#me on the bachelorette but like with thousands of other applicants

[1-800-i-ship-it]

Me trying to convey that we would be so good together to my future employer through my cover letters like I know you want to hire me so bad pls hiring manager (affectionate) like yeah actually let’s connect on LinkedIn I think we’re a good match !! Dates from 9-5, 5 days a week!! What a good deal!! If I could just have a nice paycheck and a side of employee benefits?? 401k match pretty please? Look at our email exchanges we have so much chemistry now you wouldn’t break my poor little heart would you!! Just so in love with your company’s vision and everything I just think it would be so sexy if we worked together <3

[goodbyecringe]

(Un)Natural Selection Chapter 6

Enjolras

There was no more avoiding it. Thirty-five girls from different backgrounds with different motives were living right below me. I had done everything I could to throw myself more into my work than usual. I had taken to meeting with the dignitaries and pouring over caste related civil disputes. Of course Father said that this was the worst way to spend a prince’s time because there were majors and soldiers to deal with those things. However, it would be impossible to abolish the caste system without knowing what the specific problems were.

“I can’t believe it,” a joyful voice said from the doorway, “I don’t think I know a single man that could work if there were thirty-five women getting makeovers in their basement.”

“Ferre, when have you ever known for me to let women interfere with my work?” I said, turning around in my chair to face him.

“Well in the sixteen years that we’ve been friends I’ve only known of your relationship with the great Patria. It’s unfortunate you couldn’t marry her,” he said, clicking his tongue.

“It’s unfortunate I have to marry at all. How am I supposed to change the governing system of Illeá when I have to worry about finding a wife? He did this on purpose of course, maybe I somehow tipped him off,” I said putting my head in my hands.

“The only thing that tipped off your father was the fact that you invited eight aspiring political figures that are all openly against the caste system. In all actuality it could be argued that he did you a favor. Imagine if we were all that the media focused on over the next few months? By the time you were made King every pro-caste politician would have been able to perfect their argument. Of course I’m sure your father is hoping that the Selection will distract you from your responsibilities and Les Amis.”

“Yes, I’ve already thought about that theory a thousand times over. But what’s stopping me from eliminating thirty tomorrow morning? He never made me commit to a formal timeline-”

“And I’m sure you’ve already thought of the associative repercussions for doing that Julien,” he said, cutting me off. “You already know that the media would have a field day. You would be marked as a heartless slab of marble. Remember, you need the people on your side during the revolution,” Ferre became serious as he sat on the edge of my desk.

“No matter who I choose, the castes will be divided. Anyone lower than a Four would be seen as a saint to the lower castes, however the lower castes already stand with our views. We need to secure the support of those who we are removing from power,” I sighed as I restated the facts.

“We’ve been through this at least a dozen times, Julien. Isn’t that the entire reason you decided to announce that this would be a caste-blind selection? You just need to take it one day at a time. And since there are thirty-five eligible bachelorettes in your home, you should at least give them the respect they deserve,” Combeferre said, standing.

“I’ve haven’t even met them yet Ferre, how have I already disrespected them?”

“You don’t know any of their names, you don’t know what they look like, you haven’t bothered to learn a thing about them. But I could guarantee you that everyone of those girls knows everything about you.”

“Are you referring to those presentations I put Les Amis in charge of? I swear, if Jean Prouvaire’s presentation takes over an hour I’ll leave and simply review the applications in my office… alone.”

Combeferre chuckled as we walked out of my office. The walk to the Men’s Room was more eventful then I had ever expected. Dozens of servants were making final adjustments to the decorations. There were fresh flowers around every corner, the drapes were open, letting sunlight shine through the halls. As the new butler, Grantaire, opened the door, I had to restrain myself from rolling my eyes. The beautiful library space that I used as my philosophical escape to discuss the future of Illeá had been turned upside down. Feuilly and Joly were hanging a large piece of white fabric over a large bookshelf, and Bahorel was closing all the drapes so the setting sun didn’t blind anyone. I grabbed a notepad and took a seat next to Courfeyrac in the front row.

“Your Royal Highness,” Bossuet called out from his place in front of the projector.

“Our fearless leader and marble statue,” Courfeyrac laughed from next to me.

“We, the Friends of the ABC, are proud to present your future wife, or at least the thirty-five possible candidates for the title of Queen Enjolras,” Jean Prouvaire announced as the lights began to dim.

From behind me, Grantaire was laughing with Bossuet while he turned down the lights. Les Amis began to seat themselves in front of the screen, all armed with several manilla folders which I assumed held the applications of the selected girls.

“First, we will give a brief presentation about each of the thirty-five contestants and then we will tune into the Report and Enjolras will get his first real look at the girls.”

I made a note that if a career in politics never worked out for Prouvaire, he could take Kyran Cervantes’ job. Suddenly, the screen lit up with the faces of thirty-five young women of various appearances, all of which I was sure would be changing drastically during their makeovers.

“We have decided to present in the order of east coast to west coast, so first up is the lovely province of Hansport! So please give a warm welcome to Miss Teresa Gilbert!” The screen centered on a girl with near white hair that was sharply stopped just below her cheek-bones.

“Teresa is nineteen years old and is proud to call Hansport the place of her humble roots. She has been acting in television shows and movies since she was three years old. Her favorite role was a princess during the apocalypse where she learned what it truly took to be a royal! She says that she will never be afraid of the media,” Prouvaire finished, now sounding confident in his game show host role.

There was a massive amount of applause from the boys around me. Looking down at my notepad I jotted down, Teresa Gilbert: movie star, 2. There was nothing more, nothing less about this girl. It was only too bad for her that I couldn’t care less about the television industry. Unfortunately, her status as a celebrity made it too easy to know her caste.

“Next up we have Adele Castro of Waverly,” a picture of a mousy looking girl with large green eyes appeared on the screen.

“At sixteen, Adele is our youngest selected girl, but don’t let that lead you astray because she’s already been quite successful…” Prouvaire continued to explain how she had spent her life volunteering in less developed countries.

Adele Castro: volunteer, 2 or 3.

“Now gentlemen, show some love for Miss Éponine Jondrette from Allens,” the face of a tan girl with a wild head of brown hair came over the screen. Despite the large state of her hair, her eyes appeared tired and her cheeks were hollow.

“Miss Éponine might give our fearless leader a run for his money! In her free time, Éponine enjoys reading about Political Science and learning about other cultures. She can speak English, Chinese, and French fluently,” I couldn’t help but think about how her appearance contradicted her description.

Éponine Jondrette: hungry wildcard, 5 or 3. By the time Prouvaire had finished I had made note of Lucy Frost: artistic, 5 and Harley Housten: average, 4 or 3. Everyone applauded as Jean bowed to take his seat. Joly walked forward and pulled a stack of index cards out of his suit jacket.

“Moving West we’ll start out in the province of Kent. Miss Cosette Fauchelevent recently returned to Illeá after spending about 5 years living in an Abbey in France. Cosette is an avid gardener and has a passion for animals,” Joly rushed as the room admired a pale girl with golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

Cosette Fauchelevent: lark, 2 or 3. At some point throughout the presentations all of the girls started to blur together. A few girls stood out, for example, Liberty Cook: paralyzed, 4. I couldn’t believe how delighted I was when Bossuet finally got to Angles.

“At the age of 20 our oldest contestant is Musichetta Simon. Miss Musichetta has recently begun a career in the prominent modeling agency in Angles. However, prior, she traveled throughout highly impoverished areas of Illeá to provide clean drinking water,” Bossuet said, failing to remove his eyes from her picture. The bright color of her red hair caused his bald head to reflect a pinkish color.

