#people constantly ask me for money despite me being the only unemployed one in the house

[superbellsubways]

im so mad im going to draw my favorite characters so i wont be so mad

[unprediictability]

[ OTTO FARRANT, HE/HIS, CIS MAN ] — [ TRISTAN DAY ] is a child of [ NIKE ] with the power of [ ENHANCED SKILLS & LIMITED INVINCIBILITY ] . they were born in [ 1997 ] and have been in nemean lion since [ 2012 ] . with the change, they [ HAVE GRADUATED FROM ] the [ HERO ] role which makes sense since they’re usually [ PRACTICING HIS SERVE OR RUNNNG LAPS & GOING ON MISSIONS ] . — maeve / she&her / cst / 18+

meet tristan day, 

about:

born to the goddess nike and a young, promising professional golfer named tobias day. the couple never planned on having a child, let alone two. and what many would see as a blessing, quickly became a burden to toby. a selfish man, he chose his career over his children. 

because of this tristan and his sibling were primarily raised by a nanny, which quickly became a series of nannies as they grew older and constantly found themselves in more and more trouble. 

to say tristan was a troubled child, would be somewhat of an understatement. he got into more than his fair share of trouble, but he was actually quite bright. he was simply acting up to gain his father’s attention, and when that didn’t work he turned to upstaging the older man in athletics.

the one thing his father had bothered to teach him was the sport of golf, and despite harboring an immense hatred toward the sport, a young tristan entered in and won his fair share of competitions. and when his father finally recognized his accomplishments, there was a brief period of happiness. this quickly fell apart, however, as a result of some dispute over a pairs tournament.

after that tristan swore off golf, instead turning his focus towards tennis and soccer. he would come to excel at both sports, thanks in part to his powers, but also natural athleticism. 

and while he could have gone on to be a professional in either sport, something that he had always dreamed about. tristan decided to instead that he would instead join nemean lion at the age of 14. setting aside his dreams of being an athlete, for dreams of becoming a hero.

of course he had to stay on the general tract for the first four years, but most people knew he’d become a hero. and once he turned eighteen, he joined the hero path and excelled. 

he’s unemployed besides being a hero, but he does play in the occasional tennis tournament. but admittedly, he does often feel like something is missing from his life. though, what that is, he isn’t sure. 

fun facts:

tristan is very into trying new things- especially when it comes to athletics. after all he’s a child of nike, competition is in his blood. he especially enjoys when someone teaches him something and he goes on to best them, though he’s learned not to boast too much. 

he only wears nike athletic clothing, though he isn’t sure whether or not his mother has anything to do with the company. he does feel like it’s a nice way to honor her, plus it’s some quality stuff. 

he sticks to a very heathy diet, after all he is an athlete. he counts his calories, he watches what goes into his body. he starts every day with a vile green smoothie. his favorite snack are apples, it’s not uncommon to see him snacking on one and discarding the core on the ground. after all, they are biodegradable. 

he has a very strange sense of morals, in that you’d be very surprised to see what he finds right versus what he finds wrong. he sees no need to hold the door open for someone, but he would stop to help someone pick up something they dropped. 

he’s got a fairly good amount of money saved up, thanks in part to his father. but he doesn’t make a habit of spending it, despite trying to give off the appearance of wealth. it’s contradictory, he knows it, he hates it.

limitations: 

ENHANCED SKILLS:

tristan discovered this skill through showing off. he doesn’t even remember the details, upon first discovering the ability, he was quick to try as many skills as he could think of. but he quickly found that less he knew about the subject, or the more daring the skill- the harder it was for him to perform. he still uses this ability when it comes to training and battles, but otherwise he views it as a party trick more than anything. 

LIMITED INVINCIBILITY:

tristan discovered this ability by accident during a training session gone horribly wrong. the details are blurry, in part due to his adrenaline, but he just remembered being backed off the edge of a steep cliff, and the next second he was laying on the ground, completely fine. well, alive, he was rather drained. it seemed he had willed himself to stay alive. he still struggles with the understanding and control of this power, never quite sure of when it will take affect. but he does make a habit of consuming healthy, natural foods in order to stay in a peak physical condition, which seems to limit how much the invincibility drains him. 

pinterest board: coming soon

playlist: all i do is win - dj khaled, stronger - kanye west, seven nationa army - the white stripes, back in black - ac/dc, don’t stop me now - queen (just your typical hype playlist)

wanted connections: 

his biological sibling. i’m thinking they are either a year or two older than tristan or his twin. i will likely put a wanted connection up for this but if you’re interested please shoot me a dm! i have a lot of ideas for their relationship.

best friend #1 - this is more along the lines of your typical male best friends, though they don’t need to be male. they’re just a pair of shitheads for lack of better words. they encourage each other to do dumb things. i don’t know what else to say. open to any gender, 20-25 age range.

best friend #2 - this person is really more of a best friend to tristan, though i do imagine neither of them would admit that. they’re who he’s closest to in the world and he’d gladly die for them. open to any gender, i do ask that they’re within a 20-25 age range. 

squad. just a group of jocks that hang out, honestly that’s it. i don’t know if they’re incredibly close but i do like the idea of there being some sort of honor code/understanding that they stick up for each other. no age or gender requirements.

an unlikely friend. polar opposites become friends, it’s that simple. i just think it’d be neat. maybe they show him what he’s missing in life? idk no age or gender requirements.

exes. he’s had his fair share of relationships, none of which have last. why it didn’t last is something i’m very open to working on because i feel like there could be a variety of reasons. no gender restrictions, 20-25 age range, maybe 4-5 spots ??

flings. past or present. honestly there are no restrictions for this, he’s a bit of a hoe, who also just prefers physical relationships. 

his foil? i’m not sure it’s the correct term but essentially just that one person he’d risk it all for. i am again attached to the idea of them being a somewhat unlikely pairing? and tristan being very unwilling to admit his feelings for them. no gender restrictions, age range of maybe 20-27?

athletic rivals. self explanatory, really no limits or restrictions.

enemies. listen, he has to have them. he’s arrogant, he’s a jerk. lets have some fun. someone put him in his place. 

maternal half-siblings. gimme.

[xbaebsae]

OTP Questions

Tagged by @f0xyboxes , @dieguzguz, @nightwingshero, @deputyrhiannonhale and @returnofthepd3 thanks for thinking of me sweethearts♥

(art by minilev)

Rheese Bennett & Jacob Seed (idk if anyone even reads these except me but under cut because long post)

DISAGREEMENTS

Who is more likely to raise their voice?  Jacob. Now don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t loose his cool all that easy but Rheese can be a pain sometimes and he lacks the patience.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does?  Neither of them.

Who actually keeps their word and leaves?  This is actually what Rheese does when they break up about three months before the game. He finally is too deluded by Joseph’s demands of him that she cannot get through to him anymore and keep him from hurting people. They have a pretty bad fight about him torturing people that ends with him actually slapping her with the intention of making her shut up because she wouldn’t stop arguing against him. She gives him one moment to apologize for that, but he doesn’t so she leaves :’)

Who trashes the house?  They frequently throw things at each other.

Do either of them get physical?  Depends on when. Jacob pushes her around sometimes or touches her pretty roughly when he suffers from the effects of his PTSD. No domestic violence though. They also land real blows in training fights, same level bad on both sides really.

It’s worse during the arrest when they aren’t together anymore. Jacob was pretty devastated when he realized she actually left for good (he interpreted ‘i am leaving’ as her going home). It resulted in a lot of self blame (justified) which his family couldn’t really deal with. Joseph convinced him in the end that she was just another test he had to overcome in his life to find his correct path. So, he pretty much behaves just like he does in-game. She doesn’t get special treatment, she gets starved and thrown into murder trials like everyone else.

How often do they argue/disagree?  Pretty often. In the beginning it’s all they do, until they realize that having normal conversations every once in a while isn’t so bad actually.

Who is the first to apologize?  Apologies are for the weak :)

SEX

Who is on top?  Jacob

Who is on the bottom? Rheese (though she won’t admit it if you asked her)

Who has the strangest desires?  It’s nothing very strange tbh (at least not by my definition of strange... god i’ve seen ... things on deviantart. Definetly none of that!)

Any kinks?  Yeah, the perfect combo of wanting to feel powerless and wanting to feel in control. It complies with their character really. Rheese was forced to take care of herself ever since her teen years, which developed her into a pretty tough person. She likes the control she has over her life, and doesn’t let herself be pushed around by anyone. Feeling stripped of that control is however really exciting for her. Jacob’s kinda the other way around (imo anyway) in that he’s constantly following orders nevermind when or where, even within his own family (to not disappoint Joseph).

Who’s dominant in bed?  Jacob, Rheese only if he forces her to be :)

Is head ever in the equation?  Yes

If so, who is better at performing it?  Rheese. Slightly unfair though because she’s simply worse on the receiving end.

Ever had sex in public?  Yeah, much to her dismay.

Who moans the most?  Rheese

Who leaves the most marks?  Both do in different ways.

Who is the more experienced of the two?  Jacob

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?  Even the nastiest sex is ‘making love’ to them really. It’s frankly a form of talking to them because they both truly suck at verbal communication. Also, Rheese has the old fashioned rule in her life that she won’t sleep with people she isn’t sure about, so before actually being together they don’t have sex. Tho she’s close to breaking that rule multiple times.

Rough or soft?  Rough, sometimes foreplay is soft.

How long do they usually last?  Depends on time and mood. Also Rheese is a lot younger so she sometimes could go again when he can’t. However that doesn’t mean he gets the best of her sometimes :’)

Is protection used?  Yes on her side

Does it ever get boring?  No

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex?  Some small cabin at the place they train Judges. It was kinky, they got caught and she prefers to just not talk about it ever again.

FAMILY

Do they plan on having children/or have children?  No, they never wanted to. Their daughter Jaina was an unwanted accident.

If so, how many children do they want/have?  They have 1 and that’s already more than they wanted.

AFFECTION

Who likes to cuddle?  Rheese

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?  Jacob usually. But sometimes she’s good at it as well.

Who struggles to keep their hands to themself?  Jacob, and it bothers her a lot in public. He doesn’t really care about what his people think of him, he knows he’s the boss so they can’t say shit. It’s also a way of just showing off that she belongs to him and that’s exactly why she doesn’t like it, cause she ain’t property. Also, people might believe she only became a Chosen trainer because she fucks the boss, which isn’t true because she got that position from someone other than Jake, based entirely on her performance.

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?  Until Rheese falls into deep sleep and starts spreading her limbs everywhere uncontrolably.

Who gives the most kisses?  Jacob

What is their favourite non-sexual activity?  Honestly, just existing next to each other is enough. They are just as happy just sitting in the same room, doing their own tasks, as they are going out for a fishing trip (actually she hates fishing, but the lakes are nice).

Where is their favourite place to cuddle?  The bed

How often do they get time to themselves?  Usually evenings and nights. They would have more time together if Rheese didn’t value her alone time. Sometimes she prefers to spend her days off alone, going on a ride through the forests or just relaxing without anybody around. He doesn’t quite approve of that but she doesn’t let herself be locked up.

SLEEPING

Who snores?  None of them

If both do, who snores the loudest?  Nobody

Do they share a bed or sleep separately?  Share a bed when living together.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?  Usually fall asleep cuddling but where they end up is entirely up to chance.

What do they wear to bed?  Underwear usually. Though t-shirts along with that in the beginning.

Are either of them insomniacs?  Jake has trouble sleeping and often wakes up. Her presence helps him but she’s not a magic sleeping pill so the issue never fully disappears.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside?  Nah

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?  Usually the first, when it’s too hot the latter.

Who wakes up with bed hair?  Both. Rheese loves his messy hair, especially after she bullied him enough into letting it grow a bit. He however calls her hay-head, because her hair gets all tangled up and poofy despite being tied into a braid.

Who wakes up first?  He does, good luck getting her outta bed before 10.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other?  Nobody does, they aren’t romantic.

What is their favourite sleeping position?  Rheese digging her face in the space between his neck and shoulders while one leg and one arm hugs him and he has an arm around her.

Do they set an alarm each night?  When there’s work the next day.

Can a television be found in their bedroom?  No, though she sometimes uses his laptop to watch movies.

Who has nightmares?  Jacob has real ones, Rheese only the occasional bad dream we all get sometimes.

Who has ridiculous dreams?  She dreams demented shit sometimes, never talks about it though.

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?  Rheese, she’s a restless sleeper. Got kicked out of the bed for it more than once.

Who makes the bed?  Neither of them. They don’t care about it being untidy.

What time is bed time?  Depends. Usually Rheese stays awake longer to finish watching movies.

Any routines/rituals before bed?  Nothing special, sometimes talking, sometimes a movie, sometimes sex, sometimes just hugging in silence.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?  Jake, esp when she talks too much in the morning.

WORK

Who is the busiest?  They both are pretty equally busy.

Who rakes in the highest income?  It doesn’t really matter to them. The cult pays food and since they don’t care much about materialism, they don’t need much money.

Are any of them unemployed?  They have their job in the cult. Rheese works as a deputy before and after her stay there. so no.

Who takes the most sick days?  Neither really take any unless they are really so sick they can’t move. It’s an unhealthy work ethic but they feel useless when just lying in bed all day.

Who is more likely to turn up late to work?  Jake didn’t before, but he sometimes does because of her in the morning. Not that he really minds though, who’s gonna say anything against him?

Who sucks up to their boss?  Jacob in regards to Joseph, which Rheese thinks is very unhealthy. She doesn’t like how he lets himself be used so much and mostly blindly follows whatever his brother says. They have a lot of arguments about this and in the end it’s what ruins their relationship.

What are their jobs?  He’s head of security at Eden’s Gate. She’s a deputy, then pseudo joins the cult and works herself up to become a trainer of the Chosen, then she returns to her deputy position for the arrest.

Who stresses the most?  He does

Do they enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?  Police work wasn’t her passion. It was just a career she thought wouldn’t be boring. No noble motives and such. She only reprises her role as the deputy for the arrest because she falsely blames herself for everyone who’s been hurt by Jake’s hands after she left him. Her return is based on her trying to redeem herself. She had fun training Chosen, but she wouldn’t want to be part of any torture cult.

Jacob barely has any opinion on his work. He believes what he does is what needs to be done and he’s the best suited person for the job. You won’t find him complain, though he secretly just wants peace in his life. He hopes the cult’s actions will ultimately lead to that.

Are they financially stable?  They have enough.

HOME

Who does the washing?  Neither until one of them is fed up with the pile in the sink or the lack of clean plates in the shelf.

Who takes out the trash?  Usually Rheese is bothered by it first.

Who does the ironing?  They don’t

Who does the cooking?  She makes good pancakes. But other than that? Don’t allow her in the kitchen because she can’t cook for shit. He can cook a couple of things but is often simply too lazy to ‘play housewife’ so their dinners often consist of very simplistic things. Occasionally one of them will bring home takeout.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying?  Rheese, just...keep her out of the kitchen.

Who is messier?  Both pretty much. His place is a mess and she isn’t bothered by it because her apartment looked the same.

Who leaves the toilet roll empty?  Jake, to annoy her.

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?  They both just throw them wherever.

Who forgets to flush the toilet?  Jake, again to annoy her. (her ‘ewww you’re fucking nasty’ face is really entertaining)

Who is the prankster around the house? Neither, they diss each other a lot, sometimes joke on the other’s cost but no deliberate pranks.

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?  Doesn’t really happen.

Who mows the lawn?  No lawn

Who answers the telephone?  They answer their own cells respectively. He refuses to get a smartphone.

Who does the vacuuming?  They don’t own a vacuum cleaner. Only a broom and a mop.

Who does the groceries?  Usually he does.

Who takes the longest to shower?  Rheese, she enjoys the feel of hot water on her skin.

Who spends the most time in the bathroom?  Not much difference there. Rheese doesn’t bother anymore with any routines and such after Jake told her he hates when she wears makeup because it makes his hands sticky when he touches her face :’) Though sometimes she will still put eyeliner out of habit.

MISCELLANEOUS

Is money a problem?  No, they don’t need much.

How many cars do they own?  Jake own an old truck and a motorcycle, Rheese used to have a car but sold it. She prefers riding on her horse Nugget anyway.

Do they own their home or do they rent?  She had an apartment in Missoula before ‘joining’. Then she lived at Stone Ridge for a while, then she moved in with him to his place. A tiny cabin far up a mountain at the far outside of the region.

Do they live in the city or in the country?  Country

Do they enjoy their surroundings?  Yes, especially the forests.

What’s their song?  You Give Love a Bad Name - Bon Jovi

What do they do when they’re away from each other?  Working, doing their own thing, living. He’s more possessive about her than she is about it. But they both function normally when not being together.

Where did they first meet?  Technically at the church during her very first sermon to ‘join’ the project. But they only interacted about a week later when he’s supposed to bring her to her initiation at John’s place. They immediately hate each other :’)

Who spends the most money when out shopping?  Whoever does the grocery shopping? They both aren’t big on other shopping trips.

Who’s more likely to flash their assets?  She’s not very show off-y. Jacob likes showing she ‘belongs to him’.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over?  Both

Any mental issues?  Rheese doesn’t really, she lost her parents and her family is extremely distant but it never gave her trauma.

Jacob still deals with the aftermath of war esp. His PTSD gets bad sometimes and he has sleeping issues.

Who’s terrified of bugs?  She is afraid of spiders, and would appreciate if he killed them when they are in the house. But usually he ends up throwing them at her and tells her it’s therapy to defeat her fears.

Who kills the spiders around the house?  Neither, see above

Their favourite place?  A small lake behind a mountain near his cabin.

Who pays the bills?  The cult

Do they have any fears for their future?  Yeah, they are very conflicted about it. Neither of them know where it all leads and their differences (esp the age one) is an issue at times.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?  They don’t really do that.

Who’s the tallest?  He’s 6'1, she is 5'2. He constantly calls her ‘Shorty’, not in any endearing cute nickname way, but purely to mock her height.

