#she literally makes me take stuff I just tried to turn down Dunkin after she threw all her shit in my face

[sensitivegoblin]

Vent

Tw: sucide / self harm

[overthelillies]

fic recs for my friends

yeah okay so most/all of these are davekat im sorry!! arranged in no particular order also some of them are second person I Am Sorry.

Your Interpersonal, Intergalactic Relationship: A Beginner's Guide (8,400-something words)

A beginner's guide to playing hopscotch, overcoming internalized homophobia, and falling in love with your alien best friend.

friends to lovers! p cute

So It Goes (56,845 words)

They managed to win the game somehow. He's not really sure of the details, but it's not all it's cracked up to be. He's stuck in an unfamiliar body with a thirteen year old little brother who's terrified of him.

Somehow, he is sure this is his fault.

// i have not read this one. but strider angst and davekat yes please

Red Converse (26,648 words)

Due to a seizure, Karkat Vantas now has to learn how to live his life with two speech aphasia. He goes to therapy three times a week, suffers from awful headaches, and tries to avoid people as much as possible.

Due to a traumatic experience, Dave Strider refuses to use his words, preferring to relay his snarky comments and witty banter through sign language and typing on his phone.

They meet in a waiting room.

//THIS IS REALLY GOOD Altho they do have sex just skip it dw i promise it’s worth it

how...did you tell your friends (7,906 words)

Unfortunately, you don't fancy your brother's suggestion on how to break the news to John...

There's no other way out of it, you're going to have to just tell him.

//set after homestuck, dave tries to tell the most oblivious person in the world and also his best friend (john) that he and karkat are dating and it’s literally so good

Dave Strider’s Stupid Fucking Jawline (11,607 words)

Generic high school AU. Dave's jawline is really distracting and Karkat does NOT have a crush on him (shut up, Kanaya).

//high school au. lovely. good eating.

Gray and Red (16,084 words)

In which you only see color once you meet your soulmate, and the first color you see is the same as your soulmate's eyes.

//SOULMATE AU SOULMATE AU this is kinda very Angsty (Karkat do be pining doe) it’s p good

We’re All Friends & Family Here (And Frankly, We’re Sick Of Your Shit) (68,000 somethin words)

It's been about a year since the big Fast Forward, and sure, things on Earth C aren't perfect for everyone. But they're fine. Really. It's fine. Everything is super fuckin' swell, and that's that.

It's not like one night is going to change anything.

//post homestuck GOD THIS. IS SO GOOD okay so this fic is mainly dirkjake being fucking stupid with rosemary and davekat and also a lil roxy/calliope in the bg and it’s long but!!!! so very good

Red Ties (10,705 words)

Dave Strider's eyes never turned the color of his soulmates. With his rare eye-color, there's next to no chance they simply share an eye color.

One day he meets Karkat Vantas.

//another cute soulmate au! again. love the soulmate aus what can i say

i’m at the combination dunkin donuts & urgent care (3,920 words)

Karkat Vantas is convinced beyond a doubt that his neighbor is some variety of murderer, until they actually meet in person. Highlights include blood at the laundromat, Dave's weird obsession with candles, and a box of shitty swords.

//this is SO FUNNY short n sweet i promise

the calculation (2,481 words)

the fic in which Dave gets the flu for the first time since before the game and Karkat takes care of him.

//this fic is really funny and also sweet

Start At The Beginning (9,304)

//post-homestuck, Dave and karkat falling in love. the ending to thsi made me cry

I Love Cheap Thrills (4,773 words)

You’ve been trading memes with an international pop sensation, and your drunk ass had no idea.

Classic.

//this one is verrie funnie

Locked Up (9,272 words)

Dave had always been the one best prepared for the game. He was able to handle the shit it threw at them and push it down a lot better than everyone else could.

It might have fucked up everything else about him, but that didn't matter.

He was fine.

He was always fucking fine.

//angst. very nice

I’d Tap That (oh fuck i didn’t mean to tap that) (17,041 words)

Karkat finds his old school bully on Grindr. Dave doesn't know how to shut up.

// really funny!! sorry if these are getting redundant i don’t remember the details about some of these

Pale as Bone, Pale as Water (5,305 words)

//another davekat sickfic

Apple Juice, Chips, and Bandages (5,335 words)

Every time he comes in he gets the same three things. A bottle of apple juice, a bag of chips, and bandages.

//really cute!! they’re liddol and they’re friends it’s nice

The Land of Blood and Childhood Trauma (8,242 words)

When two dreambubbles collide, two anti-social assholes are forced to help each other through it.

//not quite as Angsty as it sounds! it’s good

ecdysis (6,077 words)

Karkat goes through his adult molt. Dave does his best to take it in stride.

//so i actually haven’t read this thought I did but Uh have it anyway it looks good

Self Sabotage and Other Symptoms of a Damaged Soul (10,698 words)

//basically dave grapples with his internalized homophobia, etc. very good

turntechGodhead is offline (36,999 words)

//I’ve already ranted to you guys enough about this you know what it’s abt it’s SO FREAKING GOOD

A Ten Step Plan For Wooing Karkat Vantas, Featuring A Multitude Of Illustrations By Your Esteemed Authors, As Well As Tips For The Aforementioned Wooing (11,261 words)

Kanaya, because she's a saint, makes you a list.

The list is entitled "A Ten Step Plan For Wooing Karkat Vantas" and features a multitude of illustrations in purple pen.

"So we're doing this," you say. Your mouth threatens to twitch into something dangerously smile-shaped.

"Yes," says Kanaya. "We are making this happen."

"Hell yes."

//dave n karkat! they go on a date. stuff happens. it’s really good

Catching Colds on a Rock in the Middle of Space (15,887)

Rose catches a bad cold and it slowly spreads to the rest of the meteor crew. None of them are particularly good at admitting they're sick, let alone looking after themselves, but at least they're decent at caring for each other.

//rosemary and davekat! VERY sweet

Dave’s Girl (2,527 words)

The thing is no one knew anything more about "Kitty" other than her delicious cooking (Dave obviously doesn't want to share – ever) but the guys are more or less already in love with her. Drew insists she's probably this blond bombshell with big, blue eyes, all curves with legs that go on forever and a great rack... Practically everyone in the team has their own opinion.

//this is so funny and also im a sucker for these kinds of tropes so it’s great

Songs Made on the Meteor (27,762 words)

Dave makes music and they fall in love.

//on my to-read list! it looks good

Looks Just Like The Sun (12,231 words)

“Holy shit,” you whisper. Dave joins you at the window.

There are no stars left in the sky. Nothing but blackness and a faint soap bubble sheen.

“Is that a dream bubble?” Dave says.

And then it swallows you.

//okay. does this have explicit sex? yes. does it have a very explicit image? yes. HOWEVER (hear me out here) I firmly believe that if you whizz pass those parts, this is a very good fic with great characterization and fun banter. send tweet

aight happy reading

[creedtheconquer]

Everything But Political

Request-"thank youuuuuuuuuuuuuu!So YN Hale Underwood is the first daughter,and she's pretty much like her mom (the only person both really trust) she's stoic and shy,tries to avoid the spotlight as much as she can but is brilliant in all the she does. Duncan has been in love with her since forever,but never managed to confess to her(his cockiness dissapears when she's around) so,after a lot or twits and turns he finally admits it and happy stuff. what do you think?"

Summery-"(Y/N) Hale-Underwood is her mother's pride and joy and loyal to a T. She has had a constant love hate relationship with the one and only Duncan Shepherd but little does she know he has loved her since they were little. How will this turn out?"

Pairings- Duncan Shepherd x Reader

Warnings- politics but not really if anyone cares about that, this is mostly just fluff for our Dunkin Donut.

*I hope you guys enjoy this story typed it up in little under 3 and a half hours! My request are always open I write for Cody and any character he has played minus David to respect him as a person who sadly lost his life. I also write for other AHS character so feel to request away!*

(Y/N) Hale-Underwood the poster child for America, her mother's pride and joy and she took that role and that spot light very very seriously. She loved her mother dearly and was loyal to the core. After her father died (Y/N) took up the protecter role of the family. She was her mother's rock, her supporting shoulder and she would do anything for her mother. If Claire need a break (Y/N) would step in to meeting for her mother without a second hesitation. Or if Claire just needed to vent the only person she would trust to vent everything to was (Y/N) to which (Y/N) would gladly sit for hours in her mother's room just listening, not talking that often because the way she saw it, she wasn't there to talk she was there to listen. So when Claire asked her to attend one of the annual Shepherd's Foundation events (Y/N) didn't refuse.

"Ah (Y/N) my dear, where is your mother?" Annette Shepherd, Claire's frenemie greats (Y/N) with a smile giving her a quick small hug. (Y/N) fakes a smile hugging her back thinking of the best way to answer her question knowing she's trying to get some kind of dirt on her mother.

"She had a press meeting and couldn't make it sadly so she sent me in her replace. She also sends her regards." (Y/N) says pulling away from Annette and she smooths out her form fitting navy blue pencil dress and Annette nods.

"Well my dear come in have fun you always more than welcome here." She beams up and (Y/N) and (Y/N) gives her a nod as she scans the room.

"Thank you Annette." (Y/N) says offering her a small smile as Annette walks off to great the new guest coming through the door.

From what Claire said this was a meeting about the incident that happened in Ohio, and the fact that she didn't trust the Shepherd's. (Y/N) was in the Oval office the previous night and watched Bill Shepherd quite literally guide her mother hand to sign his bill (Y/N) went on the defence.

(Y/N) moves quietly around the room, stopping periodically to very slyly listen in on people's conversations. Most are talking nonsense just there mundane day to day life and she rolls her eyes at their chit chat. But then there conversations that pique her interest, gossip about her mother and how she's the "anti-christ" to which (Y/N) nearly chokes on her drink trying not to laugh at the ridiculous theories/stories spun by the media. Then some hit very close to home, literally, and she has to bite her tongue to stop her from snapping back at the person spreading such lies.