“Excellent job Bossuet,” Prouvaire said, clapping a hand on Bossuet’s back. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Grantaire was passing out refreshments before we settled down to watch the Report.

“I hope that everyone else is as excited for the next few months as I am,” Courfeyrac called out.

“Now remember my friends,” Combeferre stood, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We are to remain out of sight out of mind. Unless Enjolras asks for our presence specifically, we are not to interact with the women of the selected. Everyone here is subject to the law,” he called out, staring directly at Courf.

“Thank you for all of your hard work my friends,” I said, standing next to Ferre. “I hope that you all feel more comfortable with the process of creating and executing presentations. Even though this may have sounded like a fun and frivolous exercise, it is important to find a way to improve yourself in any situation,” I could hear groans among the group. “However, I am very appreciative for the effort that you put in, and if any of you have any suggestions during this process, please feel free to know. I shall see all of you tomorrow evening for our regularly scheduled meeting.”

“Won’t you be staying to watch the Report, Enjolras?” Joly asked.

“I’m afraid I have a very important speech concerning several dignitaries of New Asia that I’ve been neglecting to revise,” I said, making my way towards the door. As Grantaire opened the door for me I could hear what seemed to be a stampede of high heeled shoes. I decided to wait until I could no longer hear them, so not to cause a scene since I wasn’t supposed to meet any of them until tomorrow morning. While looking across my shoulder at the crowd of girls I was taken aback when I felt something collide with me. In the second it took me to turn around, the person was already on the ground.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, looking around for her heels. “I should have been paying attention to wear I was going, but you see my shoe broke and I’ve been trying to keep up with the rest-”

I think she stopped breathing when she finally looked up at me.

“I am deeply sorry, Your Highness,” she went into a deep curtsey.

“The fault is entirely mine Lady... Éponine,” I paused, noting the silver name tag pinned to her green dress. “I should know to pay more attention to my surroundings.”

I extended my arm to help her up, which she accepted. I could see that the heels on one of her shoes had snapped in half, which must have been the cause for her falling behind.

“Would it be considered rude for a lady to run down the hall in her bare feet?” She asked in a brazen way.

“I believe that would be classified as a capital offense.” I smiled thinking of how the royal planner and etiquette instructor Claudia would throw a fit if she witnessed such an event.

“Well then maybe you can keep this a secret between just the two of us?” She suggested looking back and forth between me and the rest of the girls.

“Only if you promise to only wear shoes you can properly walk in.”

She gave a mischievous smirk before running towards the crowd of her competitors. There were several times that she had to stop and pick up her dress to avoid slipping, but she eventually caught up to the group as they entered the Women’s Room. I made a mental note to add the word cheeky next to her name in my notebook.

[emilyplaysotome]

Chapter 7 - Bad Blood

Catch up on Chapter 1 - 6 here! (or just Chapter 6)

With Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” blasting on loop in the background, I found myself getting to work thanks to the king lighting a fire under my ass. In a way, I owed him one as I’d been split - one part of me wallowing and the other determined.

Before he’d kidnapped my friend, I had questioned how possible winning the game was but now I was ready to beat it in under 3 months just to spite him.

It had only taken a moment for me to go from having my best friend and ally, to being alone and feeling incredibly guilty for whatever was happening to Meg right now. I figured that she must be in the otome world and if she was going to return I’d have to find these dudes quick.

I knew that her original plan was to spend this week in CT and the next in NYC grieving the loss of her relationship before she resumed her life as best she could. With that said, I effectively had only a week and two days before people would realize that she’d gone missing. There was no way that I could explain that a man from a video game had kidnapped her and I didn’t want her parents or our friends to worry when there was nothing they could do.

I fretted about where exactly in the game universe Meg had been placed, considering that she was so unfamiliar with the world of these otome games. I thought about the problematic faves of the fandom, and worried about her getting involved with the cast of Kissed by the Baddest Bidder or the less popular Dangerous Seduction.

I wondered if she ended up in Soichiro’s hospital, or if she was currently living out a rebound relationship considering that time went by faster in that world than it did in my own. Regardless of what she was doing, I needed to get her back and if that meant stepping my search up - so be it.

Without skipping a beat I called the switchboard and learned that Jin Namba had been an NYPD officer, but had recently left the force. I asked if anyone knew of his whereabouts and the dispatch told me that information was not public. I quickly apologized and noted that he’d helped me with a case that I was hoping to follow up on, and was put in touch with a friend of his at the precinct in TriBeCa where I used to see him and Hiroshi during my lunch hour.

I planned swing by and see if I could get any information as far as Jin’s whereabouts and after several unfruitful google searches, prayed that something would pan out stemming from that precinct as it was proving to be my only lead.

As far as Hijikata went, I had to assume that he was still doing something that involved fitness. I googled his name and looked for results from the past week.

The first thing I found were several yelp comments from women that frequented the gym he and Soryu used to work at (CrossFit East). There was a specific thread about the sudden disappearance of their two favorite instructors, and as I read the comments I was suddenly thankful for how many fans the two men had amassed during their time working there. One woman had gone so far as to actually visit every CrossFit gym in the city searching for Hijikata as she claimed that no other instructor had been as effective at correcting her form and encouraging her. As a result of her palpable thirstiness, she had discovered that he was now exclusively working at a lifting gym on the Upper East side and was preparing for a weightlifting competition himself.

The response to her comment was a mix of gratitude and slight judgement of her stalker-like behavior, and after a few more google searches I finally found not only the lifting gym but the application form for becoming a member. With real estate in New York being so expensive and gym space often being crowded, Edge Fitness made a niche for itself in being a high end, exclusive, expensive, and serious.

They did not accept just anyone to join and even getting through the doors seemed to be a bit of a hurdle considering that I was not a professional athlete, celebrity, or body builder which was the bulk of their clientele.

At the very least I had myself another lead and it was up to me to confirm that this information was accurate. If I was able to do so in the next two days, I’d have located 4/6 and was hoping by the weekend to have eyes on Jin (5/6) in order to get as close as possible to getting Meg back.

It was the least I could do for my friend in addition to swiping myself to sleep with the hopes that the mystery sixth man in this world would reveal himself to me.

The next morning, I called out of work sick and packed my belongings, having made the decision to move back home.

If things had gone the way they were supposed to, I would have gone to work and moved out of Meg’s apartment in the evening after reconvening with her, but after her disappearance I felt too guilty to do anything other than prioritize finding these men.

As I was unpacking I could hear notifications in the other room blowing up my phone and soon learned that Anita had sent me several stressed out slack messages. Apparently she’d been counting on me to be present at work as she felt that I was an integral part in winning this new pitch she’d mentioned. She asked if I would be able to come in Monday, having rested all weekend, and I assured her that I would.

It was odd to me that on a Friday she was holding a meeting with new clients and I questioned what it was about this pitch that she felt I personally needed to be present for, however I didn’t have time to dwell. I shrugged it off wanting to make the most of the here and now and by 9 AM, I was back home in my studio apartment and found myself feeling several unpleasant feelings about revisiting that space sans Zyglavis.

Even though we’d lived together for almost a year before this point, there was not a trace of my ex-fiancee in any way, shape, or form.

We used to joked about who shed more - our bathroom floor was often covered in my long light brown hair or his jet black pin-straight hair. However, the apartment was spotless, and I surprised myself with the fact that I missed seeing those rogue strands of hair.

It was as if our life together never existed. There were no chocolates in our house, the fridge was empty as if it had been cleaned out, and my things filled the closet as if I’d never made space for his belongings.