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?  Happens with both of them frequently. Tho Jacob is more prone to this because he showers less on his own. So when she’s in there he’s often like ‘might as well join’.

Who wanders around in their underwear?  Rheese starts this trend which he really doesn’t complain about. She also argues that it makes sense because then there will be less laundry to take care of. Can’t really argue with that really.

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?  She does, very very badly cause she can’t sing.

What do they tease each other about?  Her short height and his age. Always.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?  Doesn’t really happen but he does judge her Power Rangers T-shirt she wears for sleeping.

Who crushed first?  They both kinda did. They blamed it on physical attraction at first, which made Rheese mad because he wasn’t her type. It takes them a couple of months to actually admit they might eventually possibly perhaps maybe have feelings for one another :)

Any alcohol or substance related problems?  Not really

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am?  Rheese does once, and another time they do it together.

Who swears the most?  Jacob, though she’s pretty good at it too.

Tagging @joeyhxdson @fadedjacket @shallow-gravy @chazz-anova​ @ja-crispea​ if you want to. Idk who did this by the time this gets posted.

[totaldramafan-lauri]

So.....I wasn’t originally gonna share this, but eh.......

On top of Eurovision, I’ve also been really into Friday Night Funkin’ recently thanks to a friend of mine introducing me to it.....and its plethora of popular mods. In particular, there was one mod that caught my attention....a-and....well.....h-hasn’t let it go yet......Mainly there’s this one really cool character that’s been on my mind a lot, so.....

S-so, I uh.....made an OC. A-and....I wrote a profile for her yesterday....

I-I guess I’ll share this, cuz I feel like there.....might be a possibility that I’ll do something with her in the future? Cuz I do have some story ideas.....I-it’s just a matter of finding the confidence to get back into writing.....I-I dunno if it’ll happen, but it might.

I-it’s kinda....embarrassing, tho....I-it’s been a while since I’ve made an OC purely to be a....well, simp, but here we are.....>//////>

(Also, the picture below is NOT drawn by me. I’m not an artist. It was drawn by the same friend.)

Name: Lina (she doesn't remember her last name...or her original first name for that matter) Height: 5'2" Quotes: "I-I'm sorry!" "Ms. Sarvente would know what to do...." "I hope I don't forget what happened today..." "D-don't look, please..." "W-were you listening? O-oh gosh- uh-" Age: In the 20s range Eye Color: White (in another art style, her eyes would be purple) Hair: Black, waist-length, pretty thick, and usually pretty messy due to her not having the energy to brush it all (she usually makes some kind of effort before going to the church, but it's not a lot) Build(Body Type/Shape/Any Scars Or Markings): Pretty thin. Not stick thin, though, as she does have curves and a pretty decent chest size (that she hides under her sweatshirt most of the time), but she's still pretty thin. She doesn't eat as much as she should. Normal Outfit(The clothes they most commonly wear): A baggy baby blue sweatshirt with a simple sleeveless pink dress underneath, and a matching pink scarf. Knee-high white socks and baby blue slip-on shoes. When it's really warm out, or when she's lounging at home, she'll take off the sweatshirt and scarf and just wear her dress, but most of the time she likes being covered. It makes her feel safe. General Personality: Lina is a very timid, shy woman who is scared of opening up and spilling her feelings out to people, not wanting to be a burden. She has really bad social anxiety, but attempts to be kind and polite to people, even with her lack of experience in social situations. She's always carrying a notebook with her, writing in it frequently. Most of the time, she's very quiet, but when she gets riled up or excited about something, she can talk more than you think. However, she has a tendency to stutter and stumble over her words a lot, especially when anxious or flustered. Her anxiety is bad enough that she hates asking people for things and is scared to draw too much attention to herself (due to awkward experiences with her roommate). She looks up to Sarvente and wishes she could be like her, and loves helping her whenever she can, liking the feeling of being useful (and, although she'll never admit it, to catch glimpses of Ruv). In her writing, she shows a more poetic, hopeless romantic side to her that she's too embarrassed to share, spilling it out into the lyrics she writes. She also uses her writing to vent the feelings she's too terrified to share with the world - her infatuation with Ruv, her feelings of jealousy towards Sarvente, her want and desire to become someone she can never be. She hates her feelings, and she's scared of her feelings.... Other random facts: -Lina is so bothered by her unknown past that she's absolutely terrified of forgetting things. This is the reason why she kept carrying around notebooks. She's been doing this for so long that if she's ever separated from her current notebook, she'll have an anxiety attack. -She's currently unemployed, but is able to continue living with her roommate as long as she takes care of the house. She's flat broke most of the time, only being leant money for her writing, so she doesn't have a phone. She only eats when her roommate does, but on the rare occasion she has extra money, she'll treat herself. -Like all FNF characters, Lina is musically talented - she writes songs (although she hasn't shared them), and she can sing decently well. She's scared of singing in front of others, but does it to herself all the time. However, she has very little experience with RAPPING specifically, making her a pretty easy opponent. -Her favorite colors are pastels, especially blues and pinks. -Besides going to the church on Sunday, she doesn't have much of a schedule, mainly just being alone in the house on most days. -She has a MAJOR weakness for cats. If she sees a cat, she'll immediately go to watch or pet it. Cats are the easiest way to make her smile. -She's normally pretty clumsy, and not physically strong at ALL. She can handle housework just fine, but not heavy lifting. She also can't cook at ALL. Please help her, the woman's a mess -Despite attending church, she's mostly agnostic. She mainly goes just to hang in the back of a side isle and watch Sarvente and Ruv. -Lina doesn't know that Sarvente is a demon, seeing her as a normal nun like the rest of the public. She's also unaware that Ruv is a criminal. -While she's talked with Sarv, she's never spoken directly to Ruv, being too nervous to. He's looked at her a few times, and that's been enough to send her into a frenzy. Likes: Music, writing, feeling useful, inspiration, being at the church, seeing Ruv, when people are nice to her, cats, pastel colors, sunny days, the rare times she's proud of something she wrote, pizza (she associates it with her roommate being nice to her, so it's her favorite food) Dislikes: Forgetting things, being put on the spot, loud noises (like thunder), large crowds, asking for things, being seen crying, when people ask to see her writing, whenever she feels jealous of Sarvente, embarrassing herself in front of Ruv, her body Powers/Skills: No powers. She's a normal human. Skills, however....she can write poetry and music, she can sing, and she's a pretty smart thinker when she's not stressed. Weapons: None Backstory: Lina was found at the site of a horrible accident by the person who would become her roommate, who felt sorry for her and took her in. She had no memory of her life before the accident, being left a scared woman with no past...a blank slate.

At first, she was a wreck, understandably. She tried desperately to remember her past, but nothing worked. Even as she settled into her new life, the fact that she couldn't remember who she was ate away at her day in and day out. Feeling sorry for her, her roommate gave her a notebook to make notes in. Lina found that that helped a lot, and discovered how much she loved writing.

Over time, her roommate started becoming apathetic toward the little "freeloader", and a deal was made so that she could continue living with them until she could somehow get a job: she was to clean and watch the tiny house while they were away at work. She didn't mind this deal since it made her feel less guilty. During her free time, Lina also discovered her love of music, and began singing to herself while alone.

She eventually accepted the fact that she may never remember her past, but at least she can try her hardest to make sure she never forgets again. She began carrying a notebook with her wherever she went, and continues to store all her old notebooks in her room. She never throws any page away.

She records everything: her thoughts, her plans, everything noteworthy that happens to her, and every lyric she thinks of. She finds it relaxing to spill her heart onto the pages, so no one will ever hear her say them....this is especially true after she meets THEM. After meeting Sarvente one day, Lina is invited to join a church. She's unsure at first, but decides to go. And that's where it all began....she met Ruv (well...more like she saw him talking to Sarv), and immediately took to him. Tall, stoic, intimidating...and yet, Lina could see a softness in him whenever he was with Sarvente. She wished she could meet someone like that....someone strong, who could protect her and keep her safe...

And over time, she realized that she couldn't get him off her mind. As if...she was fixated on him. She found herself writing about him a lot. And then she realized that she was very rapidly developing a crush on the man. Being unable to remember what a crush feels like, it was a lot to adjust to at once, but she found herself really liking the feeling....that is, until she realized that she could never hope to achieve the same closeness to him that Sarvente has. She wished she was like Sarvente....

...She realized that she had become jealous of someone who had only ever been kind to her. And she hated it. So, Lina hid her feelings away once again.

Currently, Lina visits the church every week. She's always the first to arrive, and the last to leave. Even when people come and go, she always sits in the back of one of the side isles, writing away in her notebook. She simply likes the feeling of being in the church. The safe atmosphere, Sarvente's kindness, and the possibility of seeing HIM. Sarvente has noticed how long Lina stays for, and sometimes asks her for volunteer work, which she's happy to provide. However, although Sarvente is happy to have a regular visitor, she also doesn't take Lina very seriously, talking to her as if she was a child due to her appearance (if she HAS caught on to Lina's crush on Ruv, she hasn't said anything because of this). "Oh, little Lina, you're so cute!" Lina doesn't mind the headpats and squeals, but has a hard time believing that she's "cute" in any way. Lina looks up to Sarvente, treating her with a lot of respect, calling her "Ms. Sarvente". Sarvente calls Lina "little Lina". Lina likes helping out, but...she also often feels insecure and inadequate due to constantly comparing herself to Sarvente.

One day, after the church closes and Lina is on her way out the door, she runs into someone who Sarvente had a recent tussle with...a guy with blue hair.

(There she is, the tiny pastel nerd.....seriouslyIlovethispiceeeeeeeeebigthankstomyfriendfordesigningheroutfit)

[deathdoors]

𝐇𝐄𝐘  𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒  !  meredith  here.  nineteen twenty,  they/them  or  she/her,  the  best  admin  in  the  world.  it’s  why  i’m  using  manny  for  my  gif  for  this,  when  he’s  the  best  and  my  mascot  on  the  main  <3  if  it  ain’t  broke  don’t  fix  it.  so:  a  little  about  me  !  i’m  a  libra,  from  new  jersey,  in  my  second  year  of  college,  use  a  lot  of  emojis,  have  recently  and  embarrassingly  been  both  playing  fortnite    (    i  know    )    and  reading  like  2  books  a  night,  which  might  seem  like  it  makes  me  smart  but  actually  just  makes  me  go  to  bed  at  seven  in  the  morning.  which  also  makes  me  a  dumb  bitch.  on  to  the  show  !

name:  emma  phillips age:  thirty occupation:  preschool  teacher trope:  the  wide  eyed  idealist aesthetic:  fresh  baked  chocolate  chip  cookies,  wildflowers  in  a  vase,  half  empty  bottles  of  pink  wine,  stopping  to  pet  every  dog,  happy  tears,  rom-com  movie  nights,  coffee  with  too  much  cream  and  sugar.

emma  was  born  and  raised  in  the  suburbs  outside  springfield,  missouri.  her  mother  was  incredibly  anxious  and  doting,  disliking  emma  riding  bikes  in  the  streets  with  the  other  kids  and  climbing  trees,  etc  she  was  thus  much  closer  to  her  dad:  camping  trips,  bedtime  stories,  the  works.  she  adored  him,  and  when  her  twin  younger  siblings  were  born,  emma’s  mother  interpereted  being  a  daddy’s  girl  as  hating  her,  and  started  ignoring  emma  when  she  wasn’t  scolding  her,  instead  focusing  a  much  more  positive  attention  on  the  twins.  

then,  of  course,  because  life  sucks,  her  dad  got  sick  of  it  and  left  without  so  much  as  a  goodbye.  ran  off  with  his  secretary  when  emma  was  twelve,  leaving  her  with  a  toxic  mom  and  two  little  toddler  twins.  she  entered  mom  mode  when  her  mom’s  anxiety  turned  to  severe,  don’t  get  out  of  bed  depression  ...  emma  was  cooking  for  the  twins    (    and  failing  miserably,  most  of  the  time  it  was  pizza  and  frozen  dinners.  to  emma’s  credit,  that  did  include  frozen  vegetables.    )  helping  them  with  schoolwork,  getting  them  to  and  from  school,   etc.   

her  grandparents  were  semi - well  off,  and  sent  some  money  to  the  phillips  clan,  but  emma  got  a  job  as  soon  as  she  was  able.  the  combination  of  the  two,  and  her  mom’s  on  and  off  working  was  enough  to  not  go  hungry.  the  twins  could  go  on  some  field  trips,  there  was  enough  for  new  clothes  when  they  grew  like  weeds  ...  but  obviously,  no  pre-teen  /  teen  wants  to  constantly  care  for  little  kids.  it  sucked.  

the  money  continued  when  her  grandfather  died  when  she  was  sixteen,  and  then,  a  little  while  later,  right  before  emma  graduated  high  school,  her  grandmother  died,  leaving  them  her  house  in  fort  elms,  washington.  

the  phillips  clan  moved  there,  with  a  month  left  of  high  school  for  emma.  as  soon  as  she  turned  eighteen,  a  mere  month  after  graduation:  emma  was  kicked  out  of  the  house.  her  mother  wanted  nothing  to  do  with  her  anymore,  saying  emma was  tearing  her  away  from  the  twins.  for  the  rest  of  their  childhoods,  emma  was  not  allowed  to  see  either  of  her  siblings,  with  emma’s  mother  telling  them  that  she  had  left  on  purpose.

thus:  she  went  to  college,  moved  out  of  the  house  into  a  new  apartment, fell  in  love  and  pined  boyfriendless  for years  like  some  kind  of  loser,  was  incredibly  on  and  off,  got  cheated  on.  she  hasn’t  been  able  to  land  a  mans  since,  despite  wanting  a  storybook  romance.

while  all  that  was  happening,  she  got  a  degree,  teaching  at  the  fancy  private  preschool  school  in  town.  remember  when  i  said  she  entered  mom  mode  when  her  dad  left  ?  yeah.  she  never  left  it,  apparently.  she  loves  her  job,  though.  lots  of  stickers.

tl;dr:  toxic  mom,  dad  left  when  she  was  12,  effectively  raised  her  younger  siblings.  moved  to  fort  elms  when  she  was  about  to  turn  18,  finished  out  high  school,  and  was  kicked  out.  she  became  a  preschool  teacher,  inexplicably  staying  in  fort  elms.

     personality:  emma  is  kind  hearted  and  optimistic  —  she's  a  little  bit  of  a  people  pleaser,  and  a  lot  a  bit  of  a  hopeless  romantic.  she's  pretty  friendly  /  chatty,  and  considers  people  her  friends  approximately  .5  seconds  after  meeting  them.  she's  a  little  naive  in  the  sense  that  she  believes  everyone  is  good,  or  can  be  good  with  just  a  little  effort,  and  is  pretty  forgiving.  she's  much  more  of  a  go  with  the  group  kind  of  person,  and  hates  being  alone.

tw alcoholism, depression; 

name:  philippa  “pippa”  espina age:  twenty-two occupation:  unemployed trope:  fallen  princess aesthetic:  bottles  of  vodka,  half  burnt  cigarettes,  red  lipstick,  shattered  glass,  parties  going  late  into  the  night,  adept  fingers  rolling  joints,  sleeping  in  late,  the  twinkle  of  a  chandelier.

in  retrospect,  pippa  was  destined  to  be  spoiled:  she  never  got  attention  as  a  child,  and  her  parents  had  money,  and  anyone  who's  seen  a  movie  about  rich  kids  knows  that's  a  cocktail  for  disaster.  california  born  and  bred,  pippa  was  used  to  two  things  by  the  time  she  could  toddle:  the  sun,  and  getting  what  she  wanted.  

her  father  was  a  successful  ...  something  with  a  desk  and  lots  of  people  reporting  to  him,  she  never  even  payed  attention.  her  mother  was  more  focused  on  tennis  practices  and  galas  and  book  clubs  where  they  just  drank  wine.  a  series  of  nannies  raised  her:  not  one  or  two  where  she  could  bond  with,  cling  to  the  maternal  attention  she  desired.    

instead,  her  frequent  temper  tantrums  and  outbursts  lead  to  them  either  quitting  or  getting  fired  when  pippa  made  up  stories:  she  was  so  mean  to  me,  i  think  she's  stealing  from  the  jewelry  box,  she's  been  drinking  your  fancy  wine.  she  didn't  know  why  she  was  doing  it.  maybe  it  was  the  way  her  mother  would  stroke  her  hair  gently,  eyes  blurry  with  drunkeness  saying  they'd  work  on  finding  someone  better  to  take  care  of  her.  for  all  her  twisted  lies,  pippa  could  be  brutally  honest.  yet  she  never  asked  her  mother  why  she  couldn't  take  care  of  her.    

by  the  time  pippa  had  hit  the  sixth  grade,  she'd  been  kicked  out  of  two  of  the  private  schools  in  the  area.  her  third  was  all  all  girl's  school,  full  of  catholic  sensibilities  and  a  headmistress  that  refused  to  dismiss  pippa,  no  matter  how  much  she  acted  out.

she  was  twelve  the  first  time  she  was  the  one  breaking  into  the  liquor  cabinet,  little  sips  of  sweet  liquors  that  made  her  head  feel  fuzzy.  a  lock  was  placed  on  it  three  weeks  later,  and  she  didn't  get  drunk  again  until  high  school.  but  pippa  decided  she  liked  that  feeling,  and  more  importantly,  she  liked  the  feeling  of  her  parents  finally  looking  at  her.  

at  one  of  the  rare  family  meals  a  month  after  her  thirteenth  birthday,  pippa  said  i  don't  want  a  nanny  anymore  at  the  same  time  that  her  father  said  we're  moving  to  washington.  some  business  deal  her  father's  company  had  made  with  the  military  base,  it  was  a  wonderful  town.  she  didn't  want  to  hear  it.  another  tantrum  she  was  far  too  old  for,  a  slap  across  the  face.  selfish  brat.  

they  moved  to  washington  three  days  later.  she  didn’t  have  a  nanny.