(Y/N) opts to leave the main room, having heard enough, and she makes her way down the long white hallway leading to the main balcony where she sees her frenemie, Annette's son, Duncan. The two have grown up together seeing each other go through there each other's ups and downs, their worst days and their best. Growing up as little kids they were attached at the hip you would always find them together, you didn't have one if you had the other. But as they got older and realized where they stand that bond started to thin now when they did see each other it was a guessing game of are they going to get along like old times or be at each other's throats.

"Duncan." (Y/N) says coldly causing the taller brown head man to turn towards her and he gives her a once over before turning back to look out to the grounds of his Mother and Uncle's estate.

"(Y/N) what brings you here don't you have things to do for mommy." He mocks not moving his pale icy gaze to her and she scoffs at him.

"So this is how this interaction is going to go." She inquires sending a glare to the man next to her before folding her hands behind her back and she straighten out her posture. "I am her on my mother's behalf, I was hoping for a somewhat civil talk or else I would have never approached you Donut." (Y/N) smirks to herself knowing how much he hated when she called him that and as always he rolls his eyes finally looking down at her.

Little did (Y/N) know Duncan has been head over heels for her for has long has he can remember and he loves how loyal she is to her mother and he admires that deeply. He miss how they used to be before they fell into their places in the family dynamic and he wishes so badly to get back to that, but it seems like every time they are together it's like a game of russian roulette. Either they are how they used to be, laughing, relaxing, just being themselves enjoying each other's company. But more often than not they are like this, ever cold and stand offish with their guards up not trusting each other. Duncan can guess the reason for this interaction being cold was because of what is Uncle did the other night to which Duncan was outraged about. He argued that there were many other ways to go about getting the bill signed and that was not it, he felt so bad and he wanted to so badly call up (Y/N) and apologize but his ego stopped him.

"Look I'm sorry about what my uncle did I told him that was wrong." He speaks up breaking the tension tight silence that had fallen over them. (Y/N) looks up at him taken aback by his sudden sincere heart felt apology.

"You had no idea?" (Y/N) ask her ice cold front starting to melt as he nods. He turns his body slightly so he can fully face her and she does the same.

"If I had known I would have stopped him." He says softly as she sees him visibly relax has the tension fades between them. "Listen (Y/N) there is something I've been wanting to say this for a while now..."

"Duncan." Annette says from the end of the hall and he groans giving (Y/N) an apologetic look.

"Go for coffee with me later?" He asks glancing back up at his mother and (Y/N) nods softly.

"Yeah." (Y/N) says and she sees a smile tug at his lips has he brings her hand up to his lips and she places a soft kiss on her knuckles.

"I'll call you." He whisper dropping her hand and he walks off to his mother and (Y/N) nods softly feeling a little ping in her heart cursing herself for the feelings she harbors for her longest childhood friend.

(Y/N) returns home hours later completely exhausted tugging her heels off and she rolls her shoulders trying to release the tension of standing up straight for hours on end. She opens her closet and she steps out of her dress and she changes into something a lot more comfortable. She makes her way down to hallway to her mother's room and she knocks on the door softly waiting for the response.

"Come in." She hears her mother calm soothing voice sound from inside and she can't help but smile opening the door and she steps in. Claire was on the bed reading a book when (Y/N) walked in and the second she realizes it her daughter she smiles putting the book down, moving the blankets out of the way for (Y/N) to crawl in and lay her head on her mother's lap. "How did it go?" Claire asks running her fingers through (Y/N)'s hair causing her daughter to let out a sigh of relief.

"Well some people are convinced you're the anti-christ, hearing that nearly made me choke on my drink. Annette tried to get dirt on why you weren't there I told her you where busy off somewhere doing a press meeting she bought it. Bill was flaunting his victory with the bill I wanted to slap him right then and there." (Y/N) says with a sigh looking up at her mother and Claire smiles down at her tracing her daughter's beautiful features obviously getting them from her, it would be a lie if people didn't say she was almost a carbon copy of her.

"Did you see Duncan?" Claire asks caressing (Y/N)'s cheek and (Y/N) nods. "Did he say anything about how he's been whispering lies into the media's ear about me and your father?"

(Y/N) looks hurt learning this information, he had sounded so sincere in his apology he completely fooled her and that pained her. She thought that maybe they have gotten over the petty family rivalries and were getting back to how things used to be. Soon hurt gave way anger and boy was she mad, she wanted to march right to his apartment at that moment and give him a piece of her mind, "Yeah I saw him we spoke briefly but nothing of the matter was said that was important." (Y/N) says through almost gritted teeth and Claire picks up on that.

"He said something didn't he that's why you're angry." Claire says and (Y/N) closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Yeah he said he was sorry for how his uncle did the other night with signing the bill, he sounded so sincere I believed him.....I should have know better." (Y/N) says anger laced into her words and Claire plays with her hair to soothe her.

"He's a Shepherd he can't be trusted they are dead set on tearing us down we can't let them in." Claire whispers holding (Y/N) close as (Y/N) feels tears fill her eyes.

"You're right thanks mom." (Y/N) says sitting up and she crawls out of bed walking to the door.

"You did great sweety you made me proud I love you." Claire says calling out to her daughter and (Y/N) nods not turning to face her.

"Thanks mom, I love you too." (Y/N) says in a low voice walking out of the room and down the hall. She slips on a pair of shoes and she walks out the front door.

"Annette isn't actually his mother, he's adopted." Claire says as (Y/N) closes the door knowing she going to confront Duncan.

"(Y/N) what the hell are you doing here so late?" Duncan says rubbing sleep from his beautiful icy blue eyes and (Y/N) glares pushing past him into his apartment.

"Care to explain why you've been spreading lies about my family to the media." (Y/N) snaps turning on her heels to face the man she loved to hate and hate to love standing by the door in his loose shorts and black t shirt.

"I...I, it's not me it's my mom she's just using me it's all her I'm just her attack dog." He sighs running a hand down his face as he very consciously walks towards (Y/N).

"Then why are you going through with it?!" (Y/N) shouts taking a step back from him, "Why? Fucking tell me Duncan! I actually believe you felt sorry earlier I thought you had changed!"

"(Y/N) Listen to me I can't just not listen to my mom, but I was sorry earlier." Duncan defends taking another step towards (Y/N).

"She's not even your real mom Duncan! You're adopted you don't owe her shit!" (Y/N) shouts and Duncan stops dead in his tracts.

"I'm what?" He asks and (Y/N) curses herself for letting that slip.

"Duncan I shouldn't have told you that." (Y/N) says dropping her anger and she steps towards him.

"No no don't I need to know." He says taking a deep breath but (Y/N) hears the stutter in it and she can tell he was about to cry.

"It wasn't my place to tell you I'm sorry Donut." (Y/N) says placing her hand on his shoulder and he pulls her fully to her holding her tight.

"No thank you, I would rather it have been you." He whispers through tears as the rock through his body and he shakes against her.

"Hey Donut, look at me." (Y/N) whispers pulling back and he meets her gaze and she reaches up to wipe his tears away. "You don't have to listen to her anymore, I can talk to my mother get you a pardon."

Duncan laughs slightly nodding his head, "You know there has always been something I've wanted to tell you for many many years now." He whispers his eyes flickering down to (Y/N)'s lips then back up to her eyes, "I have loved you since we were kids."

(Y/N) gasps slightly as he closes the gap and he kisses her, letting years of bottled up emotions take over not wanting to miss a single moment. "I love you too Duncan." She whispers breathlessly as they break the kiss.

"Fuck politics this is all that matters." Duncan whispers before kissing her again finally understanding the meaning to all of this their lives. It all fell into place in that single moment, he knew that their whole lives lead up to this moment and he was grateful. He finally had her and he was letting go he was going to hold on and fight with everything to keep this. He was home.

@ateliefloresdaprimavera

[luckyspike]

Adventures in America, Ch. 6 - In which Adam learns about the formation of shelf clouds (literally, this is not a metaphor)

and this chapter took so long because in order for adam to learn about the formation of shelf clouds i had to learn about the formation of shelf clouds

thank you to wikipedia, and the 5 hours of meteorology youtube videos i watched, as well as the many, many hours of storm chasers i watched

reminder that this fic is not on AO3 yet bc tbh i want to finish it first but here’s the link to the other chapters

or follow this link to my fanfiction tag

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5

-

Four-thirty in the morning, and it was still dark. Generally, Adam wasn’t a fan of getting up before the sun, but generally, Adam was not hunting tornadoes. He rolled out of bed the minute the alarm went off, silenced it, and moved to turn on the light. Lucky beat him to it.

“You ready?” the other boy asked, dark eyes bright and eager. “You ready to go?”

“Absolutely.”

They threw on clothes - whatever they could find - and stuffed the few things they’d actually unpacked back into their bags. Adam paused only to send a text to his friends - ‘Day 1, here we go!’ - before he and the other student walked quickly into the parking lot, their excitement poorly-disguised. They arrived at the truck and stopped. It was dark. Rachael and Noel were absent. Lucky frowned, and looked at his phone.

“Oh. We’re early.” He dropped his bag to the ground, and sat on the asphalt next to it. “Oh well, better early than late.”

“Sure,” Adam agreed, leaning back against the truck and wondering if maybe the extra 15 minutes of sleep might have been worth it. He sighed and looked around. In Tadfield, the streets would have been empty at this hour. But in Austin, by the airport, cars came and went. At a lower volume, certainly, than they might in a few hours, but still, the road was not deserted by any stretch of the imagination. He wondered, distantly, where all those people might be going. 

“Hey, Adam.” Lucky held up his phone. “You wanna do a snap?”