The wounds were all far too fresh for me to emotionally handle but thankfully I was a master at compartmentalizing my feelings. It was a skill honed through years of emotional frustrations with the understanding that my career would not progress if I indulged my emotional life on a regular basis and so I learned to push through and keep my chin up. 

I didn’t bother unpacking my own bag and instead threw on the cutest workout clothes I had and headed over to Edge fitness.

I’d rehearsed the scene in my head a thousand times and felt as ready as I could for my reunion with Hijikata.

Truthfully, out of all the men he was the one I thought about the most insofar as “what if”. It was him and Shun and the possibility I’d had with both of them that made me wonder if I would have been happier with them. With Hijikata, I’d been ripped away from him in the past and never even had the chance to audition him during my time as the bachelorette. I’d seen him flourish in this world, and found myself far more attracted to this man who could have so easily crumbled under the pressure of finding a new life and identity in a time drastically different than his own.

Out of respect to Zyglavis and our relationship, I’d kept my distance from Toshi even when I visited with him at the gym. That said, there had been a few moments between us - gentle looks or calm silences shared in passing - that made my heart flutter.

Of all the kisses to get, this one was my most anticipated.

I had planned out a reunion that made me appear to be the best version of myself but naturally I failed to foresee that Edge was on the fourth floor of a warehouse-like building and by the time I ascended the steep staircase, I was covered in a light sheen of sweat. There was no door to pass through or hallway where I could catch my breath or compose myself and instead I found myself huffing and puffing in front of a muscled military man who whose biceps at a glance seemed to be as large as my leg.

“What can I help you with hon?”

“I want to sign up…to…get in shape.”

He shot me a good natured grin and said, “Darling this is a serious gym - we only take people already in shape and turn them into Gods.”

“I know…I saw…on the…website…”

“Right. So go sign up at the equinox at 83rd and come back to us once you’re ready and we’ll…”

“No…I want to go from…0 to 100.”

He let out a loud guffaw that reverberated throughout the gym and said, “I like your spirit but we can’t just…”

“Please…I need this…please.”

He raised an eyebrow at me as my eyes pleaded with him. He muttered something under his breath and handed me a clipboard with paperwork noting that it wouldn’t kill him to give me a tour.

I took the clipboard and found a seat off to the side of the front desk and started filling the paperwork out. Most of it was straightforward - name, address, credit card information, health history, fitness goals, but when it got the emergency contact I could feel myself tense up. For the first time in my life I’d had a fiancee - a go to for something like that and here was another reminder that I no longer had that person to come running for me.

I compartmentalized, put my parents’ names down, and returned the clipboard.

“Alright Naomi, I’m Frank. Good to meet you.”

“You too.”

“First off Edge isn’t about weight loss, so if your goals revolve around the superficial this is not the gym for you. Our goals revolve around achieving the impossible. Take a look at that - what do you see?” Frank asked, leading me to a large mirrored room filled with free weights.

“I see potential.”

“Wow. I didn’t expect you to say that but I like that answer,” he noted with an approving smile. “You’re right - I always say that this is the space that differentiates people. There are the people that see the weight they think they can lift and there are the people who see what they can’t and make it their mission to be able to prove that nothing is impossible.”

I was surprised to learn that Edge was not just one floor, but instead several. The fourth floor was mainly free weights. The fifth floor was exclusively for cardio with stationary bikes, treadmills, stair master type machines, elliptical, etc. On the sixth floor, there were large squat racks and benches for chest press and it was there that I saw him.

Hijikata wore a ratty t-shirt which clung to his sweaty, muscled physique. Next to him, a spotter carefully watched and cheered him on as he attempted to squat what seemed to be an insane amount of weight. Frank continued to speak but didn’t hear any of what was said, and instead found myself watching Hijikata’s muscles strain and flex as he successfully moved the weight down and back up.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” His spotter yelled, and the men high fived each other with gusto.

“That felt great,” Hijikata said with a smirk.

I eavesdropped on their banter and when Frank had finished saying whatever it was that he had been saying I found myself blurting, “I want that man to train me.”

Frank chuckled, “Believe me, you’re not ready for the demon trainer.”

“Demon trainer?”

“He’s our harshest, most focused, results oriented trainer that has no use for a scrawny, out of shape, might give up any minute newbie like yourself.”

I thought for a minute about the Hijikata I’d first met in the otome world and how he had mercilessly trained his men. I thought about what it would mean to have to endure that kind of physical torture and while I was petrified, I knew that it was now or never.

Without saying anything to Frank, I approached Hijikata as he set up his bench and pressed my hands together in a prayer position and blurted, “Please train me!”

His eyes widened as he acknowledged my existence for the first time in what he thought was his life, and with a devilish grin he said, “I don’t think so.”

Frank apologetically came up behind me and said, “I already told her Toshi but she -“

“My entire life, other people have told me what was possible for myself and I’m at a point where I don’t believe any of that anymore. I want you to help me see that limitations only exist in my head,” I pleaded.

The statement caught Hijikata off guard, and I silently cheered as I watched him consider working with me. This iteration of Hijikata was that of a meathead bro on the surface, with a surprising amount of depth underneath. I knew that the version of Hijikata that trained in martial arts did so for loftier ideals. That Hijikata valued honor, mastery, and pushing ones sense of self.

I hoped that my words appealed to that part of him - a part that I was certain was still intact after seeing the intensity in which he trained himself.

“What’s your name?” He finally asked.

“Naomi.”

“Ok Naomi, how’s this. If you can get through a workout with me today I’ll make sure Frank here lets you train with me.”

He reached out his hand and I pushed down the terror that bubbled up in my gut and instead shook it.

It would seem in every iteration of Toshizo Hijikata a demon lurked beneath the surface and this Toshi had no problem dragging me down into the depths of hell. Having already been slightly out of shape, I found his workout not only incredibly difficult but borderline negligent as I pushed myself to my limits.

I collapsed at several points throughout the workout and after an hour straight of Hijikata barking orders at me and my body giving out numerous times I found myself looking like a drowned rat as my new trainer gently held my leg in a stretch.

“I’m so out of shape,” I wheezed. “That’s why I need this.”

“Yeah but there’s no shame in how you handled yourself today.”

“Does that mean?”

Hijikata then smiled at me for the first time since our reunion.

“I’ll tell Frank that I expect to see you back here tomorrow at 8 am.”

I swallowed my feelings as far as what it meant to have to wake up that early on a Saturday and instead nodded obediently.

Hijikata gently massaged my calf before taking my other foot and propping up my left leg in a stretch.

“So, were you one of my clients from before?” He asked gruffly.

“You don’t remember?”

He shook his head sadly and noted, “Amnesia they tell me. I know it sounds like a bad plot device in a hokey book or something, but I genuinely don’t remember much from before this week.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That must be scary.”

“It’s ok. I know the core of who I am and as long as I have that I won’t ever be lost.”

Hijikata’s way with words never failed to make my heart flutter, and though we had just “met” I hoped to appeal to do the same to his.

“From time to time

The clouds give rest

To the moon-beholders.”

My utterance caused him to go white as a sheet and I watched as a brawny, muscled, sweaty gym rat shed a single tear. The poem triggered something within him - be it a shred of his old self tucked away that the king had forgotten to erase.

I watched as Hijikata quickly regained his composure gruffly adding, “What’s that now?”

“A haiku. Something about you…it made me think of that poem.”

Hijikata paused for a moment, gently releasing my leg and with a small nod simply said, “Good job today,” before walking off.

I dragged myself back to my apartment, despite the fact that every muscle in my body was screaming and soaked in the tub for a good thirty minutes before I attempted to continue making progress. While I’d been in the bath, the king had texted and informed me that the use of a haiku was underhanded, yet clever, and that I should have no trouble winning Hijikata’s heart from what he saw.