pippa  was  never  popular  in  high  school,  nor  unpopular.  she  was  a  bit  of  an  outcast:  mean  and  pretty  only  got  you  so  far  if  you  were  already  top  dog,  and  she  wasn't.  she,  however,  threw  big  parties  that  drew  the  attention  of  high  schoolers  and  the  lamer  end  of  the  college  crowd.  holidays,  breaks,  every  weekend:  an  unlimited  supply  of  all  the  weed  and  alcohol  at  pippa's  house,  combined  with  the  loud  thunk  of  music  and  no  one  to  get  mad  at  you  if  you  broke  a  vase  or  woke  up  on  the  floor  the  next  morning.  her  parents  were  rarely  ever  home.

when  they  were,  however,  things  weren't  pretty.  slammed  glasses  on  tables,  shouts  so  loud  they  made  voices  sore.  pippa  would  stand  there  and  she  would  cry  until  her  face  was  red,  and  say  sorry  for  breaking  things,  and  the  next  day  her  parents  would  give  her  a  new  allowance  and  a  kiss  atop  the  head.  that  was  their  apology.  she  never  accepted  it.  she  kept  the  money  and  embraced  back,  of  course.  but  she  never  meant  it.  she  would  do  the  same  thing  again,  and  again,  and  again.  

attention  was  better  than  any  drug,  and  almost  as  good  as  the  bottom  end  of  a  bottle  or  a  shot  glass.  she  was  mean  and  she  was  catty,  sure,  but  then  she  was  warm  and  fun  and  bought  you  lunch.  by  the  time  she  had  made  stronger  connections,  latching  on  to  the  only  two  people,  the  only  two  friends  she  had  was  easy.  they  were  her  friends,  and  thus  everyone  else  was  her  enemy.  

after  high  school,  she  didn't  do  anything.  no  college,  no  job.  her  parties  persisted,  and  so  did  kisses  behind  locked  doors  and  afternoons  spent  sleeping  off  a  hangover  until  she  woke  up  and  did  it  again.  she  was  still  mean,  still  catty,  still  desperate  for  attention:  growth  had  been  stunted,  immaturity  and  a  desperation  making  her  miserable  to  be  around.  

she  doesn't  know  why  she  does  it.  not  even  deep  down:  sometimes,  it's  like  she's  staring  down  at  her  own  body,  watching  herself  be  cruel  or  unkind,  sparking  up  a  joint  to  call  someone  a  bitch  and  someone  a  cow,  or  taking  another  shot  and  whispering  into  the  nearest  fellow  partygoers'  ear  that  they  should  go  upstairs.  sometimes  she  wakes  up  and  feels  like  she's  the  worst  person  in  the  world.  especially  after  one  of  those  partygoers  is  the  ex  of  one  of  those  two  friends.  she  feels  like  the  worst  person  in  the  world,  and  she  likes  it  better  then,  she  decides.  at  least  then  she  feels  something.

tl;dr: rich bitch, loves partying, classic mean girl. not so functional alcoholic, hooks up with a lot of people. turbulent relationship with her parents, desperate for attention. definitely needs a therapist and a psychiatrist.

personality:  pippa  is  very  ...  sugar  and  ice.  or  more  aptly,  sugar  and  fire.  as  long  as  you  follow  her  my  way  or  the  highway  mentality  and  give  her  plenty  of  attention,  she'll  drag  you  along  on  all  her  plans,  lavish  you  with  attention  ...  until  she  doesn't  anymore.  she's  reckless  and  self-centered,  but  she's  a  hell  of  a  lot  of  fun.  if  you  manage  to  get  into  her  inner  circle,  she'd  take  a  bullet  for  you,  but  ...  well,  as  mentioned  before  she  still  might  sleep  with  your  ex  <3  or  ur  current  bf,  honestly.

tw bullying, anxiety, depression, suicide; 

name:  theodore  "teddy"  larsen age:  twenty-three occupation:  graduate  student trope:  shrinking  violet aesthetic:  pages  and  pages  of  notes,  shiny  comic  book  pages,  freshly  sharpened  pencils,  home  cooked  meals,  deep  shaky  breaths,  science  fiction  movies,  100%  exams,  thick  books  full  of  knowledge

theodore  larsen  came  out  of  the  womb  miserable.  he  was  a  colicky  baby,  born  to  a  loving,  young  american  mother  and  a  his  british  professor  father  in  england.  he  was  a  quiet  child,  once  he  grew  out  of  the  constant  exhausted  crying:  much  preferring  the  company  of  his  mom  than  other  kids.  he  was  smart  though,  and  a  heavy  reader.

when  he  spoke  was  when  the  trouble  began:  as  his  vocabulary  began  to  grow  and  he  talked  more  and  more,  a  stutter  came  with  it.  he  spoke  kindly  and  eloquently  for  his  age,  but  he  struggled  sometimes  to  get  words  out.  kids  were  cruel,  naturally,  and  it  only  made  teddy  more  reclusive.  

out  of  isolation  came  anxiety:  he  was  an  intensely  worried  child,  mostly  involved  with  his  parents  rather  than  people  his  age.  an  investment  in  books,  comics,  nonficiton,  novels.  teddy  was  perfectly  content  with  books  as  his  friends,  and  of  course,  his  mother,  his  favorite  person  in  the  world.

 and  then  his  world  came  crashing  down.  nothing  horrific:  no  one  died,  no  one  was  sick.  but  when  the  only  thing  that  brings  you  comfort  is  security  and  repetition,  your  father  cheating  on  your  mother  and  moving  across  the  world  is  a  pretty  far  crash  to  the  bottom.  port  elms,  washington:  his  mother’s  hometown,  where  teddy  would  finish  out  high  school.

he  was  relentlessly  bullied,  still.  the  label  of  new  kid  paired  with  a  lack  of  social  grace  and  nerdy  dispotion,  there  might  as  well  have  been  a  target  painted  on  his  back.  he  had  one  friend,  endlessly  kind  to  him.  she’d  saved  his  life,  figuratively,  and  he  saved  hers  literally,  an  appearance  at  her  house  shortly  after  her  suicide  attempt.

it  made  sense  that  he’d  have  one  too.  depression  was  a  dark  shroud  that  hung  over  him,  exacerbated  anxious  behaviors.  that  was  months  ago  now.  a  secret,  locked  inside  him,  not  quite  ready  to  come  out.  therapy,  once  a  week.  maybe  twice.

 he’s  not  excited  about  finishing  his  degree,  not  really.  he  feels  good  about  teaching,  it’s  what  he  wants  to  do.  but  the  idea  of  being  back  in  fort  elms  high  isn’t  exactly  leaving  a  good  taste  in  his  mouth.  he’ll  cross  that  bridge  when  he  comes  to  it,  no  matter  how  much  it  makes  his  heart  beat  faster  and  his  palms  sweat.  he’s  got  all  the  time  in  the  world

tl;dr: nervous mess, bullying target, has one real friend. very sensitive mama’s boy. british accent, moved to fort elms when he was in high school. sad. doesn’t like his dad very much. 

personality:  the  nerdiest  mf  alive.  teddy  is  a  total  sweetheart,  very  socially  awkward,  and  pretty  damn  smart.  he  know  a  lot  about  typical  nerdy  shit.  superheroes,  star  trek.  he  LOVES  star  wars.  he's  also  in  a  band,  playing  bass.  fun  times.  he's  nervous  as  hell  —  also  super  cautious,  he  never  likes  to  do  anything  without  it  being  meticulously  planned.  total  mamas  boy.

[kalluun-patangaroa]

Suede

SKY magazine, December 1993

written by Simon Witter 

"HELLO! WHAT HAVE WE GOT HERE?!" asks Brett Anderson rhetorically, staring at the fluff he has just removed from his ear. "I haven't taken these earrings off for about nine years."

It may seem an incongruous moment to ask the 27-year-old indie pin-up about his personal style, but hey, that's the kind of guy I am. "Tatty," replies Brett with a wry smile. "I haven't been able to get out and go shopping."

Brett Anderson, frontman of Suede – the British pop sensation of 93 – is hotly rumoured to have a great dress sense. Today however, perched uncomfortably behind an executive desk at the central London HQ of his record company, his head inadvertently framed by a halo of Right Said Fred promotional balloons, he is sporting a navy blue jeans'n'top ensemble he accurately describes as "just anything". Brett has been telling me how he spends most of his time with people who work in shops or are unemployed – "real people, not in the business" – so I presume this boutique bonding provides a clue to his supposed, though temporarily non-evident, style savvy.

"Oh no," he gasps. "Not clothes shops! Most of my friends are in food shops. So I know a good bit of brie when I see it."

The thought of Brett Anderson having, at any point in his life, ever eaten food, conjures images of pigs flapping their trotters as they sail past this second floor window. But we press on with the personal style enquiry.

"I want to change it at the moment," he says. "I'm sick of wearing second-hand things. I used to have a grudge against new clothes because I don't like wearing things that another thousand people are wearing. It's nothing to do with being into clothes from years ago, or tatty clothes at all. I'm quite keen to toy around with my style until I eventually find something, to have clothes made for me. There's never anything, when I go out and look for clothes, that I really love. I've got quite a strong vision of what I want, which would be very, very well fitted things. I don't like baggy things. I like lots of ethnic looks. I really like the Spanish look, that sort of matador thing." By way of explanation, Brett strikes a pose, clicking imaginary castanets above his head. "I like that shape. Prince wears a really brilliant little thing sometimes. When I kept getting my bellybutton out, it was really a desire to achieve that shape more than anything, nothing to do with flaunting my navel."

It's well worth flashing your bellybutton while you still can, I assure him, a rueful hand on my own expanding waistline.

"Yep," he smiles. "Well I can't anymore. Not after that chinese last night."

In May of 1992 Suede released their first single, 'The Drowners'. They had already been on the cover of Melody Maker – before they had a record out – and would grace 18 other British magazine covers over the next year, including the cover of Q on just their second single. Their eponymous debut album, released last March, went straight to No. One in the charts and went on to win the Mercury Prize, and last autumn they released a full-length concert video Love & Poison. At this rate, it will be time for their memoirs by easter.

Within the bizarre, incestuous fishbowl of the British music media, Suede have become almost self-damagingly important. After a couple of wilderness years spent faffing about, finding their feet and being universally loathed, their overnight transformation into the most hyped band in the world was nothing short of miraculous. Yet it created impossibly high expectations of their music. A German friend told me how surprised he was, after long distance exposure to their media glare, to discover how average Suede sounded – a judgment that casual discovery of the first album would hardly have elicited. And while touring America, their support act the Cranberries famously outshone them by an enormous factor when it came to album sales. Yet phase one of Suede's career has been – or appeared to be – so extraordinary, that they are going to be hard-pressed to follow it up with anything similarly momentous.

For now, we have 'Stay Together', a new, epically long single. As a measure of Suede's magnitude in the reality-starved world of British indie pop, I am treated to an absurd preview of the track the day before meeting Brett. Before entering the listening room I am subjected to a bag search to check – I kid you not! – that I'm not carrying a concealed tape recorder.

In LA, the world capital of muso control freakism, I was played U2's Desire, the immediate-follow up to their 15-million selling Joshua Tree album, eons before its release without anyone thinking twice. Yet now, without a hint of humour or irony, I am being treated as if I not only know anyone who cares what the next Suede single sounds like, but would be willing to pay for a tape of it recorded through a leather bag.

After regaining consciousness, I join in the fiasco, insist on a full body search (well, at less reputable establishments you'd have to pay good money for this touchy-feely experience) and am seated. The label boss places two speakers on each side of my head, facing my ears from about 20" away, turns it up LOUD, and begins to do that embarrassing, pseudo appreciative in-chair grooving that only people who work in record companies and recording studios have the gall to indulge in. "It's not pompous," he assures me, "even though it's eight minutes long."

Of course any pop song – as opposed to dance record – that lasts eight minutes is by definition pompous. 'Bohemian Rhapsody' was gloriously, defiantly pompous with a side order of pomposity to go. But, despite the circumstances, 'Stay Together' sounds like a fine, many-hued song, liberally doused with Bernard Butler's life-saving guitar, that is destined neither to win many new fans nor shock the devotees.

"It's about a sense of unrest I feel about the world," Brett tells me the following day, in an ill-advised shot at an explanation. "An attempt to make some sense when everything seems to be going slightly insane. I do get a real sense of impending doom, but not in a depressing way, not like we're all gonna die, let's go and rape people. I feel quite content with it. We're living under some shadow, and I'm not quite sure what it is. It's a bit like the fears I felt when I was growing up, when things were unstable and there was the threat of nuclear war, or the fear that your parents could die of aerosol poisoning."

Brett grew up, together with Suede drummer Mat Osman, in the soulless satellite town of Haywards Heath, between London and Brighton. According to Osman, if they'd been the tea party fops people make them out to be, they would've formed a grunge band. They only wanted to be really glamorous because of their stultifyingly dull working class backgrounds. Some might say that that would lead to the three-Es-a-night, dance-and-forget syndrome, rather than the formation of a glam rock band.

"Hopefully we're not a glam rock band," Brett shudders defensively. "You can escape those surroundings by taking a load of Es and ignoring it. Another way is to create your own myth, to try and become romantic in your own eyes, to create something beautiful out of the rubbish and the shit. It all sounds very Oscar Wilde, but that's the way we did it. None of us were brought up in workhouses, but we haven't had easy lives at all."

Suede claim to be obsessed with fame because they were excluded from it. Yet surely fame is the one classless thing people aren't born into?

"Lots of people are constantly privileged," says Brett, who has clearly spent an unhealthy amount of time pondering the abstract qualities of fame. "If you're born in Soho to rich professional parents, and you've got Jonathan Wotsisname coming round to your house every night to see your father, then you've got this world that you slip easily into. When you're excluded from it there's a desperation, you're desperate to have it. It doesn't come as second nature to you, like professionally famous people who hang out in Beverly Hills. It's not something you're comfortable with, but that mutates it into something far more interesting, a bit prickly and far more creative, because you're not just sitting there lapping it up."

Suede's appearance coincided not unfortunately with the post-Madchester 70s revival. But was their styling something more than just the result of being unable to afford new clothes? Personally, I had thought the emergence of Gary Numan had killed off the idea of anyone ever again wanting to be David Bowie (not to mention Bowie's recent records). Then along came Suede, with their rough guitars, their androgyny and their theatrical singer.

"I never thought of ourselves as '70s," Brett insists. "David Bowie is a genius, but the rest of all that rubbish I always found laughable. As for the clothes, I always thought we looked more 60s than 70s. It's all tied up with this whole kitsch thing, this Magpie and Porridge and rediscovering the culture of British music journalists' youths. Kids of 14 didn't know what anyone was talking about, it was just that the people in power had reached a certain age where they were getting sentimental about their youth and started remembering Magpie. That's all it was, all a complete load of rubbish. As soon as we were aware that this scene was going on, we wanted nothing to do with it."

Brett's voice is a highly variable instrument, perfect and beautiful on slow numbers like 'The Next Life', but occasionally, when he affects that archly operatic Bowie yodel, a whiney, sneering sound like Rik Mayall on speed boring into your brain – absolutely maddening. It goes without saying that his delivery owes much to the most overrated British pop star of the last decade, Morrissey.

"I forced my voice in that way because of how we were born, musically, playing shitholes. It was the only way I could make myself heard. I didn't want to sing in the murmuring way that was the style of the time. I wanted to project my voice, because I was writing songs that I wanted people to hear the words of. I wasn't just writing about fluffy little clouds, which is what everyone was doing at the time. People read into my intonations a theatrical seventiesness, but it was a complete accident."

Overworked as the subject is, it's hard to avoid asking why Brett thinks his androgyny caused such a fuss. It's not the first time it has been done; it's not even the tenth time. Genderless, mincing fops are to classic British pop what hairspray is to American rock, a staple ingredient. Brett, by comparison to most, is pretty tame.

"I don't know," he sighs. "We certainly weren't thinking 'oh let's be androgynous', it's just the way we are. I'm naturally quite an effeminate person – not all the time, I do play on things. I think it was because, at the time, people were so incredibly boring. We had been through five years of the cult of non-personality, and we never wanted to go with the flow. When everyone had their heads down, chugging away, we wanted to twist things a little bit. It's like at school, when you find that something annoys someone, you keep on doing it more and more. And that's what happened really."

A female psychologist wrote recently about the overt sexual expression of pre-pubertal girls at pop concerts, the way in which, amidst the non-contact hysteria of the pop experience, they could sometimes experience their first orgasm. She was, admittedly, talking about a Take That show, but I can't help wondering if it looks like that from the stage to Brett Anderson?

"No, nothing like that," he purrs, "nothing sexual. I always feel like people are putting it on."

Having their first fake orgasm?

"It's a bizarre thing in my head. I know they really like me, but I can't really take it seriously. When I'm onstage, and it's working, I feel like I can do absolutely anything. I feel as though there's no limit, even in the sense that I could fall asleep if I felt like it, because I'm that relaxed. I feel much more comfortable on stage than walking down the street. I could go off into a corner and do a crossword or shave my head. I feel ridiculously relaxed. I really enjoy the power of being onstage. It's to do with the circuit of the flow between the audience and you, when it's an audience willing you to be good. Your own power is an expression of how the audience is feeling, but I can't say I ever feel sexual, even if it looks that way. I think that to call the power purely sexual is to belittle it. When I've been to incredible gigs, it hasn't been a sexual thing, it has been something far more magical than that. "

Brett and Osman came to London in the mid 80s to study, respectively, architecture and politics at UCL and LSE. Suede began after they placed an ad in the NME in 1989, but initial concerts had audiences shouting "Fuck off!", critics calling them effete wankers and record companies running for the hills - a three-pronged invitation to eat shit and die that would have spelt the end for most bands.