“Oh, selfie? Yeah, sure.” He crouched down next to the other boy, Lucky beaming through his beard and Adam holding up a peace sign while his blonde hair spilled over his face and shoulders. It probably would have been a good picture, had it not been so dark that the only discernible thing was two dark shadows crouched in front of a slightly reddish shadow that may have, with better lighting, looked like a truck. Undeterred, Lucky nodded approvingly and captioned it ‘day 1 fuckers!’ before sending it off, presumably to a group of friends. 

“I should probably take another one for my parents and stuff, too.” This was done as a selfie only, Adam standing back up to look to the east instead, watching the sky turn purple with dawn. Although Adam didn’t like to look over anybody’s shoulder, he did note that the caption on the second photo was a tamer ‘Bright and early for storm chasing day 1!’. He smiled. 

“Your parents are cool with this, huh?”

“Eh.” Lucky shrugged. “My dad is. He’s like super stereotypical masculine dude - his only concern was that I didn’t plan on taking a gun with me.” He rolled his eyes, while Adam tried not to look too shocked. Well, that was America for you. “My mom was kind of worried, but like, we always watched those storm chaser shows when I was a kid, so I think she’s excited too. She told me to send a ton of pictures.” He looked up, over his shoulder, to Adam. “Yours?”

Adam shrugged a shoulder. “They felt like it was a good opportunity, they just felt it was maybe more dangerous than needed but … eh.” He laughed. “I was more worried about my godfathers trying to stop me, but they just let me go.” He frowned. “Which is kind of weird, actually, ‘cause they seemed really worried at first, but I did tell them it was really not that dangerous, so I guess they believed me.”

Lucky was watching him with a puzzled expression. “I don’t have any godparents. Well, I mean, not that I’ve stayed in touch with. I think my parents picked some of their friends or something. But you know yours?” He thought about it. “Was your family really religious or something?” And then he winced. “Yikes, actually, that’s really personal. Sorry, don’t feel obligated.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I mean … kind of.” He snorted. “It’s weird, but I guess we’re kind of religious in a way. They taught me a lot about religion, anyway, but like, I dunno.” He shook his head. “I was heading for trouble when I was younger, and that’s sort of when they started hanging around more, I think at first to help me? But now they’re just kind of cool weird uncles.”

Lucky nodded appreciatively. “Nice.” He picked up a stone from the parking lot and chucked it, idle and bored. “I learned most of my religion from, uh, well, we had a nanny and a gardner until I was like, eight, and it was mostly them.” He laughed. “So weird, honestly - the gardner was like, a monk, I swear to God, and my nanny was actually like, a literal Satanist, like pentagrams and the whole thing, but they ended up getting married after they retired together.” Adam frowned. That was … odd. “Nanny used to like, tell me to destroy all lesser humans and stuff, and then she’d hand me off to the gardner for a few hours and he’d be like all into love of all living things or whatever.” Oh, she. Adam relaxed. A little.

Very strange.

“Up and at ‘em, eh, boys?” Noel’s voice rang across the parking lot, loud and clear even over the steadily-increasing airport traffic. “Excited for the first day?”

Adam nodded and Lucky said, “Yeah!” Rachael, tagging behind, laden with camera bags and an oversize travel mug, offered up a weak and drowsy smile. “Lots of driving on the agenda today, guys. Hopefully will get us into position to see some stuff this afternoon. But first -” she wagged the mug in the air, “we need to find a Dunkin.”

Lucky made a face. “You’re a Dunkin devotee?”

“What’s your brand?” She was packing her things into the bed of the truck, and Adam and Lucky followed suit. “Please don’t say Starbucks.”

“... Well.”

She sighed and laid her hand on his shoulder. “So I have to teach you more than just storm chasing this trip, I guess. It will be my cross to bear.” The truck started up, and Rachael brandished her mug like a sleepy knight charging into battle. “To Dunkin.” She trod around to the front passenger seat, and Lucky laughed, shutting the bed cover and heading to his seat. 

Adam waited until they were in the truck and on the road before he asked, “What’s Dunkin?” He thought it over, trying to remember where he’d seen the name before. Online, certainly, but in relation to … what?

“Oh.” Rachael was watching him in the rearview mirror. “Oh, Adam. Oh, you sweet, summer child.” She turned around, slinging her arm across Noel’s shoulders. “Do you drink coffee? Or tea?”

“Both.” He considered it. “Coffee’s nice in the morning.”

“Dunkin Donuts has the best coffee in the world. Hands down, best.”

“Sometimes they burn it,” Noel said, already flinching away from the playful slap she aimed at his shoulder. “I said sometimes! Not every time!”

“Never. They never do.” She looked to her phone, where a GPS was chirping out directions to the nearest Dunkin. “I will convince you boys by the end of this session that Dunkin coffee is superior to any other coffee, and not to be unappreciated.” She sighed. “It is better than Starbucks, mark my words.” Lucky hummed, uncertain. “What’s your preferred brand, Adam?”

He thought about it. “Uh, well. I dunno. Costa is what we have in town, and that’s pretty good, but I don’t think there’s any of them over here. Starbucks is okay, I guess, in a pinch, but my godfather makes the best coffee.” He shrugged. “He’s super into it.”

Rachael nodded. “Oh, well, obviously home-brew rigs are going to beat out chain places every time.”

“She does make an amazing cup of coffee,” Noel agreed.

“But no, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Costa.” Rachael looked thoughtful. “I’ll have to try it some day. I’ve always wanted to visit the UK, so I’ll put it on my list of things to do for that trip!”

Adam laughed. “There are definitely better things to do in England than go to Costa. If you’re serious about going, I can give you a list of stuff if you’d like.”

Noel turned into a parking lot, and Rachael yawned. “Ah, sorry. Yes, I’m definitely going to take you up on that. But first, coffee. You alright taking the first leg driving, Noel?”

“As always!” He hopped out and waited for the rest of the party to join. “The donuts are also fairly good here, so if you guys want breakfast this will probably be our stop. They have sandwiches an’ all that, too.”

“I do like their hashbrowns,” Lucky added, half a step behind Adam, hands in his pockets. “You have to have a donut though, Adam. Just to try one. It’s like … I mean, America runs on Dunkin.” He laughed. “Or at least that’s what their commercials say.”

Ultimately, Adam selected a donut for breakfast, as well as a cup of coffee. He debated getting the hashbrowns as well, but on reflection it seemed likely that this would not be his only opportunity to eat at Dunkin, and he decided to save it for another day. Rachael paid for him - “The first hit is free,” she said solemnly - and they took their leave.

The coffee was pretty good, Adam thought, sipping at it on the way back to the truck. Maybe a little too sweet. But good. Wouldn’t be the worst thing to drink for the next six weeks, anyway. He assured Rachael he thought it was delicious, and they loaded back into the truck.

Rachael spent the first portion of the drive north looking at her computer, studying the weather maps, and drinking her coffee. She and Noel talked in low voices about where to go - maybe a bit more east? Or stay westward? - and the truck rolled on. Adam, a stranger in America, watched the desert of Texas go by, pink and gold in the dawn and then bright and brown in the harsh light of day. Lucky, in spite of drinking his coffee faster than anybody probably should, was asleep within the first hour, leaned against the window with a string of drool running from the corner of his mouth. Adam considered taking a photo of him on Lucky’s own phone - it was laid on the seat between them, idle - but decided against it, instead pulling out a book about supercell formation and other weather patterns, and starting to read.

Rachael and Noel switched drivers after a few hours, stirring Lucky from his nap. With the students more awake, and no driving duties at hand, Noel took the opportunity to talk Lucky and Adam through the weather tracking software on the laptop, and discussed what they were looking for. “You want to see a big, cool system meeting with some warm air where there’s a lot of moisture,” he explained. “So here’s the barometric pressures as they stand now, and the current radar. Either of you have an idea of where we should go for ideal storm tracking?” Adam and Lucky, each with their own notebooks, did their level best to calculate the possible and likely movements of the systems. Adam considered his work and, eventually, penciled in a careful ‘x’ over a part of the map where it appeared two states met on the north side of the Oklahoma panhandle. Lucky had already finished his own calculations, and they passed their notebooks forward. 

“Alright, let’s see here.” Noel turned around, one notebook in each hand and laptop open in front of him, comparing each of their calculations to his own model. Adam shifted nervously. He was pretty sure with the jet stream so far south, they wouldn’t need to go as north as Lucky had calculated, but then again he hadn’t been confident about the low-pressure area … “Both good maps,” Noel concluded at last. “But I think today we’re going to end up closer to Adam’s.” He turned back to them, smiling, and passed the notebooks back. “Partially because we won’t be able to get that far into Kansas without losing daylight, sorry Lucky, but I don’t know … we’ll have to see. Time will tell.”

“Part of storm chasing,” Rachael added in, “is guesswork. Doesn’t matter how good your models are, doesn’t matter how correct your math’s been, the weather always seems to end up surprising us. It’s part of what makes it fun! And scary, sometimes.”

“Oh, which reminds me: safety briefing.” Noel turned around, suddenly serious as the grave. Adam nodded attentively, shutting his notebook and folding his hands on top of it. “We’ll go through some of Rachael’s lightning equipment afterwards, because eventually you two are going to be doing a lot of work with that, but we need to talk safety.” He sighed and rubbed his neck. “It’s not all fun and photos out here. Let’s talk the anatomy of a storm. Lucky, you first, go over what you know about inflow and outflow, and why that’s important.”

The safety “briefing” actually lasted an entire 3 hours which, honestly, Adam appreciated. They discussed the anatomy of a supercell, the places where you were more likely to get caught off-guard by a rain-wrapped tornado, the places where lighting is more likely to be active, where and how hail forms, and how to best stay safe while studying storms. Noel showed and taught them about the ‘bear’s cage’, and made it very clear that for the most part they would be avoiding that portion of the storm, as neither Noel nor Rachael had a death wish. At the conclusion of his briefing, they stopped for lunch - fast food, which Adam viewed as a particular treat, not having much selection in Tadfield - and switched drivers again.