“Don’t get cocky though goldfish,” he added, sending a picture of Meg.

I immediately opened the image attached and saw her on the street, with an annoyed look on her face as a man held her hand and dragged her with him. There weren’t many clues as to who she was with, but as I zoomed in I saw a familiar, tacky looking maroon jacket that I would be able to recognize anywhere.

Mitsunari Baba was holding her hand, dragging her somewhere and all I could do was hope that Meg was streetwise enough not to fall for him or any of the bidders.

Chapter 8 - http://emilyplaysotome.tumblr.com/post/174964422337/chapter-8-hiding-in-plain-sight

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[purpleparrot]

ok i’m gonna do a post on the bachelorette bios under a read more bc its long as h*ck

Adam, 27, real estate agent. Gains points for listing his most embarrassing moment as telling his mom he was going on the bachelorette (submit an application for any reality show and you have answer to that question for the rest of you life) and immediately loses them for saying his favorite actor is “jennifer lawrence because she’s every girl’s goal” (three years ago this would have been true but not now my guy) and saying a threesome is the most romantic gift he’s ever received.

Alex, 28, information systems supervisor. Says the most outrageous thing he’s ever done is eat a live salamander (um?) and lists the rock as his favorite artist (um????). Also says the most romantic present he’s ever given is a car which was probably very awkward when the relationship ended.

Anthony, 26, education software manager. Describes emotional intelligence as one of his best attributes so if things don’t work out with Rachel he’d be a great match for Taylor from Nick’s season. Also says that he has “virtually no limits in the bedroom once the connection is there” and honestly its just weird that they asked some of them that question (like I’d answer that question for the entire internet to read)

Blake E., 31, “Aspiring Drummer” says that the most outrageous thing hes ever done is get engaged to a “crazy girl” then calls himself a “classic gentleman” two questions later. Also wants to watch the new 50 Shades movie because he loves “taboo sexy stuff”. Was engaged for 48 hours which is probably about 24 hours more than he’ll last on the bachelorette. Hates when his date talks about her cats, so Taylor Swift is basically his worst nightmare. Also doesn’t think parking ticket people have souls, which is honestly the most redeeming answer of the bunch.

Blake K, 29, U.S, Marine Veteran. Would want to be the Rock for a day because “he’s the only person who could look cool wearing a fanny pack”. Says that roses are his favorite flower, which I’m 99% sure is a prerequisite to getting on the show. Says he won’t wrestle a crocodile or eat monkey brains for love, and mostly seems too normal for this show.

Brady, 29, Male Model. Says that tackling snowmen is something he does for fun in his hometown (um? fingers crossed he makes it to hometowns so we can see how exactly that works) and says Lululemon sweatpants are the most romantic gifts he’s ever received, which is slightly (okay a lot) more normal than threesome. Says the the Situation from Jersey Shore is the person he dislikes the most in the world, making me think about that show for the first time in at least three years. (Also, does he remined me a little bit of Robby from Jojo’s season appearance-wise?)

Bryce, 37, Chiropractor. Kind of looks like Chase from Jojo’s season (to me at least). Lists like seven things when asked for his three best attributes, so apparently has some trouble with numbers. Also says the Bachelor/Bachelorette is one of his favorite TV shows because he’s “fascinated by the interaction socially between a man and a woman” (please no one watches this show for the love story, you watch for the drama and you know it) has also had balcony sex? (idk what to do with that information)

Bryce, 30, firefighter. All of his answers are oddly poetic? Describes himself as a “laid back shot of gasoline when the fire starts to die”. Looking for someone with “eyes you could drown in and a smile that insults the sun”. Says he’s “a fresh drink of water with a jolt of lightning”. I’d put money on him reading Rachel some 9th grade English poem the first night. Describes his dream job as a professional Instagrammer which he’s definitely in the right place for with all the Fittea and teeth whitening stuff everyone who goes on this show seems to sell.

Dean, 26, startup recruiter. Has a lip tattoo? (It says righteous, I know you were dying to know. Thinks marriage is an “institutionalized sham derived from religious beliefs” so he’ll fit in perfectly on a show where the end goal is getting engaged!

DeMario, 30, executive recruiter. Scores points for referencing Britney Spears not once but twice, saying he loves attention but not like 2007 Britney, like when she and Justin Timberlake wore those denim outfits. Wants to have a pet lion and name it “Denzel the lion”, Doesn’t have any phobias, which I’m sure made the produces frown and cross his name off potential candidates for those dates they always have where they skydive or something and they’re both really freaked out and have to comfort each other. Earns more points by saying that the most romantic gift he’s ever given is tickets to a Beyonce and Jay-Z concert.

Diggy, 31, senior inventory analyst. Spends Saturday nights trying to recover from day drinking (he and Corinne would get along great if Rachel doesn’t pick him!) Once pretended to be asleep so he didn’t have to help a girl find her brother after a one night stand.

Eric, 29, personal trainer. Rachel seems like she was digging him on the ATFR when she men some of her guys. If he could be anyone for a day, he’d be Tony Robbins, which is a name I had to Google and according to Wikipedia he is a    “MLM advocate, businessman, and author”. Says green juice is his favorite drink, so I’m sure he’ll be fine in the bachelor house where it seems like all they have to drink is champagne. Not to go all avril-lavigne-is-dead-and-was-replaced-by-a-clone conspiracy theorist but if he could go anywhere in the U.S. it would be New Orleans, which is where Rachel had her one-on-one with Nick.

Fred, 27, Executive Assistant. Admits to the entire Internet that he sometimes gets aroused at work. This isn’t in his bio but in the preview for the season it says that he and Rachel went to elementary school together and he has apparently had a “lifelong fascination” with her ever since which is a lil weird to me. Like I doubt I could pick someone I went to elementary school with out of a lineup much less recognize them on TV nearly 20 years later.

Grant, 29, emergency medicine physician (!). Would like to be President of the United States for a day, which would honestly probably be better than Donald Trump (I mean, they have about the same amount of experience). Lists Playboy as his favorite magazine with a ;) face. Makes a lame “A see food diet. I see food I eat it” when asked about eating habits, so I’m expecting him to open with an equally lame joke when he meets Rachel.

Iggy, 30, Consulting Firm CEO. Idk if ABC made a typo or what, but if not he lists his best and worst attributes as the same traits (Truly a double edged sword). If stranded on a dessert island he would want it to be a banana float (haha) (Also thats a really stupid question anyway-ABC if you need someone else to write these I’m available)

Jack Stone, 32, Attorney (!). First, why is his whole name on the website? Usually its just their last initial, and that’s only if there’s two people with the same name. Which isn’t the case here so @ ABC wyd. Is an attorney like Rachel, and has been the only one so far smart enough to plead the fifth on the bedroom question. Two of his worst attributes are “hard on myself, anxious” which is very #relatable. Says tulips are his favorite flower because they’re like roses without thorns.

Jamey, 32, Sales Account Executive. Answers the question “where do you see yourself in five years” with “I am trying not to make plans right now” which is also very #relatable. I should bust that one out at my next job interview. Says his ideal mate looks like a model (we all wish) and responds “I do not have any female friends” to “describe your best friend of the opposite sex and why she/she deserves that title”.

Jedidiah, 35, ER Physician (!). Previously owned dogs that were over 1/2 wolf, which is slightly terrifying. Likes wild flowers that grow above high altitudes. Has had sex on a glacier which just sounds like a bad idea, frostbite and all that. Likes nice pens (don’t we all), clashing slightly with his outdoorsy image.