"That X factor that made people despise us," muses Brett, "was something we managed to turn around in our favour. It's like being in love with someone, and exactly the same things you adore about them, completely horrify you when you've fallen out of love. We went away and learnt how to write songs, and came back transformed. And those qualities that originally pissed people off, we transformed into something provocative. I think the fact that we went through all that rubbish was a fucking good thing for us. People forget that the Beatles spent five years in Hamburg. No one would touch them in England, cos everyone thought they were an utter load of shit. They spent five years getting it together, suffering a bit and fighting for it."

A typical lyric from those hard years was Brett's line about "shitting paracetomol on the escalator". When they were recently described as chemically saturated, I had assumed more interesting chemicals were involved.

"That's about pure mundanity, being off your face every night and your staple diet coming from your bathroom cabinet. It's a metaphor for a humdrum life, going up and down the London underground, which I spent five years of my life doing."

In many ways this – Suede's poignant soundtracking of new depression Britain – is their strength. But if they are Her Majesty's equivalent of slackers, it hasn't made America any more amenable to their cause. Indeed, despite Brett's avowed loathing of the British character – "negativity, small-mindedness, lack of faith" – there may well be a Britishness about Suede which prevents America from getting the point.

Brett makes the mistake of quoting a Smiths song to me – something about innocence, fragility and trust – forcing me to point out that American audiences don't want to be trusted with something precious, they want to rock out with their cocks out. Evan Dando may wear a dress and pigtails, but the wider American market is notoriously unkeen on sexual ambiguity. Queen were big in America until the early 80s, when Freddie Mercury started appearing in full clone gear. They never toured America again, and didn't have a single hit until after his death (and then only thanks to Wayne's World). In fact, America's association of guitars and manliness make Suede fundamentally unsuited.

"No!" storms Brett. "I don't think we're fundamentally unmanly. All you have to do is come and watch us live. We're about sexuality, power and emotion, things that everybody feels."

Whether or not America is destined to fall for his Morrissey-meets-Larry Grayson stage persona, Brett's much-aired desire to move to America (and less well-known plan to live in Paris) has, for now, been replaced by a much smaller act of bedouinism.

"I've moved from Notting Hill to Highgate," he announces proudly, "from a fashionable place to a place where you're living in the last century pretty much. I was living in a very small flat in Notting Hill and it was driving me insane, I couldn't write and was being bombarded with nonsense all day long. I needed the peace and quiet, and now I have a bigger flat with a studio room in it and I'm writing quite prolifically. It's more serene, there's more space to think. It's quite a beautiful place, but you do feel like you're living in the last century, like you're some sort of oddity, or in a play. You keep going into these odd characters. But it's a great place."

In person, and despite the affectation of much of his thought processes, Brett Anderson is quite charming. An endearing smile – which seems to hibernate when cameras are around – plays constantly around his face, suggesting shared confidences which, to some extent, he delivers. Like so many people cocooned by over-protective minions, he is refreshingly open and approachable. I like him. But he is deeply shocked and incredulous when I paint a picture of the special treatment afforded him by those he works with.

"They treat me with the respect I deserve," he jokes defensively. "I don't have tea with Lenny Kravitz. My best friend works in a chip shop, and that's why I like it, it's a complete escape. One of the beautiful things about being successful is that it can rub off onto your friends as well. Not fame and all that bullshit – the really brilliant thing about being successful is the self-confidence, the sense of life having a purpose, that life is a wonderful thing. You open the shutters in the morning and the sunshine pours through. That sense of vitality about life can completely rub off on your friends. Sometimes it doesn't, it can go the other way, with friends ignoring you cos they think you don't have time for them, but that never happens with your proper friends."

And yet, engulfed in the sweltering perversity of his peer group, Brett has come to hold some pretty crap views, views that seem utterly irrelevant beyond the borders of saddo indie land. He worries about being thought a sell-out, thinks Suede are radically honest because they admit to having ambition – as if people didn't get over all that bollocks a decade ago – and, worst of all, that people don't talk enough about music in interviews. Oh dear!

But, despite all this, Brett's public image remains unshatterably cool. He exudes waves of sultry, sulky hipness. I feel an urge to know what naff items lurk in the corners of Chateau Anderson, his ownership of which will shock Suede devotees to the core. Brett tells me he's been to see Aladdin, listens to jazz music, likes The Orb and Verve and has just bought the new Shamen single. To prove it, he even does his Mr C impression - "Comin' on like a vibe, y'know!". This won't do at all.

"I like Terence Trent D'Arby," he admits, trying harder. "I think he's really good."

It's good, but it's not right.

"I bought Billy Joel's River Of Dreams album. I like that one."

Aha – as Inspector Clouseau used to say – now we are getting somewhere! What about films?

"No, I've got impeccable taste when it comes to films."

No feature length On The Buses video stashed chez Brett?

"No. I have got Crocodile Dundee."

Bingo and Bullseye! So much for impeccable taste.

"Well, my perennial favourite is Performance," he flusters wildly. "I can virtually quote the whole film from start to finish. And there's a brilliant film which I've just discovered called The Shout, with John Hurt, Alan Bates and Susanna York. It's about a man who has spent years in the Australian bush learning the secrets of the bush doctors coming to this ridiculously reserved Cornish village and turning two people's lives upside down. It's like an animal alive within this village, and when he shouts, everyone within a mile radius dies. If Alan Bates' part had been played by Vincent Price, it would've been laughable, but it's incredibly powerful, one of those great lost films."

It's a nice try, but nothing can erase the impression created by Billy Joel and Crocodile Dundee.

[defnotacoolguy]

Can I just make a list of shitty things cause I feel like it

My dad is an abuser, he abused my mom multiple times, he used to get drunk and hit her, he made her feel like she couldn’t do anything by herself so he was the one giving her everything to make her feel powerless

Mom couldn’t be with me for most of my childhood because of the divorce, my dad never gave us any money to help so she had to work all day and I had to learn to be by myself and do everything by myself ever since I was like 8

I was a grieving kid because I felt like I had no parents and I was terrified of being alone, so I was called a crybaby and a problem kid because of that

But the moment I shut down and stopped showing my feelings to most of my family and started being quiet around them, only focused on drawing, I got asked a thousand times why I couldn’t be normal

It is a running joke in my family the times that I was hit as an infant

I was always referred to as the rude, unkind, weird sibling, so the most important people in my family for me always preferred my sibling over me

I struggled with self harm constantly since I was 11 until I turned 18, even falling back to it a couple of times since then, only to be called a cry baby and attention seeker because of it

Oh boy and don’t let me get started on me being trans and pan

My mom only dated abusive people during my childhood so i have 1) attachment issues, 2) fear of relationships and commitment and 3) the habit of letting things get so bad in my relationships until a breaking point because I’m scared of speaking my mind before they get to that point

My mom dated for, at least, seven years one of the worst people I’ve ever met, who abused her, cheated on her multiple times, felt entitled for anything he wanted and I was told I was exaggerating for wanting him away from my life

I was so scared of maintaining a friendship after a breakup because I saw my mom go back to these men so many times and how worse things got, so I always managed to sabotage my own relationships in fear of it

My sibling, the person who I thought I could trust the most in my life, was always putting my achievements down and finding reasons to tell everyone how they were better than me

I wasn’t able to start college in time because my mom had been unemployed for more than a year, and of course my sibling didn’t care and still spent money without thinking, including failing subjects because, in their words, they thought the teachers would pass them despite their assignments

I would’ve gotten into a public university, but the career I wanted couldn’t be found in most places or the dates for the exams had already passed the moment I was told I wouldn’t be able to use the scholarship that I had gotten at my dream college even when it was of 50%

I had to start killing my ass looking for a job at 18 MID PANDEMIC because not only we barely had any money to support ourselves, but my house’s debt finally reached a breaking point so we had to leave and my dad literally laughed at our face because of it

I got a job as a teacher, I’m proud of myself and happy about it and then my sibling starts telling me that I don’t deserve that job and that I only got it because I got help but I don’t deserve it, just because they hadn’t been able to get a job by that point

When they finally got a job, first they would say all the good things it had in comparison to mine and how it was so great and amazing to a week later changing it to going back to how much harder than me they have it, and how they were fighting so hard and I was served everything in a golden plate

Oh, did I mention that they lost all their friends so I added them to my friend group cause, at the time, they were one of the people I loved and cared about the most, but then my friends started pushing them away cause it turns out they started talking shit about me to my friends or directly making them uncomfortable and asking them to fuck or kiss even when most of them were still underage and my sibling was 20 :)

Oh and when mom finally got a job, we could finally afford somewhere else to live, even if it’s far as fuck from what we were used to, life becomes living hell as every single thing I did was me being an attention seeker, an asshole, a crybaby or directly being abusive according to my sibling

Turns out, my mom really needs a surgery so we are planning to sell our car, our only way of moving across the city, to be able to afford it oh but guess what

My sibling, who had been acting unhinged for the last year or so, kept blaming my mom and I for their “shitty lifestyle” so they went to like 7 therapists, didn’t stay with any of them because “nobody told them what they wanted to hear” and then they found a psychiatrist who gave them antidepressants but they went on and off the treatment because you aren’t supposed to drink alcohol during it so they stopped taking them every time they wanted to drink which was like every week to then continue to blame us on their poor mental health

They came back to me over and over again asking for advice and I was so scared to give it because every single time they would react badly and scream at me

They would trap me in the car to scream at me so I’m terrified of cars and driving now lmao

Anyways, turns out they decide to go drink, even after taking their medicine that same fucking morning and oh guess what, they crash the car that we were going to sell to pay for the surgery

And they say they weren’t drunk and didn’t drink but they smell so much like alcohol haha! Isn’t that hilarious!

And everyone that sees the accident tells them that it’s a miracle that they didn’t die, and it’s their second chance in life and they literally couldn’t care less

And i just can’t stop thinking about how every single day i traveled with them in that car, sitting in the exact same seat that was stabbed with a retaining bar

If there would’ve been anybody in that car aside from my sibling, they wouldn’t had a chance of surviving

Oh and guess what, they were still mad at me because I told them to wash the dishes before accident, so they wouldn’t talk to me lmao

And who the fuck knows where their driving license is! And they won’t tell us so we literally had no money and the assurance wasn’t going to help with the situation, hooray!

And when we finally work something out the next days they act so entitled to everything, and says how we must do everything for them even though they are perfectly fine and are using only a collar for precaution oh but then they go out with a friend the next day, when they told us they couldn’t even drink water by themselves

And then I cry all day everyday because I don’t know what’s going to happen with my mom or my job! Yay!!! And my grandma and aunt, who I thought supported and loved me start telling me how everything, from my siblings breakdown and the crash, to my moms situation is my fault 💕 and I just make everything worse 💕

Then my sibling left the city because they didn’t want to help pay even a penny for what they did :)

But fortunately my mom is able to get surgery because her new boyfriend of like three months, who is more my dad than my biological dad, helps us pay for it and guess who comes back to see my mom after two months �� my sibling yay!!!

They spend all day with mom just telling her about how good their life is now and how happy they are now and making my mom feel like a shitty ass person when I know she’s not and she shouldn’t even be in that situation in the first place after having gotten surgery so recently

Oh and then my sibling tries to take everything from our house that night :) and I had to be alone with my boyfriend there to stop them because I literally had nobody else to be there :)))

And then I have to call mom to tell her what’s going on because it’s HER FUCKING HOUSE and my sibling tells me I’m a snitch and an asshole and that it’s their problem not mine so I should stay away ✨

You’ll never guess what happened the next day

After spending the night crying and shouting cause I can’t handle it 😍 and I don’t want to sleep at my house anymore because I’m terrified 😍 I get to the hospital the next day and my mom is okay, everything is okay until my sibling arrives and suddenly mom starts feeling bad because of stress 💕

And I have to ask grandma to make my sibling leave the hospital because mom is only getting worse because of the stress that she is feeling since they are here but then grandma starts telling me that it’s my fault for telling her, and how I should have kept my mouth shut 💕 and every single bad thing that has happened is my fault

And then I go back to the room cause I can’t take it anymore, I don’t even feel alive at this point and I just want to smoke an entire box of cigarettes when they finally leave not without telling me shitty things that I can’t even remember because of the crisis mode I was in 🥰

And it’s been around seven-eight months since the accident and my family is broken and now my sibling sends me messages justifying their actions with being in an all time low without even apologizing for a single thing they’ve done to either of us

And I’m still here, I don’t know if I’m a good person or not, I just know that I seem to fuck everything up in my life, and I’m scared that it’s actually my fault and not the people who surround me, even if my therapist tells me over and over again that that’s not the case

[vulturereyy-scribbles]

Please read!

Hey y'all. I know seeing me beg is probably getting old, but I'd really appreciate if you give this thread a read for my situation. I'm not sure what more I can do anymore. After getting strung along by a very promising job offer for months only to be fired immediately on the second day because I was 5 minutes late on the first due to the bus + "didn't engage with the team" (Despite the fact we only met for an hour and I was asking questions??) I immediately tried to turn back to the job I had left to make room for this one (I was also unable to afford transportation to my former job anymore) since my managers were sad to see me go. There's a new location closer to me, but I keep getting no response when I ask about getting on the schedule. I have been applying nonstop to jobs for... Since I moved here, really. It took me 3 months to find the shit job I was at before that barely paid my bills. I have gotten no less than 100+ 'no's or crickets from places. I think I've sent out well over 500 applications this year so far. Remote, local, food service, retail, fucking anything. This past round I've actually been getting interviews, but so far all of them have been no afterward. I've been to about five thus far. And they are also costly to get to. The bus system where I live is extremely unreliable and has been very unsafe to me (I have been followed + maliciously approached multiple times) so I have had to rely on uber to be on time to places. I don't have a choice. I'm disabled, poor as fuck, and don't have a car. Each interview I go to to be told 'no' has cost between 15-20 bucks each round trip, just to be there for 15-30 min. This is unsustainable given my current fucking predicament of not having money, but I don't know how else I can do this. I'm not going to be followed home again. My emergency commission queue has a decent amount of folks in it, but it is never enough to cover anything even totaled. My wrists have been in agony for days. Today I broke down crying over a piece because doing art has become painful. But it's my only income right now. I don't qualify for unemployment, believe me, I've checked multiple times. I'm not unemployed for long enough, and I didn't make enough for it to be considered a 'devastating enough' loss I guess. I'm waiting on my application for EBT. I've tried looking for local rent assistance or grants and have found nothing that I qualify for. I'm 1k+ in debt with care credit because of my cat's pancreatitis, and about the same amount in debt to various friends who have been generous in loaning me some cash. But it's not enough in this hell state. I didn't make rent this month. If I do not start a job this week, I will likely not make rent next month either. I have been looking for places to possibly move to that are cheaper, but not only would moving be an extreme cost, but I moved to this horrible city because it was the ONLY place in Florida I could afford at the time with two roommates. The house is falling apart. We've got black mold in almost every room. Bugs get in constantly and there's literally no insulation, I'm not joking. It got up to 90 degrees inside over summer. I don't know what more I can do in my situation. Taking on more emergency commissions is not something I can do with how I've damaged my wrists and hands, and I am already so burned out I wouldn't be giving my best work. I also don't want to scam people unintentionally by not being able to complete the piece but also not being able to refund. I'm trying to sell my collectables, but I barely owned anything expensive to begin with, and I need my laptop and tablet to make the tiny amount I can off art and apply for jobs. I don't know where I am going with this to end, but I'm just. Out of options. I don't know what to do. If anyone has suggestions, please let me know. I'm trying so fucking hard. If you have anything to spare and want to, both my cashapp and venmo are Vulturereyy. I've also got a goal on ko-fi to try and cover the rest of what i owe for this months' rent and maybe meet the next one's, but its unlikely at this point. My average monthly costs usually come out to about $700 If you've made it this far... Thank you. I wish I had more hope for what the future holds for me. At time of writing, I have an interview in 6 hours, but I am too sick with dread to sleep. If you need any side work, know of any remote jobs, anything... Feel free to reach out.

[xomikayla-blog1]

BLOG DISCUSSION

Perry-Washington, Mikayla

ENG 1301

Professor Robert Lunday

September 22, 2018

Growing Up

     My name is Mikayla Perry, eighteen-year old student and not much else. Although my life is barely just getting started, I still have a mouthful of a story I could tell about my childhood. From an Alcohol addicted father to abandonment issues, growing up was not always easy, especially as a black young lady. It was always “You are so pretty for a black girl!” or “Your hair is so long for a black girl!” Being only twelve or thirteen years old, it never resonated to me that those truly were not compliments. I was used to being the “black girl”. Still to this day, stereotypical jokes are told to make me laugh by other races. They are never funny. I do not know if others see them as offensive, but they for sure are not entertainment. The obvious “Dang girl, calm down!” although my tone barely has barely elevated, is a common one. Or the “You two look alike!” because the color of our skin is the same. We share no resemblance. I look nothing like this girl. What makes us look alike?

           If it were not already bad enough to be stereotyped in Intermediate school, I struggled a lot with dealing with my appearance. It was always the other girls over me, I felt. What makes her so much prettier than me? Is it because her curly hair is down her back and she can speak Spanish? It was always something. I got so used to counting myself out before anyone else could to save myself the hurt and embarrassment. I have always been a very sensitive person and the SLIGHTEST snarky comment could have me in tears. My self-esteem was not where it should have been, and I never considered myself to be the “It” girl. I was always just in the background, floating. My friends were always the prettier favorites, and I was always just used to being Mikayla. It eventually took a toll on me mentally. I got so used to being alone that company no longer excited me. I was the “nerd’’. I enjoyed reading, and most definitely my video games. I felt as if it were an outlet. It was just me. Me having a good time, listening to my favorite music, which always became an extreme outlet for me. I often had a hard time expressing how I felt, and I felt as though my favorite artist did it for me.

           My father was a major factor for me in my life. If the whole world believed I was wrong, my Father would know I was still right. He struggled with an alcohol addiction and sometimes heavy drugs. I loved my father to death. I was young, and it was difficult seeing the man who has raised me, struggle with himself. Little did I know, he would go on to pass me his mental issues. I never thought of it as anything major when I was young. “Everyone gets sad sometimes, right?” I thought. But as I grew older, I began to realize that this was no ordinary sadness. I would experience very manic depressions for a while, and then suddenly be over it and not even know the reason behind the madness.