As they entered the Great Plains region, Adam was taken aback by just how flat everything was. Miles and miles stretched out on either side, level and grassy in the places where it wasn’t level and covered with farmland. Cows - so many cows - grazed and stood and slept and stared at the highway, sometimes, and although Rachael’s instruction on lightning and atmospheric electrical activity was truly interesting, Adam found his mind wandering. 

“Adam?” he was startled from his reverie and study of the plains of the Texas panhandle by Lucky. He turned to find both the other student and Rachael smiling at him. 

He blushed. “Oh, sorry.”

Rachael shrugged. “Don’t worry. It’s a lot of information. We’re probably a few hours out yet, too - are you tired? We can take a break and you can have a nap. We have you both at our mercy for the next six weeks anyway, right?”

Adam laughed. “Yeah. I might nap. Uh, if that’s okay, I mean.” Rachael waved a hand, the universal gesture of ‘go ahead’. Lucky nodded too, slouching back against the seat and stuffing a bundled-up sweatshirt between his head and the window. He was asleep in minutes, eyelids fluttering as he dreamed. Adam leaned up against the window, too, wishing he’d had the foresight to pull a sweatshirt or something out of his own luggage as a makeshift pillow. Still, even without, he found a comfortable position between the headrest and the side of the cab, and drifted off to the sound of the road beneath the truck. 

He wasn’t sure how long he slept, but he didn’t dream, and when he woke up, it was because Lucky was nudging his shoulder. “Hey, dude. We’re getting there: look!”

“Whazz?” Adam blinked, bleary, and then remembered what he was doing. He focused his eyes, rubbed a bit of sleep from them, and looked to Rachael, or at least her shoulder. Her laptop was open on her lap, Baron running. Although he could only see her face in profile, she didn’t look happy.

“Check out the clouds,” Lucky said, pointing across the back seat and out of Adam’s window. “Look. Cumulonimbus.”

Noel glanced out of the window at the clouds. “Yep, for sure. Capped, though. How’s the radar looking, Rachael?”

“Not great,” she replied, glumly. “Honestly it looks like … I hate to say it, but it looks like it might fall apart.” She ran a hand over her hair, pulling a few dark strands loose from her already-messy ponytail. “It just isn’t hanging together like we want it to be.” Turning in her seat, she set the laptop on the center console, the better to show the students in the back seat what she was looking at. “You see this line of storms here? Ideally, I would have liked to see them consolidate more, but they’re spreading out into a squall line.” She pointed to one of the still-consolidated blobs on the radar. “That’s going to be a low-precipitation system, but it might be a good one to see for your first day.” She scowled as she zoomed out. “Look at that - the storms to the east look much better.”

Noel shook his head. “That’s the business, unfortunately. And things might change - you get hooks in squall lines, sometimes.”

“Well, I didn’t want to start these guys out on a bust day.” She studied the radar again after pulling the laptop back onto her knees. “I guess this looks somewhat favorable here, up by Sturgis. No hook, though.” She sighed. “Still might get some lightning and hail, though. You guys want to practice a little with the lightning equipment?”

Adam nodded eagerly. He was disappointed, a little, that the storm was falling apart, but still, a big storm and some lightning would be exciting. Maybe hail. The biggest hail he’d ever seen wasn’t even pea-sized, but he’d seen videos and photos of much larger and he figured it might be cool to see that in person. Providing the windscreen didn’t shatter. He’d seen videos of that, too. He also, he considered, might not want to be out in the hail, setting up monitoring equipment, especially if it was very large.

“Alright. Onwards to Sturgis, then.”

They arrived in Sturgis in the mid-afternoon, moving from blue skies and fluffy cumulonimbus clouds into a giant wall of white and gray. “Shelf clouds,” Rachael said, tracing across the front of the cloud formation. “Adam - what’s the difference between shelf and wall clouds? They look similar, but they’re not the same thing, yes?”

“Right.” He answered slowly, deliberately, making sure he responded as accurately as possible. “Shelf clouds typically form at the front of a storm line, where wall clouds are usually at the back. The shelf cloud is usually because the uh … The downdraft -” Rachael nodded encouragingly, “- Right, the downdraft at the leading edge of the storm cuts under the warm, moist air and forces it up which makes it have the wall shape.”

“Right! Good start for description of a shelf cloud. So a wall cloud - ?”

“Is … is due to uh, en, uh …” He flapped a hand, as if grasping for the word. “En-something, um …”

“Entrainment.” Rachael nodded. “Yeah, that’s right, good start, keep going.”

“Okay so entrainment is when the warm, moist air gets drawn up and like, starts to push out the colder air. And then the warm air continues to gather moisture and condenses into a cloud. It usually happens really quick, and in supercells wall clouds usually rotate due to the mesocyclone.” He was on firmer footing there - he hadn’t done all that reading on supercells that morning for nothing. “Usually they’re under the rain-free base of the storm, not on the leading edge.”

“Right!” She turned back to the windscreen and gestured to the clouds ahead of them. “So these are shelf clouds. They’re still in the distance a little, but what should we expect as we get closer, Lucky?”

“Gusty winds,” the other student answered quickly. “As the cold downdraft shoots forward over the warm air.”

“Right. And what will the clouds look like?”

That was tougher. “If it’s very strong winds,” he said slowly, after a break for thought, “then uh, like the clouds will be kind of messy at the leading edge, and there might be scud along the ground, right?”

“Yep. In really strong storms you can get straight-line winds, vortices along the ground, and gustnados. Which are not tornadoes, right?” She grinned as the boys in the back seat each fixed her with looks of varying puzzlement. “Yes? Either of you know the difference between a gustnado and a tornado?” Neither did, and Rachael was more than happy to explain. Adam diligently took a few notes - outflow, not inflow, and straight line winds versus cyclonic activity - and let Lucky read them over his shoulder. 

“I’m not sure I really understand straight-line winds,” Adam said, when she’d finished her explanation. “I’ve read about them, but can you explain more what -”

“Yeah, for sure!” She continued on, going through the details of a straight-line wind, and how that might be more likely in a squall line than a supercell. Noel would chip in on occasion as well, although for the most part he drove deliberately, watching the clouds, taking measures of the surrounding roads and towns, and following the highways to some nebulous destination. Rachael would add a direction to him mid-lecture sometimes, after consulting Baron, and then would return to the rapt students with more information.

“This is a lot of information,” she added at the end of her lecture. “I’m glad you’re taking notes, but I don’t think many people could remember all of this after one day. We’ll go through it a few times over the weeks, alright?”

“Perfect,” Lucky said, a little glassy-eyed. “Adam, do you mind if I copy your notes? I left my notebook in my bag.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Noel pulled over on the main highway, as if arriving in some predetermined destination that only he knew, and put the truck into park. “Seems as good a place as any to wait for it to roll in, huh?”

“Not a soul around.” Rachael kicked her door open and jumped to the dusty ground outside. “Great place to practice with the lightning instruments. And we can hang out in the car and watch the storm, as long as it’s safe, yeah?”

Adam and Lucky were already hopping out of the car and headed toward the back gate. Under Rachael and Noel’s tutelage, they set up two of Rachael’s field instruments - a high-speed camera station and a small portable weather monitoring station - and fixed them into the ground with spikes. “Not any good if you can’t find your data-gathering instruments,” Rachael laughed. “Learned that one the hard way early on.”

“Before she met me,” Noel added, and she rolled her eyes. “First chase with me and I asked her ‘so you just let the tornadoes take your high-speed cameras every time?’ and she stared at me like I had three eyeballs all of a sudden.”

“I only ever lost one to a direct hit,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and then, suddenly, wrapping them around herself more tightly. A cold breeze, no, a cold gust blew toward them, kicking up the dust and tossing it into their eyes. “Yep, there’s the gust. In the car, guys, unless you want to experience hail first-hand.”

Two minutes later, and Adam found himself wincing in solidarity with the truck as marble-sized hail hammered the roof and the windscreen. “We use special glass,” Noel shouted to them, over the noise. “It still breaks sometimes, but I have a guy that puts it in for us when we need it.” Lightning forked across the sky, and a blink later a crack of thunder split the air. Lucky jumped, right hand clenched on the door handle and left wrapped tight around his phone, forgotten. “You get that?”

“I don’t think it was a clear shot.” Rachael had her window rolled down as far as she could without letting in undue amounts of hailstones, her camera pointed out toward what had thus far been the most active part of the storm. “Working on it.”

“She can sell these shots,” Noel shouted. “Honestly, taking students and stuff is a good steady source of income, but sometimes the lightning shots are what makes a season for us.”

“No pressure or anything.” Rachael leaned back as the hail pinged off the side of the truck and into her neck. “I dunno, I think there’s too much hail and rain here.”

“You wanna move? We could run east and see if we could get ahead of it.”

She shook her head in response. “Nah, not today. Let’s wait for the worst to pass and then we’ll grab the instruments. The remote might’ve got something.” She didn’t look away from the storm, but she called, “How you two doing? You’re awfully quiet.”

“This is wicked,” Adam said loudly, over the hail, wide-eyed and watching the storm surge around the truck. It almost looked like snow on the road, the hail was falling so heavy and fast. Lucky, still glancing at the lightning shooting through the sky above, had recovered from the shock of the thunder enough to bring his phone up and start taking video. Adam, prompted by that, pulled his own phone out and started recording. “Marble-sized hail,” he explained to the video. “Just outside of Sturgis, Oklahoma.” He’d have to send it to the group when he got back on wi-fi, he resolved, before he stopped the recording and tucked his phone back into his pocket. Definitely the whole extended family of The Them - the core four and the rest of the Nahpocalypse crew - and his sister. He would decide whether or not his parents should see it later. 