Jonathan, 31, “Tickle Monster”. Anyone identifying themselves as a tickle monster would be cut immediately if I were Rachel. They wouldn’t even make it inside the mansion. I hate being tickled. Formerly sported a mullet. Says his favorite flower right now is a red rose (*rolls eyes*). Previously married, which the producers are probably going to bring up at every given opportunity. Lists Britney Spears as one of his favorite music artists, which still doesn’t even begin to make up for the tickling thing.

Josiah, 28, Prosecuting Attorney (!). Has had sex in his office, so hopefully he didn’t tell his employer he was going on the show, and if he did, hopefully they don’t find this. Was once catfished, so perhaps he’s on the wrong show anyway. Perhaps Nev and Max can participate in a group date giving tips on how not to get catfished.

Kenny, 35, professional wrestler. Spends his Saturday nights either “wrestling in his underwear in front of thousands of people or with his daughter”. Has a daughter, which the producers will also probably bring up at every given opportunity because exploiting children is always fun! Says he was “quick draw Mcgraw” when he first started dating his ex. Has had sex with a wife while her husband watched, which sounds like more Unreal than Bachelorette territory tbh.

Kyle, 26, marketing consultant. Generally doesn’t trust people and dislikes corrupt authority, and respects Ed Snowden. Probably has a Bernie 2016 sticker on his car. doesn’t know what gluten is but eats gluten free when he can. Describes his ideal mate as 7+ and says BDSM was weird because he doesn’t like hurting people.

Lee, 30, Singer/Songwriter. Would want to learn to make booze if stranded on a deserted island.  Considers himself a romantic. Also seems too normal for this show (aside from the career) and will probably be gone the first night.

Lucas, 30, “Whaboom” I googled it and couldn’t find an answer as to what “Whaboom” even means so we’re off to a great start. When asked who he would have lunch with out of everyone in the world, replies “ Dead: Bruce Jenner, Alive: Caitlyn Jenner” *cringes* would want the cast of the View with him on a deserted island which is pretty smart actually because they’d probably wind up killing each other and he could establish himself as the apex predator. Enjoys a “good old bump and grind” when it comes to dancing. Lists going to funeral as one of his least favorite date activities, which makes me question his dating history history. I feel like he’ll be the villain.

Matt, 32, Construction Sales Rep. Describes lingerie as the most romantic gift he’s ever given saying  “I knew I was in love once I found myself shopping at Victoria Secret” #justlikethenotebook. Describes a tinder date as his worst dating memory. Has had sex on a cruise ship balcony. Despite that is probably still too normal for the show and will probably be eliminated quickly.

Michael, 26, Former professional basketball player, which is less impressive when you keep reading and find out it was in Bulgaria. Would want to have lunch with Obama. One of his worst date fears is one of his friends hooking up with his date in the past which should make fantasy suites fun should he make it that far. Also like the fifth guy to name Denzel Washington as his favorite actor.

Milton, 31, Hotel recreation supervisor. Has a lip tattoo. Is oddly upfront about not being on the show for the “right reasons”. He says he wants to be discovered and break into acting or writing.  (At least try to lie and say you’re here for love my guy). Describes himself as only “kinda” romantic because he thinks it can show you’re weak.

Mohit, 26, Product manager. Says he is going to dress up as gluten for Halloween. Good luck with that. Likes country music. Has used Tabasco sauce in the bedroom which just sounds like a bad idea (honestly what do yall get up to where you need condiments). Is like the third person to say he admires Elon Musk.

Peter, 31, business owner. Once thought he got abducted after a one night stand. Likes modern family. Seems normal. Also cute. I’ve been trying to dodge spoilers but a few have slipped through the cracks and I must say...

Rob, 30, law student. Would want to have lunch with Buddha. Would want to be able to control time. Also seems normal. Will probably be eliminated quickly.

Will, 28, Sales Manager. Considers himself a romantic. Describes every tinder date he’s ever been on as his worst dating experience. Hates being a second choice, so hopefully he doesn’t wind up like Nick as runner up twice.

So overall it seems like there’s a lot more diversity this season, which is great to see! its also cool that that most of the men are closer to Rachel’s age compared to last season when some of the girls were literally 10 years younger than nick. And since i haven’t read spoilers, i guess i’ll pick a few faves based on bios alone: Peter, Eric, DeMario, Jack stone thats probably way off im bad at stuff like that

See yall the 22nd!

[poemsbyjosh-blog]

Victim's Remorse

This is the tale of the most necessary element of every murder. A piece so vital, even the grim reaper itself becomes obsessive.

In spite of morning rays on the horizon, the apartment remained dark until noon. The remnants of another lost night in the life Angeline Adams remain cast across the bachelorette layout of her one bedroom house. The couch was littered with school work and job applications, residing there long enough to grow forgotten or irrelevant. The table was covered in empty take-out boxes and empty cans of drinks, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic. The trash can was full, the kitchen counter displayed a week’s share of junk-mail, and the rest of the house was scattered with piles of laundry, assorted by levels of cleanliness. The only noise that could be heard broadcasted from the lone bedroom.

“It appears to be another strangulation,” spoke the monotonous police officer with the voice so familiar, “and possible rape. This fits the M.O. of our killer. That would make four murders this week. Do we have any idea how he broke in?”

“One of our men spoke with a neighbor,” the female cop spoke up, “said she liked to sleep with the window by the fire escape cracked. I will check for prints. ID’d the body yet?”

At that moment, the noise halted. “Guess I fell asleep with the TV on again.” Spoke Angelina, rolling out of bed. “Fuck. It’s noon. I have class in less than an hour; I guess I’ll be grabbing coffee on the go, again.” After showering, she changed clothes from the laundry pile nearest her bed and threw her hair into a ponytail. She grabbed her phone and was out the door, dashing towards the nearest Starbucks. During her trip, she checked her phone; she had three missed calls from her mother and 7 unread text messages. She called her mom back first.

“Angie,” her mom answered without a formal greeting, “why are you just now replying. Did you sleep until noon?”

“No, mom,” Angelina replied, still possessing the angst in her voice she developed in high school, “I’ve been up studying for my calculus test today and left my phone in my room.”

“Oh well, that’s good,” Mrs. Adams replied in the most motherly of voices, “are your grades better now that you have ridded yourself of that leech?”

“Brian had nothing to do with my grades,” Angelina replied, “but yes, I feel like I’m doing much better this semester.”

“Good,” her mother answered, “Your father and I worry if you’re ok being so far away from home or if the stress is too much for you. I know it must be difficult with the apartment and job hunt.”

Now was the moment that culminated from every conversation between Angie and her mother; the time for Angelina to decide whether to ask her mother her reason for calling and creating an unnecessary with negative effects on both Angie’s stress levels and her mother’s concerns, or to assure her that everything was smooth sailing in Columbus and relive the unsettling numbness that haunted her every day. Today, timeliness answered the question for her.

“Everything is fine mom,” Angelina answered, “Sorry I can’t talk, but I have to run. I’m late for class already. Thanks for calling, hope to see you soon. Tell dad how much I miss you two.” She then hung up the phone without waiting for a response and was off to her class. She dreaded the day her mother learned to send text messages. Avoiding these conversations would become much more difficult.

Once Angelina settled into her seat at the back of the classroom, she checked her text messages. Five were from an assortment of friends asking her to come out with them for the night. All of Angelina’s “freshmen friends” as she called them were always concerned that she worried too much about life and constantly tried to cure her of concerns with a night of drinking. Angelina hardly ever relaxed at this type of scene and the anxiety of knowing she had lost hours of valuable time to something non-productive only made these situations worse. But her friends were resilient, so she often ignored these messages, telling them the next day that she had misplaced her phone.

