitely comes in handy for catching crumbs whenever I eat a Nature Valley granola bar.

3. My organization skills

My mom was a secretary for a huge chunk of her career, and honestly, the woman was born for the role.

Ive never met someone who can keep a more orderly calendar, nor have I encountered anyone who owns (and actually USES) quite as many manila folders.

While my type of organization is more like a mess that only I know how to properly navigate, my life would probably be in shambles without my moms expert guidance.

4. My resilience

My mom has *clap* been *clap* through *clap* some *clap* SHIT.

As a child, she came from a broken and dysfunctional home, and yet shes still managed to create a life for herself.

Lea Csontos

Then, as an adult, she was hit with an aggressive form of breast cancer. I watched her shave her head and prevail through countless sessions of chemotherapy.

I havent battled nearly as much adversity in my own life, but my mom has shown me the importance of maintaining strength and willpower through even the most difficult times.

Because of her, Ive been able to tough it out through my own hardships, and Ill continue to channel her strength for years and years to come.

5. My taste in music

Mom, if it werent for you, I never would have gone through my very annoying, but very necessary emo phase, and I wouldnt have such an undying love for The Offspring and Green Day.

Youve always known whats up when it comes to music, and theres nothing I love more than jamming in the car with you to American Idiot.

6. My listening skills

As a kid, I remember feeling annoyed at my mom all the time, because she was always on the phone with one of her friends, basically listening to their entire life story, when all I wanted was for her to make me some damn mac and cheese.

Ellie Baygulov

Little did I know, Id grow up to be exactly like her.

In my friend group, Im often the shoulder to lean on and the hand to hold. Ive never been a great talker, but I like to think Im good at listening to my friends, and I honestly love being there for them.

7. My go-to tomato sauce recipe

Look, my mom may not have any Italian blood in her, but DAMN does that woman know how to make a mean homemade tomato sauce.

No, you cant have the recipe. #SorryNotSorry.

8. My timeliness

Thanks to my mom, I may as well be allergic to the idea of being late.

Maa Hoo

I respond to emails ASAP, I am the unofficial planner of my friend group and I always make sure I know how long it will take me to get from point A to point B.

And if its a place Ive never been to before, you can pretty much guarantee Ill arrive at least 15 minutes early.

9. My love for the beach

Of course, when you grow up near the Jersey shore, this is essentially a given. But for real, every single summer of my childhood was spent in the sand.

Carlo Amoruso

Unfortunately, I did not inherit my moms ability to tan to a golden bronze color. Im about as pasty as Elmers Glue, but hey, Ill take what I can get.

10. My sensitivity

No, its definitely not fun to tear up every time someone says something mean to you on the subway after youve already had a very long day.

But, I love feeling everything as deeply as I do, especially as I grow older and realize so many people just arent even in tune at all with their own emotions.

Studio Firma

My mom has always been good at communicating her feelings, even if it means admitting life isnt all sunshine and rainbows.

My sensitivity helps shape my voice as a writer, and it informs all the relationships in my life.

Thank you, Mom, for literally everything. I wouldnt be the woman I am today without you.

Read more: http://ift.tt/2qjBYTw

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2rhtj3Y via Viral News HQ

[trendingnewsb]

10 Things My Mom Gave Me That I’ll Always Be Grateful For

You cant help who your parents are.

Whether you care to acknowledge it or not, their blood runs through your veins (which is such a creepy saying, if you ask me).

Were not always keen to admit were like our parents, but I know for a fact I would not be the person I am today if I didnt #GetItFromMyMama.

Here are 10 things about myself Im thankful I got from my mom.

1. My stubbornness

I hate admitting it (read: Im usually too STUBBORN to admit it), but I am just as stubborn as my mother, and Im sure shed hate to acknowledge it, too.

Being super rigid about the littlest things certainly does not make my life easier. But it does guarantee Im always looking out for myself.

My default preference is to do what feels right in my gut, but of course, my gut isnt always right about everything.

Still, I like that Im a woman who knows exactly she wants, and Id never want to be any other way.

2. My boobs

Giphy

Dont get me wrong, ALL BOOBS ARE BEAUTIFUL BOOBS. But, if Im being totally honest, my mom had, and still has, an impressive set of tatas on her, and she happened to pass those down to me.

Its not the best when it comes to shopping for a swimsuit that can actually cover everything up, but if anything, my large cleavage definitely comes in handy for catching crumbs whenever I eat a Nature Valley granola bar.

3. My organization skills

My mom was a secretary for a huge chunk of her career, and honestly, the woman was born for the role.

Ive never met someone who can keep a more orderly calendar, nor have I encountered anyone who owns (and actually USES) quite as many manila folders.

While my type of organization is more like a mess that only I know how to properly navigate, my life would probably be in shambles without my moms expert guidance.

4. My resilience

My mom has *clap* been *clap* through *clap* some *clap* SHIT.

As a child, she came from a broken and dysfunctional home, and yet shes still managed to create a life for herself.

Lea Csontos

Then, as an adult, she was hit with an aggressive form of breast cancer. I watched her shave her head and prevail through countless sessions of chemotherapy.

I havent battled nearly as much adversity in my own life, but my mom has shown me the importance of maintaining strength and willpower through even the most difficult times.

Because of her, Ive been able to tough it out through my own hardships, and Ill continue to channel her strength for years and years to come.

5. My taste in music

Mom, if it werent for you, I never would have gone through my very annoying, but very necessary emo phase, and I wouldnt have such an undying love for The Offspring and Green Day.

Youve always known whats up when it comes to music, and theres nothing I love more than jamming in the car with you to American Idiot.

6. My listening skills

As a kid, I remember feeling annoyed at my mom all the time, because she was always on the phone with one of her friends, basically listening to their entire life story, when all I wanted was for her to make me some damn mac and cheese.

Ellie Baygulov

Little did I know, Id grow up to be exactly like her.

In my friend group, Im often the shoulder to lean on and the hand to hold. Ive never been a great talker, but I like to think Im good at listening to my friends, and I honestly love being there for them.

7. My go-to tomato sauce recipe

Look, my mom may not have any Italian blood in her, but DAMN does that woman know how to make a mean homemade tomato sauce.

No, you cant have the recipe. #SorryNotSorry.

8. My timeliness

Thanks to my mom, I may as well be allergic to the idea of being late.

Maa Hoo

I respond to emails ASAP, I am the unofficial planner of my friend group and I always make sure I know how long it will take me to get from point A to point B.

And if its a place Ive never been to before, you can pretty much guarantee Ill arrive at least 15 minutes early.

9. My love for the beach

Of course, when you grow up near the Jersey shore, this is essentially a given. But for real, every single summer of my childhood was spent in the sand.

Carlo Amoruso

Unfortunately, I did not inherit my moms ability to tan to a golden bronze color. Im about as pasty as Elmers Glue, but hey, Ill take what I can get.

10. My sensitivity

No, its definitely not fun to tear up every time someone says something mean to you on the subway after youve already had a very long day.

But, I love feeling everything as deeply as I do, especially as I grow older and realize so many people just arent even in tune at all with their own emotions.

Studio Firma

My mom has always been good at communicating her feelings, even if it means admitting life isnt all sunshine and rainbows.

My sensitivity helps shape my voice as a writer, and it informs all the relationships in my life.

Thank you, Mom, for literally everything. I wouldnt be the woman I am today without you.

Read more: http://ift.tt/2qjBYTw

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2rhtj3Y via Viral News HQ