-

When the message dinged onto Crowley’s phone late that night, he and Aziraphale studiously watched Adam’s video of the hail and the storm. “Well, he doesn’t sound afraid,” Aziraphale said. “That’s good.”

“What’s he got to be afraid of?” Crowley reclined his seat and took his phone with him, swapping from the video to some game or another. “Hail wasn’t even that big. We’ve been through bigger storms than that.”

“Not while avoiding miracles,” Aziraphale replied, testily. He had not enjoyed the storm. Crowley hadn’t either, but only because the demon had spent the majority of the time threatening the 4-Runner that if it dared allow the windshield to crack, there would be absolutely horrific repercussions. Aziraphale had had to cut him off when he’d started getting into really descriptive methods of car torture. 

Crowley made a noise of vague disagreement. “There were loads of humans out in it. Weren’t even scared.”

“Because they don’t know better.”

“Or because there wasn’t anything to be worried about.”

Aziraphale relented, slightly. He sat back in his seat, watching the motel across the street with disinterest. The red truck in the parking lot shone in the light. “And you didn’t sense anything evil about it?”

“Not in the slightest.” The music from the game paused. “Why? You get anything?”

Aziraphale frowned, and shook his head. “Not … exactly. But I’m uneasy about this whole thing, Crowley. Not just the weather, bad as that is, but … something feels wrong.” He crossed his legs. “I can’t put a name to it, exactly, but there’s just a strange feeling about all of this.”

“Yeah, two kids you like a lot are in a truck chasing tornadoes. Gives me a weird feeling too, angel.” He propped a foot on the steering wheel and crossed his other ankle over it. “S’called anxiety, not sure you’re familiar with it.”

“I’ve known you for 6000 years, of course I’m familiar with anxiety.”

“That was unfair.” Crowley sniffed, only theatrically offended, and the game resumed. “I have a condition.”

“Which I am familiar with, my dear demon. You’ve made my point.” He waved a hand. “Either way, that’s not the feeling I’m talking about. It’s … Well, it’s almost like we’re being watched. But I don’t sense any goodwill, and you said you’re not sensing any hatred or anger, so?” He made a vague gesture, and then settled his elbow on the windowsill, chin in his hand. “It’s a bit hard to describe.”

Crowley looked to him over the rims of his glasses. “You know, now that you brought it up, I’ve noticed it too. Just thought it was being out of England, though. Or a demon thing.” He shifted in his seat. “We’ll have to pay attention tomorrow.”

“Yes. Yes, quite.” He glanced sidelong at Crowley. “You don’t notice it now, though?”

“There’s a cow about 600 yards that way staring at the road,” Crowley said, pointing to the west. “Only thing watching us around.” Aziraphale hummed a noise of agreement, and settled back. “Do you ever get bored of your games?” he asked, at length, gingerly sliding the seat back and propping his feet on the dashboard. The 4-Runner’s engine purred and the fuel gauge needle, which had been on ‘E’ since early that morning, fluttered. Crowley glared at the radio. “Don’t you start that. Bad enough the Bentley loves him.”

“Jealous?”

“Possibly slightly.” Crowley tapped the phone screen a few times, and then groaned. “‘Course I get bored of this stuff. But, you know.” He let his head fall back. “Can’t read, didn’t pick an audiobook yet, and I’m not interested in the thing you’re reading right now, sorry.” He unpaused the game. “I’ve got a few podcasts but, eh, you probably wouldn’t like them. Suppose I could get out some headphones,” he considered, after a moment. 

“What’s a podcast?” Aziraphale asked, hands folded on his stomach.

Crowley looked at him, eyebrows raised, although he wasn’t sure why he was surprised. Aziraphale had yet to even get a mobile, and his technological comfort zone didn’t go much past 1945. “Like a … ah, like a radio show? Can be about anything. Educational, entertaining, unsolved mysteries, ah … interviews …”

The angel looked intrigued. “Like a radio play, you said?”

“Some of ‘em, yeah.”

“Let’s try it.”

The game paused again. “Really, Aziraphale? Go on, I know you’d rather read your … what’s it called? Mainlander? The one with the time travel lady, right?”

“Outlander, yes.”

“Right. You can read your book, I’ll put headphones on if I feel like listening -”

Aziraphale pouted. “But I’d like to listen to one.”

The demon looked dubious of this assertion. “Really? You’re serious?”

“You like them, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then pick one you’d think I’ll like and we’ll listen together.” Crowley looked shocked. Aziraphale sighed, and reached across the center console, hand outstretched. Comfortably, Crowley slid his into it. “You listened to me read an entire Outlander book, even though you hated it -”

“I didn’t hate -”

“Let’s try a podcast, Crowley.” He squeezed the demon’s hand. “You like the funny ones, I’m sure.”

Crowley watched him for a minute, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, and then cautiously, closed his game and flipped to a different app. “If you’re sure.” He chewed his lip. “And, uh, yeah. I prefer the funny ones.” He considered the options, squinting at the enlarged print on the screen over the tops of his glasses. “Right. What’re you in the mood for? Murder, dungeons and dragons, advice, ah … no, that’s technology, you wouldn’t like that one, ah, oh, and history.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows had gone up when Crowley had started listing the options. “I thought you said you preferred the funny ones.”

“I did do, yeah.”

“Murder?”

“It’s a comedy murder podcast.” Crowley caught a glimpse of his expression, and snorted. “It works but we can skip that.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Hm. What kind of history?”

“American, mostly.”

“Do that one.”

“Right.” He tapped something on the screen, and then handed the phone to Aziraphale. “Pick a title that looks interesting. Just tap on it when you want it, and then tap the little triangle in the bottom left.” There were a few quiet minutes while the angel browsed, and then he grinned. “Do you have any idea what ‘whalesplosion’ might be about?”

“At a guess,” Crowley sighed, “an exploding whale?”

“I suppose we’ll find out. I wonder how it relates to American history.”

“Never paid as much attention to America,” Crowley agreed, adjusting himself in the seat to hold Aziraphale’s hand more comfortably, while the other laboriously hit ‘play’ on the podcast. The 4-Runner, which had never linked its bluetooth capabilities with Crowley’s phone, and indeed hadn’t really wanted to, nevertheless did so, projecting ‘You’re listening to the Dollop on -’ over the top-of-the-line speakers* with beautiful crystal clarity.

[*Which it hadn’t had, until Crowley had sat in it.]

Twenty minutes later, and Aziraphale and Crowley both were laughing, exchanging incredulous looks, and wordlessly agreeing that they really should be paying more attention to America. And that they would certainly be choosing a second episode at the conclusion of the first one.

-

Now with Chapter 7!

[changji]

Wow you really went off the other day but at least it was worth it 😪 I normally look at the scenery when I’m on a road trip, but then I get bored of it and decide to sleep bc there’s nothing else to do. Motion sickness must suck :(( do you take gravol or something to help with it? Coffee literally drains the life out of my funds it hurts me

Yes omg pls make me cookies I love them. Maybe you can even open a bakery with pastries and sell some good /cheap/ coffee. Ilyt my dear baker 🥺 ye I’m not the biggest fan of my bday either but gotta celebrate anyway!! One year closer to death woohoo 🎉🎉 your birthday is the most important day of the year!!! You can’t fight me on this I’m right

Pearls are so good. Like most places I go to don’t add anything to the pearls so it’s just bland squishy balls but the place I frequent adds I think honey to sweeten them. It gives the pearls life istg. It tastes so good 🤤 hollering is a funny word. For some reason I always associate it with yodelling which makes me laugh

Ksks you must be op if you can make a joke in the wall with a door slam. I can’t relate my arms are literally sticks and I have no strength in me. Chrome books are terrible in general. Add my schools terrible wifi and you get one big recipe for disaster. I’d never fight u either (unless it’s for your bday) ily too much for that 🥺🥺🥺

Hahah I think it’s me. I haven’t heard anyone say “go ham” except for the people who go to my school. I find it really funny tho so I try to incorporate it whenever I can LOL easily burnt? Can’t relate but apparently I easily tan. There’s this one diagonal stripe on my shoulder that separates pale me and tan me which ??? How did that happen and what was I wearing for that to happen??

It’s all fun and games until you go outside and see a mountain of snow waiting for you to be shovelled. But there are some good aspects to winter, like skating and skiing and all that fun stuff. Snow is so heavy?? Or maybe I’m just weak but after I finish shovelling I’m beat. Gardening is not my thing. There’s too many bugs involved flying around 🥴

Kind of? I always thought it was short for cappuccino but I could be wrong. They don’t taste like fraps tho, they’re sm better. I was always a frap hoe until I discovered lattes. My old elementary school was close to a Starbucks so whenever frappy hour was happening, my friends and I would go almost every day LOL

I heard that dunkin coffee is really good. Oof there’s so many things that the us have that Canada doesn’t. But apparently you guys don’t have ketchup chips?? How can one live without them? You know that’s what soulmates are, we’re stuck together forever and I don’t mind that. I’d never leave you 😌😌

YES OMG LATTES ARE SO EXPENSIVE. I pay around the same amount and my wallet cries every time. If you ever yeet yourself off a bridge I’d come visit u in hell and bring u iced coffee 💖 we really are soulmates wtf I get almond milk in my lattes as well!! I used to get normal milk and was like “I’m a bad bitch milk can’t hurt me” but that didn’t really work out. Sigh what we do for coffee 😔

Washing dishes is disgusting. I hate doing them but yk someone’s gotta do it and that someone is me 😤 I’m acc lazy when it comes to smoothies, I usually ask my mom to make them LMAO. Pancakes are pretty much made of flour if you think about it so technically when u eat one plain ur eating cooked flour,, how barbaric. Waffles are Built. Like. They have a 20 pack 😪😪

I love angst personally so pls go ham but not too ham I’d like to keep my heart. Honestly at this point my last brain cell has given up on me. But yes I love angst and I love torturing myself with heart wrenching angst that leaves me crying into my pillow at 3am (I’m talking about this one haikyuu fic that I forgot the name of. I was literally dying inside jalsjwo)

Pls do send me peet’s I’ll send you an iced capp in a cooler so it’ll be somewhat melted and probably spilt everywhere 🤪 tumblrs probably gonna block me again, I’m looking at how much I’ve typed rn and it’s a lot lmaoo. Yes I managed to save myself. I redid the whole last with less detail bc I was not Having It but it turned out better?? How is ur drawing now?