The other two messages were from her ex-boyfriend, Brian. Both were essentially the same message, just carefully reworded. “Lina, how have you been? I miss you and was wondering if you were still at OSU. I know we aren’t as close as we once were, but I still care about you and want to be friends. I understand if you still don’t feel comfortable around me, but I will do what I can to make it easy on you. I know I can make this work. Just text me sometime this week, I will make time.”

She received messages like this almost bi-nightly ever since she finally raised the courage to end their tumultuous relationship six months ago. Each time she would compose a snarky, venomous reply that read almost exactly as the one she typed today: “Listen Brian, I know you have trouble accepting you’re not in control of a situation, but neither I nor life is going to create a circumstance in which we reconnect. You are incapable of “making this work” because it isn’t your situation to work, it’s mine. I was the one that left you, after years of obeying to your passive-aggressive, sly demands. The sacrifices I made for you are still affecting my life daily and I have no intention of delaying my life any more than I already have for someone as selfish and heartless as yourself. Nothing you can say is going to bring me back under your moralist, 1950’s reign of power. You will have to find another naïve, insecure girl to control, because I can’t be your graveyard anymore.”

Just as had happened with every occurrence, she never pushed send on the message. Unlike every other time, however, this time it was out of her control. The professor had spotted her and asked her to close her phone and not disrespect his class anymore. Angelina did promptly, deleting the message, but that did not suffice the irritated professor who then dismissed Angelina from the class. As Angelina walked out she began to cry. Life was finally starting to hit her. It’s strange how when problems start to appear, you just keep moving, hoping to stay ahead of the problems, not unlike a supersonic jet outracing sound against all logical conceptualization. But just like with the jet, eventually the sound and the fury will catch up with you; and if the problems have multiplied enough, then the sonic boom will be earth-shattering and catastrophic. The crash happening to Angelina was going to create a disaster zone.

She was able to make it to the bathroom before the tears rushed to the surface. She sat by the sink, staring down herself and a thousand problems. As her psychiatrist had taught her to do, she closed her eyes and imagined back to a time before any of these problems existed. She closed her eyes and was back in the eighth grade, passing notes to the latest crush. That night, the only concern she would face was that life wouldn’t change for the better. What a wonderful blessing that was; to never worry about the quality of life declining, always only the chance of improvement. This particular boy would, in fact, disappear from her life, leaving her in the same carefree spirits she already possessed, and creating opportunities for an onset of possibilities life hadn’t even presented yet. Now, Angelina Adams was at peace with the world.

She opened her eyes, now immune to the dried makeup and tears that covered her face and began phase two of her recovery. She made a list of all of the current problems that confronted her.

1. Brian is still a hindrance to my progress in life.

2. I haven’t found a job to replace the waitressing job I just quit.

3. My bills are due soon. I may have enough for one more month’s payments.

4. I need to ace about 80% of my remaining exams to not be placed on academic probation.

5. I cannot imagine that 20% of my remaining exams are ace-able.

6. I can’t survive without dependence or at least co-dependence on someone else. I need accompaniment.

The tears began to form again beneath her eyelids, the telling sign that her list was complete. “If what you have down so far is enough to overwhelm you,” she recalls her psychiatrist telling her, “then it is enough on your plate so far.” So Angelina read over the list and realized the magnitude of her issues. This was much bigger than the high school crushes that once kept her awake at night. Her problems now don’t keep her awake at all; Angelina just wants to sleep, and escape the problems for eternity. But Angelina remembered her tattoo and looked on the underside of her wrist. Bend but do not break. The lowest lows only create the highest climbs. She gathered herself and headed for the cafeteria.

To further test her belief in resiliency, as if she honestly needed it, the first person she encountered when she entered the cafeteria was none other than Brian. Angelina spotted his candid, shallow smile from the other side of open room. She tried to avoid his sight, but to no avail.

“Lina,” Brian shouted, as if they were lifelong friends happening upon each other, “How have you been? I tried texting you.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Angelina mumbled almost incoherently, “And I have noticed the texts I am just really busy with school.”

“Anything I could help with, Lina?” Brian asked. Brian was a year ahead of Angie and Angie loathed that more than almost anything about him. Brian had always previously experienced Angie’s college problems or had already taken her classes, and therefore always knew the correct line of action or at least new enough to belittle her issues.

“No, thank you,” she replied angrily, “your aide in previous semesters did not benefit me very greatly and I already asked you once, do not call me that.”

“I’ve always called you that,” Brian retorted, “you can’t change how I address you to justify hiding yourself from me. You’re disguising yourself behind a very thin veil.”

“No, I was once disguised behind a veil,” Angelina shouted, no longer worrisome of who heard, “I was once hidden behind the veil of your beliefs and your opinions. I even accepted a name that I loathed. After spending two decades writing my initials as “AA” you wanted to call me by a name beginning with “L” because you thought it was cute. Well I hated it, and this may sound like an innocuous offense to you, but to me it was one more damaging blow in your repertoire to anonymize me and recreate me as a clone of yourself. As much fun as you may consider having another you present, I would much prefer the rawest version of myself. Brian, you are no longer a part of my life and more importantly, not a piece of my future plans. If you could please make the egotistical compromise to treat yourself as such for my well-being, it would be much appreciated. If not, then I hope you are at least clear-headed enough to recognize why it is unhealthy for me to be a part of this charade you label life.”

Before she could even hear his robot-like retort that he always had, the one that always made her feel weak for having to display emotion to construe a point, she stomped off. The fact of the matter is Angelina Adams had spent many hours of every night for countless months erecting that statement in the most precise, truthful manner possibly conveyed. Because of that, she couldn’t stand there and let Brian potentially bring it down. She refused to lose even this to him after all that had already been sacrificed.

As she marched across campus, purposefully but without direction, her path was interrupted by a “freshmen friend,” Caroline Thomas.

“I watched what just happened back there,” she said, “and I am so proud of you for standing up to that sleazebag. How have you been?”

Angelina breathed in deeply, and with her exhale and a feign smile, she replied “Good, in my own apartment, now and trying to get through my degree and onto the real world. You?” She forced the fake laugh and displayed unreal optimism as she had so many times since freshmen year. That seemed so long ago, now. She was in her third year, but still a sophomore with the failed classes. Her academic struggles coincided with Brian to push her away from her friends, but she had realized recently that a self-empathy prevented her from being that happy now.

“I have no idea how you do it, Angie. I struggle every day to pay bills, keep my grades up, and stay social and you seem to do it as if it is the simplest task,” Caroline replied, “I wish you could show me your ways.”

At that moment, Angelina remembered why she liked Caroline more than her other friends. She was always so complimentary of Angelina. Angelina had longed for the support garnered from such a loyal companion, especially in the wake of the psychological warfare recently endured from Brian. Angelina genuinely liked, honestly appreciated, Caroline. Which is why for the first time in weeks, she accepted an invitation to an evening of interaction, in spite of the mountainous responsibilities she would be neglecting.

Angelina decided to skip her one remaining class to go back by her apartment to pay the water bill, seeing as it would be turned off tomorrow otherwise. On the three block walk home, she had the inexplicable impulse to call her mother. She couldn’t recall the last time she had placed a call to her mother and not in response to a missed call. But with all of the stresses of life culminating, the refuge of her mother’s voice sounded attractive to Angelina.

“Hey Angie,” her mother answered with a surprised tone, “everything ok?”