           Eventually, I was living with only an older sister and a single mother; a woman who somehow always made it happen for us. We did not have the most money growing up, but we always had each other, and I could not be more thankful. We did not always have the newest shoes, but they were still nice, and I liked them. We did not have the fanciest car, but we had one that was reliable. Having my family in such a time of need made me appreciate the person that I am and brought me out of the darkest place. I enjoyed being around them and that made me enjoy being myself. I Started to love being Me. I realized it is not about what you have, but who you have. If I did not have these lovely women, where would I be? From Whom would I receive my words of encouragement, my extra push? If I did not think I could do it, they did. I value these women although they do not know it, they taught me to value myself. I am not who this world may see me as: Just another “black girl”. I’m a beautiful, intelligent, and stunning young woman. I love to help others feel better about themselves because I wish I had someone do it for me while growing up. I want to be that extra push for others. If they feel they do not have it, I want to let them know that they do. Nothing about your struggle will go unseen with this universe. Although I am still teaching myself this aspect, everything will work out the way it is supposed to. You will eventually get that peace that you are chasing, by any means.

           Although I feel as My older sister and I are VERY much different, we are also so much alike in a sense. We have the same sense of humor, but different point of views. These differences are not major due to the fact that we spend almost every waking day seeing each other. We have always been bonded from certain experiences. When we were younger we lived with our aunt and our two cousins. That arrangment brought together many different personalities under one roof. They often fought with each other while me and my sister would sit down and watch tv together, or just simply talk. Although we disagreed a lot, we did not feel the need to yell about it. We left it alone. They were always a bit loud while me and my sister were relaxed. I often stayed to myself because I always saw myself as more of an introvert, I just did not know it yet.

           Being young, having peace may seem almost impossible at times. With school and work constantly on my mind, I feel as though I am carrying the weight of the whole world on my tiny little shoulders. College is not easy by any means, but I always remember to tell myself that it will pay off. I have constant thoughts of a successful future and I will not stop at any means to get to where I want to be. I feel as though school has always been sort of a positive for me. Despite the waking up early for twelve years and being there up to seven hours a day for five days a week, I genuinely enjoyed learning and completing assignments. Even with all the deadlines and added stress school brings me, I like to see myself doing well. I do believe that college is not for everyone, but I personally feel school is my pathway to becoming the relationship therapist I strive to be. Talking out problems and listening to others is something I like to consider a talent of mine. I always give an insight on how others would feel if I did this, or how it would impact them if I made this decision. Even though I am not exactly sure what type of therapist I would like to be, I do know that therapy is something I for sure would love to practice. I love when someone feels as if they can trust me with their deepest darkest secrets or can depend on them to give them helpful advice. To me my future is everything and I feel as though I am very promising when it comes to my goals. If no one else believes I can do it, I know I can, and I will.

           Growing up with many different experiences, I realized that I was always the only person I could rely on. Although it does feel good to discuss the spiderweb going on in my head, I still feel as if I am misunderstood. No matter how much agreeance comes from the conversation, I still never feel completely resolved. My problems are deeper than a “Yeah I feel you” text, or a “Same.” Who do I rely on for that? Myself. I want to be there for people who need someone in their future. I want to make people feel as if they are heard and are never alone with their suffering. Everyone has been through their own types of ordeals no one else would care to understand, but I will. I am very passionate about wanting to make people feel heard. Their voice is not going unnoticed as long as I am around.

           But I often have a reasonable fear. No one is guaranteed a job once they earn a degree. Many have told me that a bachelor’s degree in Psychology barely gets you a job, so I made the decision to earn my masters. Even with a good degree, many people remain unemployed sometimes and it is a very scary thought. The thought of going to school for five to six years, seek employment, and get denied by every place you apply to. I am a strong believer that this degree and these five or six years in school will pay off. I often think about the time in between the degree. What will I be doing? Where will I live 3 years from now while still pursuing my dream job? It is all a mystery to me that will reveal itself and I just know everything will work out for the best.

           Being that I am only 18 years old right now, I feel that I am very ambitious. I have big dreams that I will stop at nothing to fulfill. I know that Psychology is the field for me. Many say they went to college and suddenly found themselves on a completely different track than the one they visualized for themselves, but I honestly do not believe that will be me. I have always loved to talk to people and listen to their emotions, because I feel that there is always something that I can say that will offer the least bit of reassurance. All throughout Middle and High School I loved to help my friends. I feel as though teenagers go through the most behind closed doors. I remember this one friend in particular, my best friend. She struggled with depression and was often mocked for it. I do not have depression, so I had no idea what it was like to constantly question your happiness. But I do know, that I tried as hard as I could to make her forget about all the negatives going on in her life. She was the only friend I needed at the time. We were literally two peas in a pod. Wherever she went, I went. No one could tell me anything about my favorite friend. She came over my house a lot, and we found ourselves laughing endlessly at what felt like nothing. A pure friendship is all I have ever asked for. We were there for each other in time of need. We would never leave the other out in the cold. I was proud to have such an amazing friend.

           Everything was great, up until the summer of my eighth grade year. I was moving, which would mean that I would have to move schools as well. We worried ourselves a bunch, until the time actually came. We promised we would keep in touch, no matter how hard it got at times. But of course, things were not the same. We both met new people and the “out of sight, out of mind” rule somewhat came into play. Of course, we still valued our friendship, but not seeing each other every day took a toll on the friendship. Even though we barely speak, almost five to six years later, that friendship taught me a lot. Everyone goes through their own battles, and everyone deserves to have someone. Before me, she had explained that there was rarely anyone who would just sit down and talk to her or give them the best advice that they could. I am very glad that I got to help someone as long as I could. I never want for anyone to feel empty. I believe that everyone should be heard. Even if it is not what you want to hear, you could still stick around to listen. Now I feel like that is where my desire to be a Counseling Psychologist comes in. I am not in it for the pay, but I am very passionate about emotions, and how much people differ from one another. School was not always the most entertaining thing to me, but it did teach me that you should grow up to do what you love, not what you feel like you have to do.

           I have taught myself to pay attention to my emotions more. If it makes me unhappy, do not do it. If it makes me upset, avoid it. There is nothing better than feeling like you have complete control over your own life. There is nothing dragging you down. You owe it to you to live the best life that you can. Whether it is to grow up and be something that you have always wanted to be, or if being truly happy is your goal, there should be nothing stopping you. Life is full of obstacles, and you have to realize that you will get nowhere if you do not overcome them. It is no walk in the park, however, you will reach your goal in the end, if you ultimately work hard enough. The only thing that can stop you is yourself. If you want it bad enough, you will be motivated. Whether it is internal, or eternal, there is no reason that you should stop working for what you are trying to receive.

What I am getting at is stay motivated. You will get to where you want to be with nothing but hard work and dedication. There will be plenty of distractions on the way, but it is all up to you to make your something out of nothing. The feeling in the end will be worth it. You will be where you want to be, knowing that you worked harder than ever for it.

 Afterword            

Throughout this memoir, I discussed some of the topics about my life that I felt were most important to me, hinting at why this memoir felt a bit important to me. Covering subjects such as growing up, or even what made me the person I am today. These surrounding factors in my life were all important and impacted me in a way that nothing else could, positive or negative. Although I wish I could truly change the negative factors in my life that somehow hindered me in a way, I cannot. So, with that being said, we can only accept what we were given to deal in our lifetime, and make the best of it.

[sweetiepie08]

Bedtime Story (Chapter 2)

Coco Princess Bride AU

Hector’s not sure how he, of all people, managed to have a daughter who didn’t see the value in love stories. Being the romantic sap he is, he reads her one of his favorites before bed. He hopes the story will show her the power of all types of love and it’ll become of her her favorites too.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. 

“Just keep going with the story Papá.”

“Okay, okay, where was I?”

[-Story Time-]

As he spent more time with the prince, Héctor began to see why his parents hid him away. Most of the time, Ernesto was his usual artificially charming self. While this wasn’t bad for a start, Héctor hoped the longer they knew each other, Ernesto would relax and drop the act. As it was, being around the prince felt more like work than being with a friend. Héctor had experience hosting foreign dignitaries, and while he loved dealing with new people, there was always the underlying pressure to impress and not accidently say or do the wrong thing. That was the way it was with Ernesto. While it was fine most of the time, the smallest perceived slight sent him into a foul mood or a jealous rage.

Héctor had to walk on eggshells to avoid inadvertently insulting the prince. It was a learning curve at first. If he acted too chummy with the servants, if a lady looked too flirtatiously at him, if he played his music a bit too well, he had deal with either a sulking or raging prince. There was no predicting what reaction Héctor would get. It simply depended on Ernesto’s overall mood that day. But Héctor knew the dungeons were littered with failed Royal Companions and he didn’t want to join them. So, he developed some unwritten rules to always follow no matter how much they hurt his heart. He behaved curtly toward the servants, coldly polite to the ladies, and kept his talents to himself.

But tip-toeing around Ernesto’s moods was like tip-toeing around the world; it was exhausting, tedious, slow-going work. Constantly watching his every word or move took an emotional toll. Sometimes he just had to get away to give himself a break. He jumped on every opportunity to take care of something back in the Southlands. He didn’t care if he was just jumping into more work. Sometimes he just needed some space, miles and miles of space.

One such time, he returned to the Southlands to sort out some a trade dispute with the neighboring country, Santa Anthony. As Lord of the Southlands of Santa Cecelia, he acted as diplomat to all countries along the southern border. It didn’t take long to reach a compromise and the Santa Anthony dignitary was on his way. With that taken care of, he decided to stay a couple of extra days to relax before returning to his demanding prince.

One morning, he took his horse out for a ride near the coast. Some guards tried to join him, but he rode ahead, preferring some peace and solitude to clear his mind. As he rode, he’d occasionally hear a something rummaging through the brush, but assumed it was just an animal and paid it no mind. He kept going, trying to rid himself of the dread of returning to Ernesto, until he came across three men waiting along the path.

On the left stood a tall, large man with pointy ears and a thin strip of spikey gray hair on top of head. On the right was a round-faced teenage boy, some sparse scruff attempting to hide his youth. In the center, stood one of Héctor’s old friends.

“Chicharrón,” Héctor said, dismounting his horse. “What are you doing here?” He and Chicharrón went way back. They met as children when Chicharrón was page boy for a Santa Anthony diplomat who often passed through the village Héctor grew up in. Chicharrón became a messenger when he got a little older, and now was a dignitary in his own right. They got along well despite Chicharrón being a few years older than Héctor. However, their friendship deteriorated once they grew into their new roles in their respective kingdoms. It didn’t help that Héctor always lost or forgot to return everything he borrowed from Chicharrón.

“I just finished dealing with one of your colleagues,” Héctor continued. “I didn’t realize you’d be here too.”

“I’m here on a different matter,” Chicharrón answered. He looked around and asked. “Shouldn’t there be guards on this path as well?”

“Oh, I left them behind,” Héctor said. “I’m afraid I prefer to be alone these days.”

“Left them behind, eh? Haven’t misplaced them?”

Héctor laughed nervously. “Misplaced? What do you mean?”

“You know, misplaced. Like you did to my saddle bag?”

“Oh, well…”

“Or my good riding boot?”

“You see…”

“My red jacket? My dog whistle? My favorite quill? My uncle’s peg leg?”

Héctor pressed his palms together, put them to his lips, and took a sharp breath. “Cheech,” he said, putting on his best diplomat voice, “I promise I will pay you back for everything you lost.”

“Oh you most certainly will.” Chicharrón snapped his fingers. He waited for something to happen, but nothing did. Irritated, he snapped his fingers again and looked pointedly at his two companions. The two glanced awkwardly at each other and their boss, but again didn’t make a move. Chicharrón snapped again and commanded, “Miguel! Dante!”

“Oh, that was the signal?” The teenager asked. “Sorry, boss.”

The two men marched up to Héctor and each took him roughly by the arm. “Woah, Cheech, what’s going on?” Héctor sputtered out, struggling to pull his arms out of the two men’s grasp.

“I’m sure the prince will pay handsomely to have his little friend back,” Chicharrón answered coolly.

“You’re kidnapping me because I lost some of your stuff?”

“Wait, wait, kidnapping?” the teenager asked, relaxing his grip a little. “I thought we were just going to rough him up a bit and get your stuff back.”

“Yes,” Chicharrón groaned as if it should have been obvious. “What do you think we got the fast boat for?”

“I don’t know.” The teenager shrugged. “Convenience?”

“Cheech,” Héctor interrupted. “You don’t have to do this. I have my own money now. I can pay you back myself.”

“Sorry, no deal. We’ll see how you like being stolen, Héctor.” He turned to the teenager and said, “Miguel, do the thing.”

“Alright.” Miguel pinched a nerve in the back of Héctor’s neck, causing the young lord to fall unconscious.

[-]

“Lord Héctor’s going to be alright, m’ija,” dad Héctor said, putting his book down.

Coco clutched and twisted the covers in her hands. “I’m not worried.”

“Oh, I thought you might be worried,” Héctor said, readjusting the book. “My mistake.”

[-Story Time-]

“Cheech, is this really necessary?” Héctor asked, twisting his bound wrists in an attempt to free himself.

Héctor was stuck on a small sail boat with his captors headed for Santa Anthony. After they knocked him out, they attached a ransom note to his horse, boarded the boat, and went on their way. By the time Héctor woke up, they were already too far from the shore to make a swim for it.

“Cheech, listen to me,” Héctor said, turning to his supposed-friend at the helm. “You don’t want to do this. Just turn around and we can forget this whole thing.”

“Well, you are good at forgetting,” Chicharrón answered, pretending to think it over. “Like how you forgot to return everything you ever borrowed from me.”

“I’m telling you this as a friend. You need to turn around right now,” Héctor warned. “You don’t know Prince Ernesto like I do. He’ll take my kidnapping as an insult. He’ll come after you. If you take me back, I’ll just tell my guards I got lost in the woods and no one will ever need to know.”

“It’s too late for that,” Chicharrón dismissed, keeping his eyes level on the sea. “I already sent your ransom note.”

“Then if you let me go, I’ll convince him to drop the charge,” Héctor pleaded. He had to make Chicharrón see reason. A life was in danger here, but it certainly wasn’t his. “Look, Cheech, when he comes after you, he’s not going to pay up. He’s going to kill you.”

Chicharrón’s eyes widened a bit and a bead of sweat formed on his brow. “Not if we threaten to kill you first,” he blurted out in a panic.

“Wait, we’re going to kill him?” the teenage boy, Miguel, asked from his place by the sails. “I’m really not on board for that.”

“What? You’re afraid of killing now?” Chicharrón growled, forcing down his fear. “You’re a swordsman, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but not so I can kill innocent people,” Miguel answered.

“Listen you,” Chicharrón began, marching down from the helm and up to Miguel. “When I found you, you were just a grubby little run-away. You said you wanted revenge, so I got you trained by the best swordsmen in Santa Anthony. I didn’t do it so you could moan over who is and isn’t innocent.”

The larger man, Dante, made a sort of disappointed sound and Chicharrón turned his scorn onto him. “And you. You want to go back to where you were? Unemployed? Chewing bones like a dog?”

Dante frowned but made no other sound and Chicharrón stomped off. Miguel placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and said, “It’s okay, Dante. He doesn’t mean it. I think he’s just stressed out right now.”

Dante smiled a bit and went back to work fastening the sails. Héctor turned his attention to Miguel. He wasn’t sure how the boy got mixed up in all this, but Miguel seemed like a nice enough kid. Maybe, if Cheech wasn’t willing to listen to him, Miguel would. “Why are you after revenge?” he asked, trying to get to know the kid a bit better.

Miguel looked startled at being addressed. Apparently he hadn’t given much thought about how to interact with his captive. The boy cast an unsure glance up at Chicharrón who was back at the helm. When he didn’t receive any sort of guidance, he hesitantly walked over and sat on the bench next to Héctor. “Well, my parents were killed when I was 12 and-”

“Miguel! Stop talking to him!” Chicharrón scolded.

Miguel quickly shut up, leaving Héctor with only half an answer. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Héctor said, genuine sympathy in his voice. “My family was murdered a few years ago as well. My parents sent me away long before it happened, but the assassin killed everyone else. I even had a kid brother I never got to meet.”

The boy’s eyes widened a bit. “I had an older brother I never met.”

A thought started to come to life in Héctor’s mind. He lost his little brother, Miguel thinks he lost his older brother… Miguel did look about right age and did he see his mother’s eyes in the boy’s face? He shook the idea from his mind. He couldn’t let himself hope. The assassin killed his little brother along with his parents. His advisors told him that when he arrived back at his family’s estate. But then again, the bodies were already buried by the time he made it home… No, no, it was just wishful thinking, a foolish idea. Besides, this kid was from Santa Anthony, not Santa Cecilia. There was no way this was the same boy.

Héctor shook the idea from his head. “So what’s his story?” he asked, nodding toward Dante.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Miguel answered with a shrug. “I just met him when Chicharrón hired him for the mission.”

“Does he talk?”

“I don’t think so. I think he’s mute, but he’s really nice once you get to know him.”

Héctor nodded then quickly turned serious. “Listen to me, Miguel,” he said in a low whisper. “You and Dante seem like good people. I don’t know how you got caught up in this, but believe me when I say this won’t end well once Ernesto gets involved. If you let me go, I can tell the prince that you and Dante were unwilling participants and he’ll pardon you.”

“I don’t know…”

“I know Ernesto. I know how he’ll react and I know how he’ll try to get me back. Ernesto hunts with poison-tipped arrows and he’s very good. Once he catches up to us…”

“Don’t listen to him, Miguel,” Chicharrón barked from the helm. “He’ll tell you anything to save himself.”                                                                                                                                                    

Miguel’s gaze shifted between Héctor between Chicharrón. Héctor gave him a pleading look and a half-smile. He didn’t want to see this poor young kid getting hurt and he didn’t want Cheech to wind up dead either. He just needed someone to listen and turn this ship around.