I start after labour day in September. But starting in 3 weeks?????? On a Thursday?? I could never wtf. When do you end? I’m so confused with these ap and honours thing, like there’s none offered in my school nor majority of the school district. Are they just advanced classes or something? It is 7 classes a semester or the whole year?

Stan talent i think you meant yourself??? Jsjsksk I am not only ur coffee soulmate I’m not #1 fan as well and I support u bc ily 🥺🥺 the read more tag had me laughing for a hot minute. Like we really could make an essay out of all of our replies. I don’t have any pets (besides fish does that count?) unfortunately bc my moms allergic to fur 🥺 hbu?? (I can’t believe tumblr blocked me again they can fight me)

-

i didn’t even pay LOL i freeloaded off my cousin 🤧 i like to look @ scenery sometimes but like i can’t bc my head hurts LOL and the scenery is always the same for me, mountains and fields with cows. i try to take dramamine but it makes me so drowsy that i’m just basically dead,,, i live off of my cousins money so i’m okay 🤪

tbh i use nestle toll house pre made cookie dough, like that shit actually slaps. it’s the best it’s so good omg, perfect for lazy hoes 🤧 death here we go ! the order is ur bday, then skz debut date, and then christmas i don’t make the rules sorry sis 😤

pearls are Dangerous, i once drank a smoothie and there were pearls in it and i couldn’t see them bc there were like. only 3 and they were Buried under the smoothie but i choked and almost died but i chewed one of them and it’s like. so weird. HOLLERING AND YODELING IM- i once went to some public yodeling class and left in 2 seconds bc it was a bunch of white boys dressed like the kid from walmart 😪

it’s not even strength i’m actually rly weak,, i always think the doors are closed but they’re not and so i like slam them open and the walls are thin so it’s just. a sad hole. terrible wifi,, my school has pretty good wifi tbh but we have like three connections, one for the chrome books only, one for the teachers & staff, and one for students and guests. like it works rly good but everyone has a VPN bc of stupid social media restrictions 😤 & ilyt 🥺 u would probably win in a fight tho LOL

go ham is so interesting. the first time i heard it i thought it meant go pig and i was so confused but ig,,, i live lathered in sun screen whenever i go somewhere with the sun. ppl are like “i smell sun screen” and im just there like 🙃 it’s me u got a problem u burnt chicken nugget ??? i wish i tanned easily, i have a tan friend and when i showed her when my legs got tan she was so confused. i thought i was tan tho? bc during marching band season my sock tan becomes So Bad i’m basically white. she said she was blinded when she saw me pull my sock down and i laughed so hard LOL & i hate those dumb random tan lines like. where u @ bro? where u come from??

snow is fun for like a day and then i get tired LOL i csn only handle wet socks and a red nose for so long 😔 i tried skiing one time and i did so bad that the instructor had to hold me down and walk with me down the slope. i fell so many times i think he hated me 😳 i’m also rly bad at skating? i went w my friends once and i held both of their hands and still managed to bring both of them down when i fell. a cute guy once helped me when i was struggling to walk so 🥴 not my brightest moment tbh,, trying to walk in skates while on ice. do u enjoy skiing/skating? also gardening is. gross. worms and dirt and the sun i’m not here for it.

u: cappuccinos! me: ...ice bergs,,, now that i think about it fraps kinda suck,,, i used to think i was So Cool for drinking starbucks but now i’m like. wow. i used to think there was coffee in a frap but it’s just. sugar and ice LOL also speaking of tmrw is bogo fraps here,, idk if it’s all over the world but myb u should check it out 😪

dunkins okay it depends on what you get, i once got an iced latte and it was good but my dad got an iced coffee and he like. hated it so we had to switch and it was so bad like. it was coffee crime. it was horrible and not strong it was basically milk 😤 also,, ketchup chip? i just googled what that was and. that’s literally so weird. fun fact i hate ketchup and all other condiments i can only eat bbq sauce and i tolerate steak sauce

UR LITERALLY SO CUTE OKAY UR MINE NOW HHHH

i mentioned this in the other ask but. we going broke bitches club 😪 when u come visit me it’ll be old town road the one w mason ramsey on a loop. nothing will top the og remix but no, i’ll be stuck listening to some 5 year old rap for all of eternity

I USED TO BE SUCH A GOOD KID AND DRINK MILK EVERY MORNING ever since i got to middle school i preferred sleep over waffles and milk and i hardly drink milk but when i do. my stomach does not have it.

my mom made me wash dishes today and she just stared at me when i put ziploc bags on my hands bc we didn’t have gloves but i just painted my nails and i’m not abt to put myself thru chipped nails. not yet 😤 waffles are so good like i love waffles and lattes only 🤧

well i’ll go very ham (am i doing it right LOL) 😤 the angst ending is a lot better than the open ended or happy ones LOL i’m so excited for it 🥺 i’m rly tryna get it out before the end of this month bc the edit says july and it’ll make me Mad if i don’t get it out before the end of this month

i wanna start in september 🤧 and i usually end in the first week of june. also on a wednesday LOL it’s gross. stupid. ap means advanced placement so it’s just. a college level class. lowkey mad bc i’m taking ap euro (as a sophomore 😒) and other schools take it in their senior years? apparently this is normal? and honors are just faster paced classes with more weighting so,, idrk oops 😬 some people take 7 classes in a semester but i took it for the whole year! this year i’m dropping orchestra i’m Not for that spit in the carpet life

the only talent in this house goes by ada and jisung. i don’t make the rules. i’m ur #1 fan 🥺 as soon as u post anything i automatically smash that rb button LOL also put a read more here bc like. we’re really out here writing a whole ass essay. i’ll look @ all our convos bet it’ll be like. a lot. i don’t wanna say smth and be off so i’ll just not. i have a dog! he’s the cutest in the world and i love him sm 🥺 tumblr can fight me first like. what’s this ask limit bull hhhhh

[bts-love-sweat-tears]

Julie’s Love Yourself Concert Diary

Concert Date: September 29, 2018

Written: September 30, 2018

Warnings: I curse more than I should?

Words: 3,330ish-added a few  things at the last minute (phew!)

A/N:

[Update: Tumblr couldn’t upload all my photos that I spent awhile choosing and placing, so I’m going to have to pare it down. Sorry bbs! I opted to cut my personal & merch photos in favor of the boys]

So I have one thousand and one things I should be working on-for school, for work, for my eventual job hunt. But instead I am going to write about last night’s experience while it was still fresh in my mind. I was thinking of doing a song-by-song play-by-play, but you can look up the setlist on Wikipedia, so instead I am going to talk about the things that jumped out at me. WARNING: This is essentially one giant spoiler, so I will try to put a “Read More” cut, though it’s been being weird for me lately. So scroll carefully if you’re going to a later date and don’t want to know. All photos taken on my (now ancient) iPhone 6, so I tried to choose the best ones). Will edit as I see typos I made.

I’m a little nervous since I usually write fiction instead of sharing my personal experience. Anyway, full disclosure that this is just my perspective, and I’m (always) happy to discuss things (civilly) if you disagree with me.  <3  Photos and opinions are mine.- please don’t re-post anywhere else.

The Background/ Pulling a Namjoon and Leaving my Ticket at Home

Even though I was going to the Saturday show, I flew into LaGuardia using frequent flyer miles on Friday morning. I was staying with a friend in Queens, so I went straight to her apartment. I’m a grad student as most of you probably know at this point, so I spent most of Friday working on a paper that was due. I had two friends I met at last year’s concert going to the Friday concert, and they went for merch promptly at 9, but I had just arrived and had a deadline to meet for school.  Around 4:30PM, I decided that I was done for the day and opened Ticketmaster to print my ticket for the next day’s show. When I logged in, I saw the notice that the ticket had been mailed to me. I remembered having seen that when I bought the ticket in May, but in my defense I was jet-lagged and ill on that day. Furthermore, I moved to and from NYC in that time for a summer internship, and SO MUCH HAD HAPPENED. The tickets had been mailed while I was living here and I had never seen them, so somehow it slipped my mind. Obviously I lived too far away, but I didn’t know if I could express overnight them, but I think when I called Ticketmaster, the old ones were deactivated when the guy tried to send me the link.

Anyway, print at home was not an option, so I called Ticketmaster and in a panic explained my situation. They said it happened all the time and offered to send me a link. Luckily I kept the rep on the line, because it turned out that even they couldn’t email a link because of the anti-scalpers/fraud/whatever.

Then the rep said that I could show the credit card, but I had literally cut it up the week prior since the Vendor (e.g. the store that the card was through) had switched their card to a different bank (e.g. Visa to Mastercard), so I seemed shady af, even though I was telling the truth. He said as long as I had a login to a statement showing the transaction (I didn’t, since they had opted to close the account at an institutional level).  So I called my mom frantically, and luckily she is the hyper-organized type who keeps paper copies of everything and sent them to me. Seriously, Mom for the win!  I run to this print shop as it’s closing and print everything out.  I had the Ticketmaster receipt & order #, and two photo ID’s confirming my address. The guy said it should be fine, but I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. This was my one birthday gift and something I had been looking forward to for months. Anyway, my friend and I went out to a local bar near the Halsey (yes, the singer took her name from the station) stop on the L line, and I was super anti-social because I was so upset. I also burst a blood vessel in my eye  (it will heal, no worries) because of too much birthday partying the prior weekend, so I’m sure I was a (sour) sight to behold.