“Yeah, mom,” Angelina answered, exhaling before she continued, “I was just calling to vent, really. I ran into Brian today and exploded on him. I let him know exactly how I felt.”

“I know that must be hard,” Mrs. Adams answered reassuringly, “and that you feel like it was undeserved. Trust me, though, whatever you said was only a slight punishment for the way he treated you. You are a beautiful human being and as your mother, all I want is to see you blossom into a bold, beautiful, independent young woman. I will never forgive him for his impedance of that. I am so proud of you for standing your ground and being the self-sufficient woman I always knew you were capable of becoming and I love you very much.”

“Thanks mom,” Angelina answered, feeling the oncoming rush of emotions building, “but I am not as self-serving as you would’ve hoped I would be.”

“What are you talking about,” Angie’s mother replied, “you are 21 years old, living alone in a hardly familiar city battling through the hardest years of education at a prestigious university. Few people have ever been so accomplished at such a young age. I wish I had been.”

“But I’m not succeeding at this,” Angelina said, now sobbing, speaking through the tears, “I can’t find a job, or make myself even want to look. I am slowly falling behind on another semester of school. I can’t keep up with anything necessary to live independently. And now I am realizing I have pushed all of my friends away to the point that I am lonely. I have failed, at pretty much all of this.”

“Angelina Bethany Adams,” her mother replied sharply and unwavering, “failure means you have lost the chance to succeed. If you were to curb your educational progress and pace yourself to graduate at 25, would that make you a failure?”

“No,” Angelina managed to say through deep draws of much needed oxygen. Angelina never understood how her mother held together so well. If Angie could possess any superpower, it would be her mother’s unbreakable composure.

“And you also don’t think you can live alone,” her mother continued, “not many people can. I know I wouldn’t survive a weekend without your father. I would call 911 the first time a pipe busted. We aren’t independent creatures, Angie, you need to find someone supportive and not destructive to become a codependent. Fortunately, college is the perfect place to find people just like that. And you say you are a recluse now but I’m sure all of your pre-Brian friends would welcome you back with open arms. You guys were so close just a year ago. Have you reconnected with any since you returned to campus?”

“Yes,” Angelina answered matter-of-factly. A mother would always be able to reduce me to tears, and then dry up the same tears in a matter of minutes. “I just talked to Caroline. We are going out tonight. She was always the best communicator anyway.”

“See,” Mrs. Adams spoke, now with a sense of optimism, “just today you have ridded yourself of the ghosts of Brian and reconnected with your former best friend. Soon, school will be your only concern, and at that point you will be able to conquer it as well. As for your employment situation, find something once you can handle. Your father and I can always be your monetary safety-net. We can’t think of anything we would rather spend our cash on than an investment in your future.”

“Thank you mom,” she spoke, walking up the stairs to her apartment now, “for always believing in me, even when I ignore your calls, only to call you crying. I really do love you and appreciate this more than I could ever show you.”

“Honey,” Angelina’s mom said in the nurturing tone of a seasoned parent, “You showed enough gratitude the first month you were home to make any sacrifices you ever made worth it. One day you will understand this. The first time that your daughter stops crying simply because she is in your arms, you will have all the inspiration to give until your daughter is 21 and on the phone needing help, and for many years beyond that. I promise you have always been worthwhile, and always will be. I love you.”

When her mom gets sentimental, Angelina knows that it is intended more for herself than Angelina. But this time, Angelina needed to hear that more than ever in her life. The overwhelming anxiety was replaced by a sense of joyous bliss. All Angelina could manage to say was “Thanks, mom,” and hung up the phone. She sat down on her couch and stared out her window, basking in realization. “What a view,” she thought to herself, an epiphany that hadn’t really occurred since the day she moved into the place.

It is strange how hypnotic thought only occurs for some people in times of melancholy. If Angelina remained busy, she also remained distracted. When she was distracted, issues didn’t weigh on her and she maintained positivity about life. If Angelina was optimistic, then she was also fervent about opportunities surrounding her. This sense of enthusiasm kept her impervious to the negatives of the world and so the cycle began and continued. Hanging above Angelina’s was a quote from Albert Einstein: “Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.” This could not possibly be truer than in this moment of Angelina’s journey.

The entire night with Caroline was forgettable, in the best way possible. They enjoyed drinks and food, caught up with each other’s life and enjoyed the other’s presence. Angelina found herself returning to the bad habit of distorting the facts of her recent struggles to make herself sound much more successful. One day soon, however, Angelina hoped to not have to falsify her accomplishments. The fact that Angelina felt she would take no memories home from this night was a positive, because she hadn’t dwelled on a single issue, even when the conversation turned to vulnerable discussion points.

“I don’t know, Angie,” Caroline said, “sometimes I feel like we were invincible as freshmen and took on every responsibility we could. I look back on that like I was either idiotic or delusional. Now I can hardly handle the responsibilities necessary for survival.”

“I think our optimism,” answered Angelina, “made us invincible. When life finally punched back we were unprepared. But the important thing is we staggered but never fell. Now we have given ourselves the chance to fight back. Luckily for us, the past few years have us hardened. The world doesn’t stand a chance.”

Caroline extended her glass and they toasted to that statement. Caroline suggested watching movies like they did each Tuesday as freshmen. Angelina thought this idea was the perfect end to the night and invited Caroline over to her place. They stopped to grab movies on the way, ‘classics’ as they called them, when truthfully they were just movies with positive memories attached. Angelina felt an oncoming headache and slight dizziness on the way home, probably from the alcohol. Angelina argued that she was fine, considering the number of drinks she can usually consume, she should have been right.

They arrived at Angelina’s apartment, and Angie turned to Carrie (Angelina decided to start calling Caroline this because she never received a shortened name like Angelina had freshmen year) to warn her that it was a mess. When she turned however, all Angelina could remember was the sharp pain of a bright light and falling to the ground. When she woke up, she was tied to a kitchen chair with Caroline a few feet from her face, flipping through the pile of documents Angelina had stowed away on her couch.

“For miss successful,” Caroline said, without looking up, “you sure seem to have failed to handle your responsibilities lately.” Angelina struggled with each end of the chair but was unable to budge the rope. She still felt weak, perhaps she was in shock from whatever was occurring, or maybe Caroline had drugged her. Angie was attempting to piece it all together. Caroline continued now, “I’m sure you are shocked to find one of your sweet ‘sheeple’ attacking you like this, you ignorant bitch. You seem to think the world has revolved around you. It looks like your world has hardly extended past these walls. What’s wrong? Was it too hard to face a reality with imperfections?”

Angelina began to panic, wondering what she could do and what all of this meant. She closed her eyes and tried to figure out an escape. All of her attempts seemed in vain. Now, the last epiphany was occurring in the mind of Angie Adams, she was going to die a 21 year old college student. Anxiety overwhelmed her and depression crushed her. The adolescent dreamer never envisioned life without marriage, college degrees, or employment. She was going to perish at the lowest point of her existence. Her breaths quickened, then became heavier. She resorted to the only refuge she knew. Close her eyes and return to the most unbreakable moment of happiness.

She struggled, thinking deep and hard to drown out the berating of Caroline. She heard her say “you left me staggering, but I never fell. Now I have a chance to fight back and unfortunately for you, I’ve been much more hardened than you, and you don’t stand a chance.” Angelina found it silly how Caroline felt that murdering a human being made her some sort of literary genius. Why would society even want to delve into the minds of a killer anyway? The action is a culmination of the greatest achievements in immaturity meeting the highest ignorance of responsibilities. Angeline wondered to herself why she would even care what Caroline had to say. Did she hope to invoke victim’s remorse? Does she realize how silly that sounds? What could she possibly be grasping about human understanding by ending a human’s ability to understand? How misguided could one be, thought Angelina.