Finally, Miguel let out a breath and went over to Dante. He hoped this was a good sign. Maybe the boy was just talking it out with his friend. Maybe they’d take him up on his offer. If Cheech was too stubborn to give up, maybe they wouldn’t be.

Héctor watched the two of them go back and forth. Miguel would say something and Dante would respond with facial expressions and hand gestures which the boy seemed to read pretty well. Suddenly, Dante stopped as his eyes fixed on something in the back of the boat. He pointed out at something in the distance. Miguel blocked the sun with his hand and looked out at the spot where Dante pointed. “Hey boss, what’s that ship out there?” Miguel asked.

Héctor turned to look behind them. In the distance he could see a larger ship with black and purple sails. It didn’t look like a ship from the royal navy. Those ships were marked by their sky blue and white sails. It couldn’t be Ernesto, could it? How would the Prince have received the ransom note already? How long was he knocked out for?

Cheech looked at the ship and let out a curse. “The Prince already? ¡Inconcebible!”

As Cheech turned the ship into a sudden swerve, Héctor kept his eyes on the mysterious ship in the distance. Could it be Ernesto? It was possible a guard found the horse with the ransom note and sent word to Ernesto via carrier bird. But would this be the rout he’d take? Would he disguise a ship to follow Cheech in secret? Something told Héctor no. He imagined Ernesto going out with at least a few navy ships with the royal colors waving proudly. The prince would want Cheech to know exactly who was coming and who had the stronger force behind him. So who was on this ship?

Cheech attempted to shake the ship, but to no avail. If there was any doubt that it was following them, it was gone now. It chased them well into the night. Chicharrón and his tiny crew took turns steering the ship while the others slept. Chicharrón whispered directions to Miguel before he took the wheel, then Miguel whispered them to Dante when it was the other man’s turn. Héctor tried to sleep himself. He didn’t feel he was in any real danger despite his position. Chicharrón was stubborn and irrational at times, but he wasn’t violent despite what he threatened. But sleep refused to come for Héctor. Other worries kept him awake.

This stupid stunt could cost Cheech his life. He didn’t want to see his old friend get hunted down and executed. And those two people he hired didn’t seem to deserve it either. Miguel was just a boy and Dante didn’t seem to have any ill will toward anyone. He’d have to get free and get to Ernesto first somehow. He could tell Ernesto that Miguel and Dante were unwitting accomplices and deserved a pardon, community service at the most if they really needed to be punished. It might be too late to get Chicharrón off scot free, but maybe he’d be able to convince Ernesto of a reduced sentence. Maybe banishment? Sure, Cheech would be barred from ever setting foot in Santa Cecelia again, but at least he’d be alive. It was odd, he realized, to be more concerned about the lives of your kidnappers than about your own life, but he couldn’t help it. Cheech was an old friend who Héctor really did wrong and Miguel and Dante just signed up for the wrong job, a job they apparently weren’t told the details of.

Then, there was that ship which became less distant with each passing hour.

The ship caught up to them by morning, not close enough to see who was on board, but close enough to make Chicharrón to spit out a string of curses. “¡Inconcebible! How did they gain so much?”

Dante made a series of hand gestures and Miguel shook his head. “No, I don’t think wind witches exist,” Miguel said.

“Whoever they are, they won’t be able to keep up for long.” Chicharrón pointed ahead and their destination showed through the fog.

The Cliffs of Hysteria. It was said men can go mad just by looking over the edge. Héctor wasn’t feeling any less sane himself, but he was worried Chicharrón might be. “You can’t mean for us to climb up that thing.” It was a bad idea for several reasons. For one, the cliffs could only be scaled by the most skilled and daring sportsmen and Héctor was sure neither he nor Chicharrón fit the bill. For another, the cliffs were Santa Cecelia territory, not Santa Antony like they originally intended. Even worse, this was not far from the Prince’s favorite hunting grounds. It would only make it all the easier for Ernesto to find them.

“We are not climbing,” Cheech said, gesturing to Héctor and himself. “Neither one of us is falling to our deaths before I can collect my ransom. They however…”

Héctor looked over at Miguel and Dante who were preparing a climbing rope.

“You can’t be serious. Miguel’s just a boy and Dante…” Actually, Dante looked like he could make the climb, but he shouldn’t be forced into doing something so dangerous for someone else’s gain.

Chicharrón ignored Héctor’s protests as he pulled the ship along the side of the cliff. He anchored and Miguel stepped off onto a flat rock at the base of the cliff. Carrying the rope diagonally around his torso, Miguel made the climb up. Héctor couldn’t help but be impressed by the boy’s agility and fearlessness, even while feeling his own palms sweat. Was Miguel wearing gloves? He hoped Miguel was wearing gloves.

Miguel crawled onto the edge of the cliff and disappeared from view. After a few minutes, he appeared again, a length of rope in hand, and shouted “I got it secure!” He then tossed the rope down. It unfurled until it reached the bottom. They all stepped onto the same flat rock. Chicharrón slung Héctor’s bound arms onto Dante’s shoulder then clung to the other shoulder himself. With his two passengers as secure as they could hope for, Dante began his climb up the rope.

Héctor kept his eyes shut for about the first half of the climb. He’d heard multiple times to never look down when a great height off the ground and this was the only way he could resist the temptation. Besides, if he was going to fall to his death, he didn’t want to see it coming. Some morbid part of his imagination wondered what it would be like to throw yourself off a high place and put yourself back together after the initial splat.

“What? He’s gaining? ¡Inconcebible!”

Héctor couldn’t help but take a peek after Chicharrón’s words. There was, in fact, someone climbing up the rope after them. The mysterious person was dressed all in black. It certainly wasn’t Ernesto. The build was too slender and a long black braid waved in the wind. Could it be a woman? It was either a woman or a slim, shapely man with unusually long hair. Either way, who would spend a day and a night chasing their ship and then brave the Cliffs of Hysteria? And for what purpose? Was it someone Ernesto hired? Or was there something else going on here?

Héctor was so busy pondering this question, he barely noticed when they reached the top. Miguel helped Héctor over the edge and then reached for his boss and Dante. As soon as Chicharrón’s feet hit solid ground, he ran for the rock which the rope was fastened to and began to cut it with his dagger. Strands snapped one after another before it finally severed and slithered over the edge. The four men looked down only to see the figure in black clinging to the cliff side.

“He didn’t fall? ¡Inconcebible!”

Miguel turned to his boss and furrowed his eyebrows questioningly. “You keep using that word. I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

Chicharrón hand waved this statement and grabbed onto Héctor’s bound wrists. “It’s no matter. Miguel, you wait for our friend to climb up. If he falls, fine. If not, kill him when he reaches the top.”

Miguel grimaced, but didn’t argue with the order. “How will I meet up with you again?”

“You’re a tracker. Track us. And don’t come looking for us until that guy is dead.”

“Cheech, this is a mistake,” Héctor interrupted. They were running out of time. He needed to end this nonsense and fast. “We’re right next to Ernesto’s hunting grounds. Let me go, and I can make it to the palace from here.”

“Quite, you.”

“You’re only getting yourself in deeper. You can’t force Miguel into being a killer, and-”

Chicharrón yanked painfully on Héctor’s arms. “Enough of your stalling. Dante, come.” Without another word, Chicharrón ran off, pulling Héctor by his wrists. Dante hung back and gave Miguel a pitying look.

“I’ll be fine, Dante,” Miguel said with a half-smile, but his fidgeting fingers revealed his nerves. “I’ll meet up with you later. Go.”

Dante nodded then, with one last look, ran after his boss leaving Miguel alone to deal with the mysterious figure in black.

[-]

“Sword fight!”

“What?”

“There’s gonna be a sword fight!” Coco beamed, practically bouncing in her bed.

“Now hold on, m’ija. This story isn’t all about swordfights. Miguel has a dilemma, here. He doesn’t want to kill, but his boss just ordered him to-”

“Sword fight!”

The door opened and the girl’s mother, Imelda stepped in. “Are you still reading that story?”

Héctor glanced at the clock on the wall. It was already a good hour past Coco’s usual bedtime. Oops. “Sorry mi vida, it’s getting late.”

“Noooo!” Coco flopped dramatically against her pillows. “We were just getting to the good part.”

“Tell you what, we’ll read the story again tomorrow night. We’ll pick up right where we left off. Won’t that be fun?”

“No, now! Papá, read it now!”

Héctor and Imelda exchanged a sly look. “Hmmm….” Héctor hummed, stroking his goatee in faux contemplation.

“What?”

“I was just thinking, this book is too exciting for bedtime.” He placed a bookmark between the pages and snapped the book closed. “Maybe we should try reading to again when you’re older and know how to wait.”

Coco sat up, eyes wide. “No, no Papá. I’m ready. I can wait.”

“That’s my big girl!” Héctor leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. Imelda stepped in and did the same.

“Good night, mi vida,” Héctor said, wrapping his arms around his wife.

“We love you,” Imelda cooed in her gentlest voice.

Coco laid down on her side and snuggled into her blankets. Despite her protests, she really was tired. “Night, and remember Papá, sword fight.”

Héctor laughed as he and Imelda stepped out of the room. “Sword fight. I’ll remember.”

[internetpaladin]

I hate my life.

To clarify, I hate my life in the kind of way where I’ve contemplated killing myself multiple times over the past decade. I suppose the only reason I haven’t done it yet is I don’t want to burden the people around me with a lifetime of asking themselves what they could have done to stop it. I guess I’ll go over the last decade just to see where it all went wrong.

The feelings started shortly after I stopped taking my anti-depressants. I didn’t have health insurance through my part-time job and I’d just turned old enough that my parent’s couldn’t keep me on theirs. I guess I really do need those little pills to feel anything.

Without my ADHD meds or my anti-depressants I quickly lost interest in anything that wasn’t immediately gratifying to my selfish id. I tried to go to college, but I couldn’t finish the assignments on time. I failed English 1 3 times.

“Why am I such a failure?”

I keep asking myself, but the answers never come.

It’s 2008, I go to technical school, I learn how to be a legal secretary. I plan on becoming a Paralegal and working my way through college until I can be a lawyer. The world economy collapses and no one is hiring. I keep hunting for work, but there isn’t any. I suspect no one wants a male secretary, but I can’t prove it. Over a year passes and I still haven’t found work. I give up on my stupid dream.

I go back to technical school to get certified as a Behavioral Health Technician. I do well in school this time because I find psychology and drug addiction interesting. I’m a larger than average person, surely my physical skills should be useful on the job. I get a nice internship at a hospital. One day I’m told to leave, a patient accused me of touching her during an exam. I never conducted exams, only taking vitals in an open area. Camera footage would have proved this. I am still removed from the program and cannot graduate. Another year wasted. Maybe college isn’t for me. I become bitter about it, but I find work.

I spend the next few years drifting from dead end job to dead end job. There’s no advancement despite promises of upward mobility. There’s nothing for me anywhere. I do this for 8 years.

I decide to join the military. I’m smart, I get an 82 on my ASVAB and can be anything I want to be. I pick some career fields that have good civilian carryover. Just need to drop 10lbs, get some paperwork signed, and I’m in. I’m not trying to be a hero, just have a career with healthcare and retirement options.

While taking care of that I hurt my back at my part-time job. Badly. I can’t get off the floor for 2 months. I am in excruciating pain any time I try to walk. I don’t have insurance and can’t find out what’s wrong with me. Might have herniated a disc, might have been something else. I’ll never know.

It takes months before I can even see a Physical Therapist and they take 2 months to complete my physical assessment. I keep HR aware of this the entire time.

I finally get my last piece of paperwork submitted and a week later am informed by mail that I was being terminated for not submitting my physical assessment within 2 weeks of filing an injury claim. I talk to an attorney, I have no case thanks to living in a right to work state.

It takes me another year to walk without pain. Sometimes it still hurts.

In that time I studied CompTIA certifications and got my A+ and Network+. With renewed vigor I enter the job market. 9 months later and here we are, with the world on lockdown. No one will hire me because I don’t have a 4 year degree.

I have been unemployed for nearly 2 years. I have never been able to move out of my parent’s house because I can never earn enough. I am tired of constantly drifting from dead end job to dead end job and getting nowhere. I am tired of not having money. I am sick of living.

I don’t want to kill myself, I just want to stop being alive.

[contradictoryenigmas]

2019 Postmortem: 10 Questions

2019 is coming to a close and it’s time to look back via ten questions. If you’re new to this series, I recommend checking out the ones I did in 2017 and 2018. While 2019 had its ups and downs, this was the first year where I can say it worked out quite well.

What made up your body of work this year? Which parts are you most proud of?

Most of the work that made up this year was with my new day job as a car specifications researcher. You may think that researching car specs would be easy, but I wasn’t fully prepared for how in-depth it would go. For example, I have to look up both the liters and cc’s of an engine to input into the system. Nevertheless, a lot of knowledge I had from writing reviews and previews has come in handy when trying to decipher what a company names a certain piece of tech or figuring out where to find that one piece of information.

As for my writing, I haven’t done much. Towards the end of last year and beginning of this year, I was feeling less enthusiastic about writing anything - feeling like I was phoning it in to get something up. When I started my new job back in mid-February, I took a break to try and give my brain a break from it. I have slowly dipped my toes back in it during the spring and summer, but started to do more towards the end of the year - a combination of writing for an internal news service my company offers and finishing a backlog of reviews. Writing is still a bit of struggle as my creative side of the brain is still running on fumes and I only get about a quarter to half-way on a piece before setting it aside, most likely not coming back to it.

There were a couple of pieces that did make their way out over the year and I’m quite proud of them.

Afterthoughts: The Sad Trombone of the 2019 Detroit Auto Show (Cheers & Gears): Some passing thoughts on what would be the final Detroit Auto Show held in January. It would be memorable for all of the wrong reasons and made me wonder what the future will hold as the show moves to the summer for 2020.

Three Years On, A Brain Dump (Contradictory Enigmas): Looking back at three years of this site, what has come, and what I had hoped to do in the coming year - sadly none of those items came to fruition.

What were your top 5 moments of the year?

Finally achieving a major goal of getting a job

Turing 30 years old

Beginning to make some progress on other major goals

Reducing my hermit tendencies and going to a small number of events

Continue working on giving me more space to relax

What are you really glad is over?

Uncertainty reared its ugly head again throughout the year. It ranged from whether I was the right person for the new job I had accepted to worrying about whether or not I would have enough money to cover unexpected expenses. Luckily, I remembered that if I took it slow and worked it out - whether through thought or writing it down - the uncertainty would begin to wither away.

How are you different today than you were 365 days ago?

The most difficult part of this year is trying not to feel like I need to constantly work. Being a full-time freelance writer for the past seven years left me with a routine of constantly being busy to try and keep myself afloat. Drew Magary on Vice sums it up quite well.

When you freelance, you know that every job is temporary. You might get paid well, but you can’t assume that will always be the case. I remember being pathologically incapable of turning down work when I freelanced. Every assignment I didn’t do was money lost. I felt as if I already HAD the money and was giving it away by not doing the work.

That meant I gleefully accepted multiple gigs at once, and on weekends, and over holidays. I can’t speak for other freelancers out there, but a kind of PTSD sets in if you do this long enough, where you always fear the faucet will be shut off with a cursory email from a temp boss or, worse, no emails of any sort. There’s such a short distance between “I freelance” and “I’m unemployed” that the two statements often feel indistinguishable.

Emphasis mine.

This feeling still resides in my head and constantly tells me that I should be doing some sort of work, even though I know that giving myself some breathing space is good. This wasn’t helped by my growing amount of work throughout the year as new hires that were brought in around the same time as me either decided to go with another career or were let go. Getting some of their workloads on top of mine meant the feeling of “when will I find the time” started to creep in. Only setting some ground rules did this alleviate this feeling somewhat. I’m hoping this feeling goes away as time goes on.

I mentioned last year that I was re-diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). At the time, I was seeing a psychiatrist and was on medication to help me control some of the various issues I’ve been dealing with. But a combination of the new job, not having the time to make the hour-long trek to see the psychiatrist, and the expensive cost of the medication meant I had to put a stop to this for the time being. This has meant a return of the various symptoms (being able to focus on one task, having my mind wander, forgetting various things, etc). It has also meant that it is hard for me to relax with anything for a few moments because it doesn’t provide my brain enough stimuli to keep me occupied. Oddly, doing work of some sort seems to provide stimuli. But it comes at the cost of me not being to relax.

Pic Credit: Pina ADHD_Alien

On the plus side, starting this new job has brought something that I wanted for some time - separate spaces. What I mean by this is having one space for my work (the office) and then another to relax (the house). Previously, I would be working on stuff in the same room where I would sleep, causing all sorts of anxiety and feelings that I should be working on. Having that separation allows me some breathing space, despite that being somewhat difficult.

It’s also nice having a steady income and not one that is a roller coaster of sorts. Various amounts of money coming in at different times gave me a lot of stress. Moving to something that follows a regular pattern not only gives me a bit of breathing room for anything unexpected but also allows me to plan out new ideas and trips,

To cap off this section, I’m glad that I’m still involved in covering the automotive industry. I have dialed it back by a large amount, but I think this may be for the better as it means I can take more time and produce higher-quality pieces.

Is there anything you achieved that you forgot to celebrate?

Nothing that I can think of.

What have you changed your perspective on this year?

Talking about my mental health in public. I’ve been slowly talking about how I have both ADHD and clinical depression on various forums after seeing a number for friends and people who admire talk about it. I’m still in a grey area of how much I should reveal and whether it is worth it. I can see there is a lot of good as you see other people come out of the woodwork and reveal some of the issues they’re dealing with. But some don’t believe mental illness is a thing or will go out of their way to make it worse. This is a balancing act that I’m trying to figure out.

Who are the people that really came through for you this year?  