I slept poorly for obvious reasons, and left the apartment around 7AM, and arrived to Prudential center around 8:30ish. There were only a few people outside of will call, but the GA line was already wrapped around the building. I made small talk with people outside of the box office, and one woman told me she had gotten soundcheck both days. Seriously, what kind of karma do I need for that to happen to me? She and her friends had been camping out since Thursday, and they were SUPER organized: while she waited in line, one was at merch, and someone else was holding their GA site. I almost wondered if they were a fansite or something. ARMY are a truly organized bunch (except for me, clearly).

Anyway, after another half hour of pure anxiety, they opened up will call and I was panicking, but they were really helpful and gave me my ticket after I verified the order number, showed my id and confirmed some other personal data. I decided then and there that nothing else mattered and I was just happy to be there and be in.

Waiting in line/Logistics/Staff

I left the box office, and got into the GA line. It was probably around 9:15, and the line had already doubled-back on itself all the way around the building. The woman from earlier told me that her friend had got #1000 and was only 3 rows back, so I still had some hope. Basically, you line up to get your spot in line- though it’s kinda dumb that you have to line up twice, it makes security go faster and guarantees that there isn’t a huge surge/stronger people cutting  in line later.

I wore what I thought were my most comfortable shoes, but after standing on concrete for hours, I don’t think it makes a difference. People were so friendly though-  I never once felt awkward even though I was by myself. The same was true last year- the friends who had gone up for merch on Friday I met while in line at last years’ Wings concert. I chatted with people around me, drank the two bottles of water I had, and looked at my phone. Bring an umbrella for shade and sunscreen though-I didn’t and am rocking a nice farmers burn/tan today.  It wasn’t humid though, and it wasn’t raining, so it could have been so much worse.

Even though there were tons of people, everyone was well-behaved. I didn’t see any altercations, though as the day went on the staff seemed a bit overwhelmed with crowd control.  I didn’t see too many people selling unofficial merch like last year, though I did buy a few necklaces (Joon and Chim, ofc).

After 3.5 hours, I finally got my wristband. They told us to be back by 2pm to line up for real, as they were going to try to open the doors at 3 instead of 3:30 (didn’t end up happening).

Merch

I then ran to merch, but there wasn’t much left. The fans/pickets were selling out as I got in line, and people were basically yelling “NOOOOOOOO” everytime the staff put up a “SOLD OUT” sticker. I bought what I could that was left, including a bracelet, which I’m actually in love with, the eco-tote (super overpriced tbh, $50 for a canvas bag), but the shopper bags were gone and I needed something to carry the box and batteries V3 ARMY Bomb I bought. I had one from last year that I also forgot, but I think the new version was cool because they are synced up with the music so you can change colors and patterns along with everyone else. Overall, it’s EXPEN$$$$IVE, but if anyone’s worth it, it’s Bangtan.

Newark

I was getting super tired after this, so I kinda passed on the photo studio table, big poster, and UNICEF stuff. I tried to go to Starbucks, but even though it was the middle of the day, I didn’t feel that safe, even though it was like 11:45 in the middle of the day. I’m a 27 year old who’s lived in Latin America (which is generally stereotyped for violence), solo traveled around the world, and I’m from the Rust Belt (aka home of true urban decay), but that part of Newark sketched me the heck out. Probably it would have been fine, but I opted for caution, and went to a Dunkin Donuts and empanada place right around the corner. The timing was actually good since we had to get back pretty quickly to line back up.

The second line was where the staff struggled, telling people to back up and get in order, but it seemed like staff were doing different things. Plus, if they wanted people to back up, they should have created room at the back first, before telling the front to basically “back that ass up” on the people behind them.

GA vs. Seated

I can say this- if you are short, you probably want a seat. Or if you have any kind of knee, back, or joint problems- I stood for approximately 14 straight hours on concrete yesterday. I am just under 5”5” but I was probably one of the taller people in the crowd, so I had a pretty good view. Even though they asked people to not take videos or record, you WILL be looking through a sea of cell phones. I could see pretty well, but sometimes when they were on the main stage I had a hard time seeing around other people’s arms.

Last time I had P2 seated, and the view was wonderful. I went to the bathroom, charged my phone, and ate nachos (lol), so it was generally a more chill experience. I was still super close but up a little higher and could see absolutely everything. But last night I was SO close I could see Joon’s dimples irl, and got splashed by both Jungkook and J-Hope when they threw the water bottles.  Probably 100 people think this, but I’m also pretty sure Yoongi  (and maybeeee Jimin) saw me jumping and singing along like crazy since I was one of the taller people. At the very least, Yoongi keep looking in the general direction I was in. Ofc I looked gross af with my messed up eye and crazy hair, but what I loved about the concert is that I was 100% able to forget all the insecurities I carry around with me on a day to day basis and have an AMAZING time.

Of course the whole place is crazy high energy, but I feel like last night was INSANELY high. I’m not sure if it was the overall vibe or if that was the GA influencing my opinion.  It just depends on what kind of experience you want to have. Also, if you are claustrophobic, you should probably pass on GA. The guards kept forcing people to back up, at one point even coming in with a flashlight, and people would surge forward whenever a member came close. But someone said the night before was chill, so maybe it’s just luck of the draw.

The Show

The show was absolutely amazing. They opened with IDOL, which got people hyped from the get-go. Their dancing was ON POINT as always. People were chanting during the intro videos and chatting as it filled in, so it was a great vibe once again- just super happy feeling. The audio visual part was AMAZING, though I’m no pro, and I loved all of the concert outfits, especially Jimin’s super sparkly sweater. Lots of jumping, and lots of screams. I didn’t have earplugs and was fine, but if you’re sensitive to loud sounds I definitely recommend them. ISTG I remembered hearing a mashup of FIRE, but maybe not? Wikipedia seems to think not. But they played a few older ones too, which made me so soft and nostalgic.

More on the members during the concert

Kim Namjoon

Ok, this is so so so biased, let me start with that. If you’ve followed me for any amount of time, you know how much I love this man. Seeing him smiling and happy was amazing. And they had a professional translator for this concert, so I felt like Joon was able to relax a little and enjoy himself instead of worrying about translating for everyone else.  He is just as tall and proportional as everyone says he is.  Everyone talks about how soft he is these days (and I love it), but he has undeniable charisma when he raps. Plus him in sunglasses, ddaeng. Seeing him so close was akin to something spiritual for me (I SAW THE DIMPLES WITH MY OWN EYES), as were people shouting along with him to “Love.” At the end, he commented how we were all sharing the same air, and hearing him think the way (I know at least some of ) us think was so heartwarming.  

Also during some of the videos, there were some NOT AT ALL subtle Minjoon moments.  

Kim Seokjin

The crowd last night ADORED Jin and gave him all the attention he deserves to have all the time. People were chanting his name SO LOUDLY during instrumental breaks in Epiphany. His voice was phenomenal, particularly the high notes. it’s clear how hard he’s worked to make it sound so effortless.  I noticed that people weren’t moving as much during some of his notes and I can only think it’s because we were literally transfixed. It’s well established, but I don’t think this man has any bad angles. Even in the still pictures I took while dancing, he DOESN’T look awkward in any of them. #impossible.

Min Yoongi

Suga was clearly happy about something last night- he was SO cute and happy. Other ARMY on the train back to the city agreed with me. His rapping was fire (duh), but he was really smiley and took out his earpiece a number of times to hear us screaming. “Seesaw” starts with him laying on a couch and I can think of no better way to capture his true soul (lol). He was extra attentive to fans, and  I feel like what Tae mentioned in Burn the Stage, he was trying to memorize ARMY’s faces and live in the moment. I felt bad because there were clearly parts where he wanted us to sing along, but we couldn’t necessarily keep up with his tongue technology :P  But people definitely tried their best.  

Jung Hoseok

Idk what I can say here that’s new. J-Hope is one of the most charismatic members on the stage. And there’s something in the American air that turns him into Jay Hope. Seriously, he’s hard to move your eyes away from. “Just Dance” was the first solo track if I remember correctly and he did not disappoint. His glasses at the end were adorable, and one of the other members called him a “happy grandfather” or something like that.  Seriously, if you’re still sleeping on Hobi, we can’t be friends.  

Park Jimin

Jimin was ethereal as always, and the choreography for Serendipity was…..salacious, to say the least. Like if you thought the “Take Me Down” cover from last year’s Festa was too much, then idk what to tell you. Bring holy water or something. Despite  the free water that fans were providing to others (ARMY are seriously the best) there was a different kind of thirst occurring, if you smell what I’m stepping in. Jimin is pure charisma, like J-Hope. Obviously their styles are totally different, but when they move, you stop whatever you’re doing and watch. Again, I didn’t even see many ARMY bombs moving during Serendipity- I think we were too entranced. I personally thought that he killed his vocals and did great, but he seemed a little tired or like he was working hard at it. Jimin was also the one (at least that I saw from my angle) that got the closest to the fans, crouching down and leaning over the teleprompters/fans/lights/ whatever the black boxes were at the edge of the stage.

Similar to Tae and Yoongi, I saw him looking at fans A LOT during the show. He was exactly how he seems in V Lives and cameras, and I’m fairly certain I would spontaneously combust if I ever ran into him irl (even if I didn’t know who he was)- he just radiates warmth and friendliness. Seriously, if I believed in magic, I feel like he would be able to influence people’s emotions.

Kim Taehyung

So many fic writers have this ultra primal (for lack of a better word?) for Tae, but all I see is a cute sweetheart. Obviously I’ve never seen someone create as much tension with their own arm as he does during Singularity, but when he’s not dancing, I just got a super innocent, cutesy vibe from him. His voice was so smooth last night. I mean, I knew, but now I KNOW.  He actually was shooting hearts at one fan (how lucky they are), and pretended to fall down when they shot him back! They were further back in P2 as well so he really does work hard at paying attention to everyone. He actually called over another member (maybe Yoongi or Jimin? I was too busy trying to remember how to breathe, to see whatever he was seeing).