The postulation had eased Angelina’s worries enough to allow her to escape reality and into her “zen zone” as she knew it. Completely unaware of her current surroundings, Angelina envisioned the one time she recalled where the world made perfect sense and life couldn’t defeat her. On the stillness of the street, she heard the all too familiar voice:

“I promise you have always been worthwhile, and always will be. I love you.”

Angelina whispered to herself, “Thanks, mom” then attempted to open her eyes, though she had grown too weak. Amidst Caroline’s babbling she thought she remembered hearing something about poison. Perhaps this was her method of execution. Angelina felt disoriented physically, but her mind remained as available as ever. Angelina was on to phase 2 of her process of psychological healing. She listed each of the problems that confronted her. And Angelina dwelled on this for moments before coming to the realization that with the end occurring, she had zero worries clogging her mind. What could possibly concern her now? What was done was done, and nothing could ever change who she was?

This spun into a different theological idea. What legacy had she produced? She was the all-American girl throughout high school and freshmen year. Each night, until the last, at least two people cared enough about her to call her uncontrollably. Even though Brian was the stick in the spokes that threw her off the bicycle of life, he had loved her enough to be part of her journey and would certainly love her in memoriam. Angelina would leave behind the unwavering love of a certainly crushed mother. Hundreds of friends would mourn her untimely loss, some to a much greater severity, but one fact now would be forever true; Angelina Adams was on a path to great success and because she refused to venture from the path, the loss of such a brilliant person is also the loss of a life of good and important work. In imagining that work, Angelina Adams is forever the success story she had dreamed of since the first time she donned a princess dress in front of a mirror.

As the poison infiltrated her mind and the light grew sharper in her sight, one thought stuck with Angelina in her waning moments, and she tried to mutter it as she died. “I will forever be the girl too good to die. Now, you’ll always be the girl who was a waste of a life.”

Angelina Adams died at 11:23 pm with a smile and a dream.

The most intriguing parts of any story, especially the ones involving death, are the ones we never hear.

[livethatdream-blog1]

Directing my Steps

If you want all the boring details of the difficulty leading up to the selection of my final return date, look no further. I’ve got them right here:

La oficina

Nine am last Monday morning found me shivering outside another government building. I was number 142 on the sign-up sheet, but when the policeman came to me he looked at my American passport and said, “te vas a la fila de informacion” and pointed to another line up by the door, this one with five people in it.

I thanked him and moved to the other line. When I had moved up enough to get inside, my line bent around (around...) the walk-through metal detector in front of the door. Another policeman, this one more gruff than the last, pointed me to stand against the wall while I waited my turn.

When I finally made it to the front of the line twenty minutes later, I was called up to a desk where the bookish DMV-esque official asked, “estadounidense?”. When I nodded, he took out a piece of paper and explained to me that I was at the wrong office. The office I needed to be at was near Avinguda de Parallel in the city center.

I walked out buoyed up with hope: I live a block from this office.

So the next morning I picked up my official job offer and my student visa and I decided to do a preliminary check at this government office to see how long the line was.

To my surprise, this Oficina de Extranjeria (foreigner’s office) had no line at all. I walked in, got a number, took a seat, and fifteen minutes later was called up to speak to an official.

It was the first time I had spoken with someone who wasn’t in a hurry, with someone who answered my questions, with someone who didn’t shrug a single time during our conversation. When I asked her how to get an NIE she said simply, “You can’t. We don’t give those to Americans.”

I asked her how to formalize my employment under my student visa and she helpfully pulled out a six-page packet outlining the requirements of working on a student visa: organizations would have to provide me an hourly schedule of my time and after amassing all the official paperwork my employer was required to personally accompany to me to the appointment to certify the truthfulness of the application and to express the necessity of having me work for their company.

I remembered a story my boss had told me where he asked a social security official in Barcelona (during a routine shake-down of the bar), “What is this, Nazi Germany?” and the official had responded, “Yes. It is.”

I swallowed, underlined, asked questions, and wrote notes in the margin of the packet. When she had satisfied all my inquiries, I thanked the woman and left to start on the process of achieving an extension for my student visa.

Back at my apartment, I immediately found two problems with my visa extension application: I had to provide proof of my health insurance (no deductible, one million euros coverage--didn’t have this) and proof of funds (a bank statement showing five thousand or so dollars in an account under my name--didn’t have this).

Both of these things could be done, but I could work on them tomorrow. For now, I decided to start the process of changing my flight home from January 24th to later in the year.

It turns out that you have to call the airline company directly to inquire as to the cost of a booking change, but as soon as I heard the words, “Welcome to Norwegian Airlines--” the recording was cut off by my cell phone company telling me I was out of minutes.

I began to feel the weight of discouragement pressing down on me, and while I sat on my couch it occurred to me to pray and ask God what to do. Why hadn’t I thought of that yet?

I prayed, got up, and went to the kitchen to make myself some tea, and while I was making tea I suddenly thought, why am I even staying here?

And little blog, for the first time, I didn’t have a good answer to the question.

New Plan

Some of my friends were hoping to visit me here in Barcelona in the Spring--only one of them had already bought a ticket, my friend Karissa, so I ran to my phone to find the dates of her trip.

Thankfully it turned out that her trip coincides almost exactly with the last six days before I go home--now instead of working and visiting with her, I can plan to finish my job(s) a week before I leave the country and she and I can just vacation! Praise GOD!

By the end of Tuesday, what had started out as tentative certainty became absolute. It took me about a week to tell my friends all around the world that I’m going home on January 24th (I set it up on a sliding scale of easiest to hardest so that I would be more encouraged as I went along). Almost every conversation went better than I thought it would and I found that instead of feeling like I had failed, I really just feel relieved. Now I won’t have to stand in line at government offices in the mornings anymore. Now I won’t have to take showers with five minutes of hot water at a time during February. Now I can use my deposit to pay my final month’s rent. 

I still haven’t told my client Ana, though. I teach English to her two little boys on Tuesday nights and she’s going to be heartbroken. Her family are the most wonderful Catalan people I’ve met.

On Wednesday I spent the morning planning weekend trips to the places I wanted to visit while I was here: France, Madrid, and Jerusalem. My flight schedule home was changed so now I’m spending 22 hours in London on my way home, too! 

Since all of my private English lessons are Tues-Wed every week, I’ll be able to travel on weekends and still teach private lessons. I received my boss and supervisor’s blessing at TravelBar to spend three days a week doing all my work (and to go home: “you gotta do what’s right for you, kid”), and I’m free to spend my last seven weeks adventuring! Wow! It was easy!

New Blog

My current project at Tour Barcelona (TravelBar’s parent company) is to write a blog for their hen do (that’s British for “bachelorette party”) company, so right now I’m spending about six hours a week writing blog posts about wedding venues and photographers and dresses in Barcelona. 

Here are the blog posts I’ve done so far:

https://travelbar.com/beautiful-wedding-gowns-barcelona/

https://travelbar.com/barcelonas-11-best-wedding-venues/

https://travelbar.com/barcelonas-top-wedding-photographers/

https://travelbar.com/top-9-hen-party-activities-barcelona/

It’s fun! The web developer hired by Tour Barcelona says he likes my writing style and we think I’ll be able to be completely done with blog posts by mid-January.

Perfect.

I know I decided I was going home in two months, but I’m not there yet, for now: France, Madrid, John, Jerusalem.

And thankfulness.

A man’s heart devises his way: but the Lord directs his steps. 

(Proverbs 16:9)