A lot of the people that I work with at my job. Whether it be the various supervisors that would take time to answer a question I’m sure they have been asked countless times, to the other researchers who I might help with a quick issue or chit-chat about whatever, they have all played a part in making me feel welcomed.

What were some pieces of media that defined your year?

The Heavy, Sons: It has been a long time coming for the group’s latest album and it is very much worth it. All of the traits that I like about their previous albums such as the gritty sound and soulful lyrics are present. Heavy for You, their first single off this album has been on constant repeat.

Choom, Progger: I can’t explain why this dark jazz-funk-rock hybrid song just clicked with me. Maybe its how all of the instruments are arranged to provide a dark mood in one part, and then rise with something lighter later on. All I know is this song helped out in some bleak times during this year.

Nintendo Switch: An early Christmas gift to myself, I’m surprised at how much I have been playing. It is cool to play something on the TV and then undock it to continue playing while on the move. This has captured the magic and fun that I had been missing on playing video games throughout the year. So far, I have beaten Super Mario Odyssey and will be checking out Legend of Zelda: Link’s Awakening.

What will you be leaving behind in 2019?

The feelings of not being able to fully plan out stuff. Since starting the new job, I have been able to make slightly more concrete plans to ideas or items that I want to do soon. Some of these have come fruition, while others are still in the planning stages. This may not seem like a big accomplishment, but considering that the past few years where it mostly treading water and putting off various items because of one thing or another, it is a huge weight off my back.

What do you hope to accomplish in 2020?

There are two items that I want to work on writing and photography. I’ve been feeling either drained or hit a wall in terms of knowledge and want to expand it more.

For my writing, I want to try and recapture some of the fun and creativeness that I had when I first started many moons ago. I have some books including The Writer’s Way that has been recommended by a few people to help rekindle this. I’m also wanting to do other writings such as doing some history pieces, and more stuff on this blog. But of course, trying to find the time to do this will be one of the challenges.

As for the photography, I’m planning on doing some sort of online course and some reading to help me understand basic photography ideas, along with exploring various settings on my DSLR. I tend to shoot mostly in Auto without the flash and while it does deliver decent photos, I know that it is capable of more. I’m also wanting a new camera, a prosumer point-and-shoot to expand the possibility of taking more photos.

There are some long-term goals sprinkled in here such as working towards moving out of my parent’s house into my place. I have started saving up a fair amount of cash to cover a security deposit and a month’s rent, but I’m trying to aim for at least two to three months of rent to give a bit of a cushion. Also taking some sort of vacation is in the cards. Not sure where I want to go, but I do know it will be out of state.

That’s a wrap for this year’s postmortem. 2019 wasn’t a complete mess and hoping 2020 continues that trend.

[stellatex]

Nine Questions I Need Teresa Giudice to Answer: Updated

Originally published February 15, 2016 I actually gave up Bravo for Lent, but I've already floundered on day one by continuing to watch, think about, and write about this bullshit. Sunk costs and all that.

So, here is my updated scorecard on the nine questions I needed Teresa to answer if she expected the viewing public to continue watching and supporting her.

1. You said in your statement to the judge during sentencing that you “fully take responsibility” for your actions. You said, “It’s time for me to wake up… I will make this right no matter what it takes.” Why, immediately afterward, in your interview on Watch What Happens Live, did you backtrack and try to deflect blame to your husband while insisting things were just put before you to sign?

In my opinion, she's doing this because she's being coached, either by her lawyer or a new PR team, or both, probably because they mistakenly believe that painting Teresa as some kind of innocent bedazzled Madonna will allow her to keep the Bravo Sunday gravy train chugging along. It's also possible that Teresa's advisors, friends, and various hangers-on, whoever they may be, are telling her how faaaaabulous she is--that's it's obvious she's the wronged party, and that she's so very strong and inspiring, etc., etc.--because they know who butters their bread, and, if history is any guide, Teresa has a habit of cutting out anyone who questions her lies and self deception (as we've seen both on the show and in the news reports about how she fired her publicist, her lawyers, and her co-writer). It's obvious that there are still a few small-time Jersey famewhores buzzing around Teresa in the mistaken belief that she is a queen bee. Typical celebrity yes-men and con-men. We've seen this over and over with celebrities, and it never turns out well, though a lot of people may make a lot of money in the short-term, and get some of that reflected spotlight that they so obviously crave. Regardless, like I said in my original post, if Teresa thinks she can just skate out of federal prison as a sinewy, chilled-out felon and continue to stonewall and deny and refuse to acknowledge any criminal culpability whatsoever, she has severely misjudged the nature of her dubious fame. But more on that in a moment.

Regardless, all of the interviewers asked her a fairly direct version of the question above; shockingly, Andy Cohen pushed it the hardest, asking point-blank, "What did you do? Can you tell us what you did?" And still she played dumb, owning up to merely "signing some papers." Girlfriend, we can all read the indictment. If you're so innocent, why didn't you take your case to trial? You admitted in the process of accepting a plea deal that you were guilty. Accepting a plea deal necessitates that you not only agree to pleading guilty, but that you are fully cognizant of what you are pleading to and that you understand the consequences. We all know what you did, Teresa.

2. You claim to be “business savvy,” telling your husband on an episode of RHONJ, “Like, you know, that’s what I do now. I’m a businesswoman, so I’m thinking business.” You’ve touted your online businesses, your Fabellini drink line, your Milania hair care line, your success as a “New York Time [sic] best-selling author.” So how is it that you are also simultaneously claiming to be a clueless housewife who knows nothing of her own finances, including the assets from said businesses that you tried to hide during both your fraudulent bankruptcy and your sentencing?

See above. This is bullshit.

3. If you are blaming your husband Joe for your ten-plus-years of financial fraud and the year you spent unjustly incarcerated in a federal prison, why are you still with him?

"Because I know he would never do anything to hurt me. He didn't mean to."

Uh, okay. That is also bullshit. Just transparently, obviously, self evidently, undeniably, total bullshit.

4. What would you say to the creditors, banks, and, most importantly, small business owners of New Jersey whom you and your husband fleeced to the tune of millions of dollars? Do you feel any obligation to repay these debts?

Still waiting on someone, anyone, to ask her this obvious follow-up question.

Furthermore, Teresa: I don't want to hear anything else about how this is all Joe's fault, or your brother Joe Gorga's fault, or your sister-in-law Melissa's fault, or your cousin Kathy's fault, or your accountants' fault, or your bankers' fault, or your attorneys' fault. It's not. It's 100% your fault. You're the one who committed the crimes. You're the one who went on national television flaunting thousands of dollars of cash purchases despite the fact that neither you nor your uneducated, clueless husband could possibly ever earn that much money legitimately. And, most importantly, you're the one who cravenly filed for bankruptcy to the tune of $13+ million dollars when you could no longer prop up your charade of nouveau riche consumerism for America's most satanic cable network. You're the one who stole from banks and fleeced businesses. You're a thief, a liar, and, now, a felon.

5. Explain this.

Everybody asked her about this, but instead of answering, she just blamed Joe, who leased it for her (another obvious lie; how did the bankrupt, apparently unemployed felon, who currently has a lien on his house to the tune of half a million dollars, get a lease?). She even blamed Lexus for putting a big red bow on top--which she claims they did because they knew it would be good publicity for Lexus! Uh, okay. I'm sure Lexus wants their brand to be associated with tacky low-life Jersey felons. Sure. Yep. Nobody asked her, "Why not a cheaper car, though?"

6. Why are you and your husband suing your bankruptcy attorney? Furthermore, do you not realize that, in doing so, you will be giving up your attorney-client privilege and opening yourselves up to a new investigation of your finances during the discovery process?

Nobody has asked her this. I am sure she's just say she can't talk about it. But I wonder if these questions have even occurred to her tiny, pisello brain.

7. What are you going to do when Joe is deported?

She demurs on this one, too, probably because--as Vicki Hyman points out--she doesn't want to jeopardize the incredibly small chance Joe has of not being deported per federal guidelines by admitting that she would move to Italy with him.

8. You talk constantly about your love, love, love for your four beautiful dorters. Why did you put them in this position?

I don't think anyone has really asked her this recently, but she is still selling the story that none of the dorters but Gia know what's going on. Which is obviously ridiculous.

And remember how she previously whined on-camera about how haaaaard all of this financial mess (i.e. her multiple felonies) has been on her four beautiful dorters, who don't even have a college fund!

So, you were busy stealing $13+ million dollars, and earning tens of thousands per episode appearing on Bravo, and earning more selling tabloid stories and writing multiple "New York Time bestseller [sic]" books, and buying all those designer clothes and bags and luxury cars, and creating that hideous redone home, and yet you didn't put any of the money aside for your kids? Honey, that's not on anyone but you. And you've made it abundantly clear from your actions that you do not give a single shit about the well-being of your girls. So shut the fuck up with the martyred mother pity party. America ain't buying it.

9. Why should viewers overlook your felonious criminal past and continue to support you by watching RHONJ or buying your books or products?

??????

This is the question.

I, for one, am not.It was clear from five minutes into Teresa's comeback tour that she hasn't changed one whit.

As a fan of the show from the first notes of the opening credits of the first episode, I was shocked when Teresa was sentenced. I had followed the news all day, waiting... waiting... waiting... for the verdicts to come down. And, much like her famewhore family members who allowed their reaction to be filmed (or recreated...) for RHONJ, I was utterly gobsmacked. This zany, silly, thoroughly unserious woman, whom we had all watched for years, was in fact "going away" to prison--and for a not-insignificant amount of time. In that moment, everything changed. This was really real. And I couldn't help thinking about the shock Teresa herself must've felt. She was clearly still in shock when she and Joe sat down for a WWHL special with Andy less than 24 hours after their sentencing.

But it was also kind of cathartic. It was obvious to everyone that the Giudices were Up To Something--from the first episode with the wads of cash and carefree spending. Having followed the case closely and read the indictments, I was not surprised--not really. Even as someone who had a love/hate relationship with the Bravo character called "Tre," it was an awful thing to witness--but it seemed just. And there was a sliver of hope there... that maybe Teresa would, finally, be forced to her own personal reckoning. Maybe, just maybe, all that time away from her children and the onyx manse and the cameras might give Teresa's limited mind the space it needed to feel a small glimmer of shame. That maybe the dawning light of that shame would lead to some actual introspection. She even used the vanity vehicle of "Teresa Checks In" (which I maintain should've been called "Teresa Goes Away") to brag about how much praying she was doing in there. I think many of us more savvy viewers were really hoping she was experiencing genuine remorse.

But nope.

The truly staggering thing to me about all of this is that even eleven months in federal prison wasn't enough to lead to any moral progress at all for this self-obsessed, brain-dead, glitter-bombed Portrait of Dorian Gray.

She will never change.

She is irredeemable.

Her story is over.

There is nothing new to see here. Watching the continuing cautionary tale that is Teresa Giudice is not only a waste of time and potentially personally morally corrosive, but--even worse--it's boring.

And the cherry top? Her blithe, casual endorsement of the candidacy of Donald Trump. I wasn't expecting that--though I probably should've--and it is so much more perfect than either of them could ever realize.

Both of them think they're famous; but, in reality, they're only infamous.

[fromthebottomoftherecordbox]

David Berman - Goodnight may your God go with you

Of course, following the sad news of David Berman's untimely demise recently we thought it fitting to play Silver Jews. David Berman was a wonderful man and his music reflects this. More on David Berman later on, because we have much more besides. SALES bookend the show with flavours of Joy Division and Suzanne Vega. There is some promise as we expect a Chinese takeaway delivery only to be reminded it's New Year and no such delicious meal is in sight. We discover that making music purely for your own enjoyment is a thing. Sir Woman was doing just this, much like Keaton Henson whom has graced the show previously. But Sir Woman isn't the only one and we have more secretive music makers being showcased on the show in coming weeks. Over nineties music making sensation Barbara Dane sings of the binds of conjugal felicity in her wonderful Single Girl. You think you know about protest singers? Woody, Bob and Pete? Be prepared to relearn what you think you know as Barbara Dane towers above them all. Is there anything else? There sure is. Flogging Molly mix never ending Irish reels with rock and roll and send us heading for the dance floor. And finally, before the close of the show we introduce you to The Local Honeys. Straight out of Kentucky these two ladies are the real deal. Banjo player Montana Hobbs and guitarist Linda Jean Stokley manage to blend bluegrass foot stompers with sweet Appalachian mountain harmonies. Able to drive hard fiddle based tunes, sing the high lonesome sound and tell a damn good story these girls are destined for great things. You can even hire them out for your own events via their website! Chinese New Year SALESRandom Rules Silver JewsMaking Love Sir WomanSingle Girl Barbara DaneDevil's Dance Floor Flogging MollyThe Junkman The Local HoneysRenee SALES David Berman - the legacy of beautiful music remains The first time I met David Berman was at a backyard party at Grimey’s Records in Nashville. One of the fun ideas Grimey’s cooked up that day was to have a “Meet and Greet The Nashville Indie Rockers” table, and at this table was David Berman, Kurt from Lambchop, and me. I found David Berman funny, avuncular, and sweet. Not many people came up to talk to us - most of the people at the party already knew us, and we probably all felt a little silly and embarrassed sitting there. It felt a little like that scene in Spinal Tap when no one shows up for the autograph signing at the record store. Kurt killed time by drawing ‘blind caricatures’ of us by placing a blindfold on his face and drawing our portraits from memory. I still have mine. David had with him two old Silver Jews 7” singles he was trying to sell. A young woman eventually came up and asked about them. “They’re $3 each,” David told her. “I only have $5,” said the girl. “That’s OK, take them,” said David, handing her the records. “I’m not here today to make money. I’m here to make friends.” 2008 low point In 2008 I was at a very low point in my life. I was in the midst of what is often euphemistically known as a “messy divorce” and was about to be dropped from my label. Also being informed, while on tour, that the record store I managed back home was to close, leaving me unemployed. I had been abandoned by both my band and my then-wife in the middle of a grueling five-week tour across the US. The final two weeks of this tour were dates opening for Silver Jews. By this point on the tour I was traveling alone. I was already friends with guitarist William Tyler and bassist Cassie Berman. The latter of whom played bass in a short-lived band I was in at the time called HP Witchcraft. I didn’t really know the rest of the band very well. Word spreads quickly in our small circle of indie rockers. By the time I met up with the Silver Jews crew in New Orleans, everyone had already heard about my recent run of hard luck. The entire band and crew made me feel very welcome at a time when I really needed it. It felt good to be among friends. They were sympathetic but not pitying or meddlesome.Each of them made an effort, despite their demanding schedules, to hang out with me and make sure I was OK. A few of them even offered to travel with me and keep me company on the road. David Berman in particular was a good friend to me during this time despite people constantly seeking his attention and tugging on his sleeve. David Berman to the rescue On the last night of the tour, at the Echoplex in LA, I was asked to join the band onstage for the last song of their set, “Punks in the Beerlight.” Cassie and guitarist Peyton Pinkerton quickly ran through the chords of the song with me backstage. Cassie told me she’d cue me when it was time to join the band onstage. David Berman was blind as a bat. He also didn’t like to wear his glasses onstage. When it came time for me to accompany the band on “Punks In The Beerlight,” David saw me approach, but didn’t recognize me at first, only seeing the shape and shadow of a big guy hopping up onstage and fiddling with an amplifier. Oh, well, I guess they’re pulling the plug on us, sorry. The crowd booed.David Berman Myopic misunderstanding In his blindness, David, having momentarily forgot about the plan for me to sit in with the band. He thought I was a security guard cutting the power and coming to tell him the show was past curfew and they had to stop. “No, David, that’s James!” explained Cassie. Everyone laughed. It was a memorable moment and I still smile when I think about it. The last time I spoke to David he suggested I call my new band “Orangutan Menopause.” Then he apologized for not being more present during the tour years earlier when he knew I was going through so much gnarly shit. I told him truthfully that I never felt that he was anything but present. Those last shows of the tour with Silver Jews might have saved my life. At the very least, if he and his band hadn’t been as generous, sweet, and hospitable to me as they were, I almost definitely would have bailed on the remainder of the tour and God only knows what else. David is still there for me, as he is for so many of you, when I listen to his songs. Though it will be a while before I am able to listen to them again, I expect that they will remain just as beautiful as before, if a lot sadder. To the max. Written by James Jackson Toth and published on Aquarium Drunkard Further reading - The David Berman interview Read the full article

[jkid4]

An update on my fundraiser and my life.

I’m sorry that this update took so long. I’ve been fatigued from financially supporting my parents that all I have the energy for is going to and from work and going straight to sleep after eating dinner. At this point I have a condition called brain fog but it’s not official because I have not been to the doctors for a check up for a long time.

For various reasons, the fundraiser (https://www.youcaring.com/jkid-801302) has stalled due to a lack of interest, ignorance, and sometimes outright hostility when I tell people my situation. Rest assured that all the money from the fundraiser so far is in my savings account. I tweeted to 10 to 15 people on twitter telling them my story, and no one replied back.Most if not all of them are people who supported the bernie campaign or actual progressive supporters. Some of them were black music celebs.

The entire experience in raising funds was a true eye opening experience and it’s clear that we don’t care about struggling millennials or the struggling poor. l What I noticed is that if you asked for money you will be questioned for it constantly if they do not run away, give unsolicited appeals to god, or say endless amounts of platitudes to make you go away or eventually disappear as soon as you talk to them about your fundraiser.

It’s bad enough that advocating for the poor and working class on reddit long enough that you get attacked by neoliberals for their precious “global poor” and cheap electronics you can’t afford to buy. Despite showing them evidence, they have some sort of amnesia about history and repeatedly gaslight me about how “great” the economy is while I can’t get a better job because of how awful the job economy is unless you have someone willing and able to help.

For all intents and purposes in the US: Socio-Economic class is the final taboo in the United States.

I've been supporting my parents for the past two years since October 2014 and we are effectively living in the house we rent month to month because my parents do not want to renew the lease want to go month to month. The landlord refused is now he wants to sell the house, meaning that anytime we could get a 30 day notice to vacate at anytime while he is trying to sell the house. My mom directly suggested that I buy the house, and I could not object because if I did, she will be upset and we will get into a fight.

At the same time my parents complain about not having a new car to replace the old one. There's a reason why I’m hesitant to getting a car and learning to drive a car because if I made all the effort to do so, they will quickly turn me into a errand boy during the weekend. My mom, knowing that I live paycheck to paycheck asked me for a birthday present of concert tickets. Despite me dropping hints, some small and one large one that I told my mom that I’m not their surrogate husband. It takes so much energy to be diplomatic with them when it comes to income. We still argue about money every week.

At this point they don’t job searching as much anymore a job because of appointments, relatives, and going out with people. They’re in the mindset that they insisting on me that a job will fall on their lap.

When they do try to find work, they get screwed in the end. One of my parents did found a recruiting job, thought it was full time, but they switch her with a part time job with primarily commission based work. They got into a job training program but the state government is dragging their feet in the process as usual.

Recently, last week my mom also fell down the stairs and could not get up until I got her up. Now I’m also worried that her health could worsen and I could be forced to be a caretaker for rest of my life.

My health has gotten worse. Mentally, and physically. Now I get fatigued during the day and it’s been this way for months. At one point I could not write, type or speak properly, sometimes I get jolts in the body when I lean my body against a desk. At my same time i could not speak straight and mispronounce words more often.

Worse, I have to renew my forbearance papers and I only have about 430 days left of it if I choose to renew them. I have not paid a dime back in my student loans. And if it was not for my parents unemployment I would have paid a significant chunk of my loans back.

I sadly do not have the energy to support my parents anymore. I’ve already have to sacrifice a lot of opportunities and still people who never have the same problems as me insists that it’s “not too late” and “I’m young” despite seeing me growing a huge beard due to the fact that I don’t have haircuts often. I don’t even bother washing my clothes often as I usually wear the same clothes the whole week, I don’t take showers or brush my teeth now a days and there isn’t any point in doing so because my life is reduced to being a welfare check.

I do not even look forward to or enjoy anything anymore because I either don’t have the money or the energy to do so. Not even anime, not even video games, not even the seasonal conventions I go. I can’t enjoy them if I have to worry about money every week and survival. My brain is on survival mode for years basically trying to keep my family complacent and comfortable that they will be unemployed for a long time and don’t have to worry about getting a job and not having my it collapse and having them and their extended family blame me.

Sadly those same things anime, conventions, and video games are the only things that keep me going. If one of them is taken away for any reason: I will walk out of my family. I’ve already snapped at my mom a few times and she knows that her relationship is faltering, but I can’t address it to her as they’re psychologically and financially dependent on my existence.

At this point, my career and social goals are at a stand still and I have to move out to another city. It’s the only way I can start over. If I don’t, will not be able to move out until I’m 41 the age where my parents will be at 62 will be eligible for social security. I love my parents but they need to be independent again.

Basically: Either be irresponsible and abandon my parents to the streets or get used being a living welfare check until the age of 41.

The only thing I have left is a PC that I recently bought with my tax refund that can play most games as well. Maybe if I can create a live broadcast of me playing a series of games live for twitch.tv to raise some money so I can move out from my parents.

Because at this point, I’m done. I can not support my parents anymore.

[alexjester]

Worst things about the West midlands.

Full of unfriendly, judgemental cunts who think their shit doesn't stink and will try whatever they can to rob you, unfriendliest place in the UK by miles

Avoid places like Ladywood, Shard End, Perry Barr, Lozells, Handsworth. All those areas have been ruined by Labour Party MPs and Birmingham City's Labour Council. Those areas are known to have gangs, high unemployment, welfare dependency, poor schools, housing and health services. Ladywood is an area known for having the highest number fatherless families on welfare. So if you like single mothers with 5+ children, then Ladywood is the place to be.

Too many beggars! I was begged three times by different people each time in multiple places in the city centre! I was even begged in M&S in the train station! Far too many ugly looking flats that accumulate Birmingham's skyline, too many immigrants, tired looking buildings, the accents are quite dreadful, the list goes on...

I've travelled extensively all over Curling Turd Island U.K and once again it just goes to show that you can polish a turd, but in B'Ham only in places!! First impression's when I fell off the train at the labyrinthine maze that is Moor Street Station was how warped everyone looked, especially in and around Pidgeon 'Ole Park. Must of been years of abuse at the hands of vile tasting tap water (filtered from the canal of dead things and chemical waste, no doubt). Tapwater that just makes you fart and shit all day long without no sign of giving up (Aston). Also how unadulteratedly dangerous and awful the pavements and roads are here and how badly planned "Sloppy Second's" is on the whole. A big no no for visitor's/guests. Everything in this binned off, trolleyed country is only in car-distance, as per usual, and OMG what an infested shit'ole - rat's, wasps everywhere, ant's nests, aliens from outer space and Zombie's everywhere!! Progress is so slow in B'ham, is Sloppy Seconds therefore by dinosaurs? The main urban sprawl High Streets are caked with Zombie's walking up and down all day with their hand's out, looking for something (for nothing) -the nanny-stater's have the wrong shit-trousers on all day with only dick-pence to offer anyone. I want to get out!

The accent. Is it even English? I thought Ozzy Osbourne's speech was incomprehensible because it was affected by years of drug abuse...until I moved to Birmingham.

All the lads speak like Benny from Crossroads and the girls are goddam hideous and go out sat night with all their fat on show, fat thighs in mini skirts, love handles bulging over waistlines and massive arses in tight clothing - not a good look. Brums have no class or etiquite

OMG where do I start - driving there is hell, brum accent makes anyone u speak to appear as thick as shit, hardly anyone has a proper job an loads on the dole, very dirty, chavs chavs and more chavs, pigeon shit all over the place, beggars, whores and pimps at every corner. Basically an ugly uninspiring city inhabited by unemployed losers.

what exactly is there about birmingham to make one jealous - this is obviously a joke - go to manchester, edinburgh, london, bristol instead.

Birmingham actually is the Second City. It didn't gain that name through through no reason at all. Don't believe otherwise. Mancs are just jealous that Brum got the name before they did. This is one of the worst things about Birmingham. Or should that be about Manchester? Hrrrm.

Being the victim of homophobic verbal abuse on the train into the station when I'd been enjoying myself previously in the modern and enlightened city that is Manchester. Well done you two prats/bigots - you must feel really clever- I just feel sorry for you.

erdington high street oh what a joy to walk down there on a saturday after the alkies and bag heads have finished with it . it reminds me of the thriller video except a 100 times more paranoid.and the bromford estate ive seen better estates in the third world.cheesy kevs chavy daves and sharons with the standard " ennit " nosestud ,saxo drivers,bmw innit drivers,and them divs who wear coats on hot days with there farahs on and a key chain and greased hair who aint had the ride in years..

it is full of windowlickers

Manchester IS the second city. Brummies and their surrounding counties that use the city need to come out of denial and actually look at the facts. Birmingham is a disgrace: right wing, old fashioned and very very unfriendly.

unfriendly people, with an old school culture all of their own - most of the midlands is like this - with the exception of nottingham

Dreary, dull city in the middle of three old school, old fashioned counties, unfriendly people, junkies, lack of fashion sense and grooming.

Teen Culture ( A unch of Weemo Teeny Boppers dancing to Panic! At the Disco and the fucking Kooks.

sty andrews. a piss poor imitation of legoland

crowds, ignorance

lots an lots of pigeons that wait til ur a few inches away before flyin in ur face lol

public transport

Kings Heath High Street: More nutters per metre then Bedlam on a full moon.

The people - rude, ignorant, arrogant, unfriendly, cocky ... not nice. I hardly speak to them, as I hate the accent as well. Black Country accent IS totally different - better, as we don't have extended vowels that go on forever !!!!!!!!!!

The Brummies - arrogant, ignorant, rude, impatient & think they're better than anyone else 'cause they live in Britain's 2nd city. Erdington - what an area, never realised such bad areas existed. At least I never have to go out with my hair brushed, otherwise they all stare. The homeless people - why so many & where do they go when the change shift at Snow Hill ?

More Area more "chav's" and/or "Gansta's"

homeless, someone please look after them., they need our help

few idiots

Chavscum and 'PUNK' wannabes will always be the worst. Yes, Birmingham is still quite dirty, but most of the dirty dirty bits have been filtered out, unlike Manchester... ughh.

rain!

Birmingham is crap. Traffic congestion means it takes forever to get anywhere, and it's a nightmare getting a taxi home from town. The place has no character, and Brummies moan constantly. Everything here is mainstream, and there is no real alternative culture. The people who like the place are those who haven't lived anywhere else. Believe me, are much better places to be.

I'm amazed at the positive things I read here. Believe me the only people who like Birmingham are those who have never lived anywhere else and consequently don't know any better. It takes forever to get anywhere because of the congestion, and poor public transport, most of it is ugly in the extreme, and everyone moans constantly. Unless you are utterly mainstream, it's just plain dull.

My beautiful DMR hardtail getting stolen - theiving chavs!!!

i have to disagree with kingstanding being one of the nicer areas in birmingham, i should know, i live there

the slowly tightening grip of the cheese extreme that rules the Broad Street night life - lets hope it shoots itself in the foot and peeps start to drift away from the flock in search of fresher, hipper beats!

The modern Christmas tree outside St Martins Church (in the Bull Ring). A traditional tree would have been more appropriate

Plastic Paddy Pubs, Corporate Pubs. Deafening bands with little or no talent and deaf soundmen. The Jam House - load of bollocks prices run by conmen - Jools should be ashamed! Look what they did to Ronnie Scotts!

Being from a place where your accent is constantly being mistaken for the black country accent (its a completly differrent dialect and place, arghhh) and people who think that Manchester is the 2nd city when its bloody well not!!!

too much violence, street robbery, and smackheads.

Kevins and sharons!!!!!

er....Trans?

Dont worry about there being a selfridges in the Bull Ring Centre - there is gonna be a Bear Factory store there - definately a good shop to go to for everyone!

The homeless people on Broad Street

Overcrowding, congestion and too much concrete

Hip Hop, d&b, alternative scene isn't that good - it's all about Broad Street. Homeless people - it seems to me loads of them have better trainers than me and are just plain rude if you don't have any money to give them!

New Street Station and the Palasades.

birmingham lives in the shadow of london too much, but shouldn't! it may be our second city in size but difinetly not in heart!!!

The problem is someones bound to get shot up at the bloody ice rink my brother nearly did.

there seems to be a good amount of style-conscious people in birmingham but having said that, there are (young) people who expect to be taken seriously whilst wearing their adidas poppers tucked into their nike socks and sporting flourescent orange trainers. (all i have to say about them is 'no'. no no no no no no no.) despite the fact that theres a lot of inter-racial and inter-faith tolerance and acceptance in birmingham, there is some amount of discrimination, although not just racism - but the culprits are the ones who wear their tracksuit trousers tucked into their socks, so you've got to ask yourself whether or not they can help themselves, really......

the victorian terraces, burberry cap sporting fools, woodsurfing wankers, goths and freaks( their parents hate them and they blame everyone else), the oasis market, plankriders, skateboarders, jitters, er anythin else to call this fraternity?? oh yeah, tossers. i think thats it. and that man (you know who you are, lakvir of halesowen college) who cracked one off on the number 9 bus in broad daylight, then unloaded in his bag. dirty bastard.

THE WANABES FROM SOLIHULL THINKIN THERE GOOD WEN THERE NOT! AND LOOKIN AT THE REAL SKATERS LIKE THERE NOTHIN WEN WE REALLY ARE.

pigs

The rubbish that constantly litters the streets, other places

Birmingham is the worst City you can ever dream of living in. I was born in Birmingham and have spent years trying to shake of the misery of Brummiedom. Fights, lads, slappers, concrete, abuse, sexism, racism - need I go on?

Far too many aggressive beggars who are blatantly not homeless and are all mashed off their tits and out looking for cash for their next bag of smack, dodgy geezers in hoods hanging around at night, The Rotunda - it's just goddamn ugly, Travel West Midlands... "bus every 6 minutes" (or more like, "4 buses within 3 minutes, once an hour") - totally unreliable and totally bollocks, too many identically-clothed (Rockport & Kickers) Shazza and Kev gangs (fuck off you no-hopers), the city centre is always being dug up for some unknown reason, people smoking on buses (despite the large "�500 fine" signs, which TWM never enforce), high likelihood of robbery at night in some areas (be very careful and always stay aware of who is around you!)

too many OSP's telling you to be quiet!

bham's known for pocket pickin and druggies and rcism but realy if you keep youre self to youre self its not realy that bad!

where do i start. Theres no country side, everywhere u look u see tarmac and metal. The people are ignorant and no one ever says thanku 2 the bus driver, which really annoys me. Sutton area is full of psychos and people openingly smoke weed on the bus - which then makes the driver get high.Need i say more.

Beggars. If you're shopping, watch your handbags (girls) and wallets (guys).

Kevs and shazzas (townies), crap local radio, kevs, busses are always late, shazzas, broad street (if u like alt music) did i mention the kevs?

it's a big grey concrete mess not pretty, the high street shops like o neill and virgin are expensive

Our terrible spelling.

Birmingham is very dirty, especially Bordesley Green, where I work. Think before you drop litter!

modernisation redevelopment of city not complete till at least 2006 utter chaos street closures etc.

Nothing, birmingham's brilliant, OK maybe too many cars

Kevs! Pack them all up and send them back to Slutton Coldfield where they spawned from. In fact, the whole of Slutton seems like a giant conspiracy at times to undermine Birmingham's healthy anti-Kev attitude. Incidentally, anyone from down around Hodge Hill and Ward End keep your eye on Star City...the Kev Migration seems to be moving in that direction... Anti-Sk8ing-Coppers who confisk8 your board!!!

the chewing gum on the pavement. Street beggars wearing brand new nikes! (???)

it's a pig ugly place

Its lack of individuality sometimes annoys me. Broad Street could be great, but its been bitten by the Chain Pub & Restaurant Bug. I want unique places!! Manchester and London do it - why not Brum!

Traffic jams on the M6!!! They put LA to shame.

Aston V#��@!!!! Apologies to all who have the misfortune to visit the collection of sheds called V#��@ Park, if the council was full of bluenoses the place would be turned into housing.

The annoying Ben Sherman/Hackett/Rockport shirted scum yes you!

Pubs stop serving at 22:50 at the weekend??? But that is England all over The crappy public transport system

The TERRIBLE, DISGUSTING, and downright FRIGHTENING mess of roads and subways and dereliction that is the Bull Ring. The area around the Arcadian, with the gay village and Chinatown, is great but the roads and subways and ramps in between that area and the city square are horrible. Really scary. No thought to pedestrians at all.

People are a bit too "uptight" and need to lighten up, lay back , an' feel them warm rays of heaven on them pasty faces. Maybe have a little glass o' somethin' an' smile a little.,....yooo know whut aah mean!!!!

People who have this Solihull mentality whereby they they keep diassociating Handsworth from Handsworth Wood - both together (I've lived in both) are far more scenic/exciting/historically valuable than some other areas of the city I won't embarrass by naming!! If you're still not convinced, try this - THERE'S NO MORNING RUSH HOUR!!! (We Northsiders spend far less of our ives sitting in our cars / on buses)

The street cleaner at the library. Looks like an elf. Calls you a cunt when you don't do a single thing. Deliberately trashes your bag by pouring water over it. Also very paranoid, he believes that there is a camera hidden in a security light (there is definitely not)

TWM, total rip off of a bus company.

Perry Barr. Its bad. Its worse than bad. Its fucking awful.

Sutton snobs and the University district - well run down.

architecture. neglect of some areas (Digbeth in town has mucho potential town planners). having to listen to prats from completely inferior towns whitter on about crappy brum, when they haven't been there, or never explored when they were.

The buses, operated by Travel West Midlands, which are cack. They don't give change which is as primitive in the sphere of public transport as it is possible to get, and a constant source of annoyance.

Living, or hanging out anywhere near Bournville - the place has no pubs at all due to it being built by the Quaker family that owned Cadburys.

The subways and underpasses. Some are very frightening to walk through alone. Thankfully Birmingham is being 'redesigned' at the moment and it is improving by the day.

The nightlife. It's a bit dead really.

The worst thing? Most of the suburbs. Whilst the City has spent a lot of money and effort into redesigning the Centre for the post-industrial age, most routes out of the city are scattered with dilapidated ex-factories and buildings; some of the residential areas (such as Handsworth or Handsworth Wood) are frightening to be in at night.

Moronic southerners who think Birmingham's a northern shitehole somewhere near Manchester. Wrong - it's a midlands semi-paradise with trees somewhere near Stratford.

Villa fans.

Wost thing about Brum: some of the office blocks are SO gross. Bring 'em down. Good news is that next year the Bull Ring will be bulldozed and replaced by a 300 million development which will boast the only branch of Selfridges outside London. The accent is a pain in the arse, and makes even the most intelligent person sound as thick as shit.

Brum hasn't had a medium sized music venue since the Hummingbird closed down 5 years ago, forcing bands to play in Wolverhampton or Leicester. This seriously hampers local talent (no, not bloody Ocean Colour Scene)and Brum is crying out for a "scene" of some description PLEASE!! The suburbs need some urgent cosmetic attention too and local transport could do with an overhaul s!

Traffic Wardens

The young fisher lads obsession with their fast cars is brain numbing. A quality night out for them consists of driving your fast car round and round the town centre, climaxing in pulling in next to some other young things in their cars in the Balmoor Cemetery carpark. And you can bet they're not there to place flowers on poor old Granny's grave.

Accent, traffic, no one knowing where B'ham is.

Can be a bit scary at night, especially for people from out of town.

lycra clad no hopers

Man U Fans, Blues Fans.

Seriously deranged people appearing on a regular basis, care in the community in action in Birmingham obviously.

The accent.

Private Hire drivers - mostly 'Care in the community' releasees from All Saint's Hospital.