At the end he whipped a heart out of his beanie (how I pray to god someone got that moment on camera) a la Jin. He just seemed really comfortable in his own skin last night, and I was so grateful for it.  

Jeon Jungkook

I had a hard time seeing most of his Euphoria performance as it was relatively early on and people were taking a shit ton of videos. He also stayed mostly on the main stage, rather than come out to the extension area near where I was. His abs are just as great in person, and the screams were (as is to be expected), absolutely deafening. They’ve talked about it in shows, but his voice is  SO stable. Obviously they stopped at times and don’t use too much backing vocals, but it sounded EXACTLY how it does on the album. He threw something into the crowd  (I think a banner) at the end, and it FLEW so far-back to P2 or further. They’re not kidding when they talk about how strong he is.  

Final thoughts

At first, I was a little exhausted after my emotional trauma of the prior day, and from standing for so long but the minute it started I forgot everything else. I was salty when I couldn’t see that much bc of people recording (esp when they asked us not to), but I understand the specialness of the moment and wanting to have some tangible evidence that you were there. By the time the concert was over, I realized how special GA was, even if it’s more difficult logistically (since I went solo and didn’t have parents or friends to stand in). I still don’t know if it’s hit me that I was like 10 feet away from them, max. It reaffirmed how important they are to me. I didn’t write this to brag, but to hopefully share my perspective and let others live vicariously through my experience. If you want clarification or anything else, write to me!  

[easyfoodnetwork]

What If Nothing But Chain Restaurants Survive? 

Ruth just wanted to eat somewhere — anywhere — that wasn’t a chain

Their vibe had been great on the app, but for their first date, the girl suggested the Garden, and Ruth almost ghosted. It was the newest location, the one on York Boulevard that got spray-painted with anti-gentrification graffiti saying things like, “GO BACK 2 UR SUBURB” a couple weeks back; after cleaning it off, the Garden had made a big show of installing a community fridge. Honestly, Ruth wouldn’t have agreed to go if she couldn’t have walked there from her house. On a Saturday night, York was busy, the outdoor parklet tables overflowing at Torchy’s Tacos and Shake Shack and True Food Kitchen; people with laptops were still hunched in the Go Get ’Em Tiger, and tired-looking parents hauled growlers of beer from the Golden Road pub, maybe with a six-pack of Bud under their arm.

The Garden was the street’s newest addition, its glass exterior covered in long green vines, looking disconcertingly hip and inviting next to the local chain Thai Town, huddled in a former barbershop. The girl, Sierra, was waiting inside, perusing the menu projected on the wall in old-school Italian-joint cursive. She was shorter than Ruth had expected, and the ponytail peeking out from her trucker hat was bright pink. She greeted Ruth with a huge smile, and Ruth tried to act normal; meeting someone after messaging back and forth always felt so unbearable, even worse if they were actually cute. Sierra was cute. They bantered back and forth about whether the cauliflower parm would be good or a disaster, and agreed they could not not get mozzarella sticks. After ordering at the counter, they sat down and a runner immediately brought out a basket of warm breadsticks, the only reminder of the chain that had spawned the Garden.

The breadsticks were the best thing, soft and salty and comforting. Ruth’s cauliflower parm was soggy on the bottom, and Sierra’s vegan alfredo was like slurping nutritional yeast. Their messaging over the app had been playful and cheekily uninformative; now Sierra explained she was a storyboard artist on a kids cartoon about girl superheroes, airing on Prime. Ruth used to lead with her now-defunct Instagram ice cream business, or even her old restaurant in New York, the one that closed. But the endless grind of first dates had sanded down her pride, so she stuck to honesty: She was a corporate chef at Alexa’s.

“So we both work for Amazon,” Ruth said. “What are the odds?”

“Honestly, this isn’t the first time this happened on a date,” Sierra said. “Though you’re the first chef I’ve gone out with. And I brought you to a competitor!”

The Garden was not a competitor; Alexa’s did full table service, with good wines and produce pulled from the Whole Foods pipeline. Every dish was made by a person, at some point, from scratch. Ruth didn’t like how tightly she clung to this. “I appreciate Olive Garden’s way with breadsticks.”

“I was so pumped when this place opened in the neighborhood.”

“It’s not really my style?”

“Then on the next date, take me somewhere with better breadsticks.” She laughed, and Ruth decided she liked her.

Sierra came back to Ruth’s fixer-upper bungalow she’d run out of money to fixer-up, and they made out for a while. It was pleasantly awkward; neither quite knew why they liked the other yet, but what they stumbled onto was promising. Sierra said she’d be back for breakfast the next morning, a move Ruth honestly kind of appreciated because she’d worked a surprise double shift Friday and needed sleep. The next morning, Sierra let herself in with a bag of glossy chocolate Dunkin Donuts and sweet, milky coffee. Ruth asked if this was technically a second date, and Sierra slid her hands up Ruth’s loose T-shirt. The ice melted in the coffee by the time they got to it, but Ruth was glad for the doughnuts, even if they were a little stale.

Both she and Sierra worked 70-hour weeks — animating an empowering kids show was a real nightmare, it turned out — so they stole time together when they could. Mostly, they spent Sundays together, since Ruth was working Saturday nights again, the exact thing selling out was supposed to fix, but Alexa’s kept expanding and taking her chefs to open in Venice and Inglewood and Glassell Park and then she was stuck expediting again. Alexa’s was technically a New American restaurant, built around exclusive deals with farmers and Whole Foods’ zero-waste pledge (if a bunch of bruised peaches went from Whole Foods to Alexa’s house jam, everybody except the cooks who had to scramble to make jam was happy). The menu was shaped by algorithms that analyzed purchases and searches, or that’s what corporate claimed; Ruth would never have put Huli Huli chicken and a brown butter pasta on the same menu, but she had dutifully developed the recipes and watched them sell out night after night.

They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering.

Ruth kept putting off taking Sierra out for old-school Italian all the way across town. Instead, on Sundays they’d spend most of the day in bed, ordering in Sweetgreen if they couldn’t remember the last time they had vegetables, or Domino’s if they didn’t need to feel virtuous (mostly, they didn’t). Occasionally, they’d walk down to York or head to Figueroa for brunch. At the Houston’s in a historic former hotel, they always split the spinach artichoke dip, and at the Taco Bell Cantina that opened in one of the many former Mexican restaurants that used to line the neighborhood, they drank shitty bright blue frozen cocktails under a local graffiti artist’s mural that was preserved alongside the Taco Bell logo. Ruth hadn’t gone out this much since moving to Los Angeles, and it felt gross, sometimes, eating nothing but chain food. They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering. But it’s not like there was very much else, not anymore.

Late one Sunday morning while Sierra was listing off the usual brunch and delivery options, Ruth tried to express this to her, but all that came out was, “The thing is all these places kind of suck?”

Sierra stared at her phone. “I will not let you slander Domino’s in bed.” One of the characters on her show was obsessed with greasy pizza, and she had personally designed the cheese pull.

“Don’t you miss eating at mom and pops?”

“Taco Bell and the Garden are mom and pops. They’re all franchises.”

“We should make actual memories together.”

“Sharing breadsticks at the Garden is a real memory!”

Ruth took out her phone and started scrolling through Instagram. She found the image of pork belly drenched in a glossy red sauce she’d been thinking of and showed it to Sierra, saying they should try something authentic. So they put on pants and drove to Alhambra and went to this new Hunan restaurant every food person Ruth followed on Instagram was hyping up. When they opened their menus, Sierra let out a snort and pointed to the cute illustrated map of the restaurant’s 50 locations across China.

After that, Ruth’s thrashing about chain restaurants became a thing, mostly a cute joke. Sierra regaled her friends about her obsessive chef girlfriend dragging her to an old-school burger stand literally surrounded by a luxury apartment building (Shake Shack was taking over the lease) and a 7/11 secretly serving Sri Lankan food and a backyard barbacoa set-up, all of them requiring at least an hour in traffic, maybe more. Ironically, this kind of restaurant tourism wasn’t a thing Ruth had had time for when she had her own restaurant, but now that she had gone corporate, sometimes there was such a thing as a slow week, so she could check out other people’s restaurants. Actually, Sierra would continue, the barbacoa stand they’d spent all Sunday seeking out had been glorious, but it was also so sad — the city had raided it the next week. The cooks at Alexa’s told Ruth the city was raiding street vendors all over the city, not just on commercial strips, now that the big chains were lobbying the city to clean up “unsafe” competition.

For Sierra’s birthday, Ruth surprised her with tickets to a secret pop-up supper club high up in Montecito Heights, hosted on a terraced patio overlooking the hazy towers of downtown. It was run by two white, queer chefs, an impossibly attractive tattooed couple, who were maybe 10 or 15 years younger than Ruth; in New York she would have known them, but out here she was so disconnected. There was a land acknowledgment and prompt to send money to a local mutual aid fund, and then 15 small courses of pepino melons over glass noodles, blistered purple okra with popped buckwheat, and hot-smoked salmon collars with a yuzu-miso glaze, broken up by two “palate cleanser” courses: a Spam sando and tiny Magnum ice cream bars. The food wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was seasonal and playful, and Ruth had only a few quibbles over technique: The house sourdough was overproofed, and the popped buckwheat did nothing for the okra.

“So what’d you think?” Ruth said on the ride home.

“Great view,” Sierra said. “That whole house was insane.”

“I really loved the corn pudding, but I’m not so sure about that buckwheat on okra.”

“There were a lot of really pretentious courses, and then, like, tiny ice cream? I wish there’d been more stuff like the bread and butter.”

“Oh, I thought it was overproofed,” Ruth said, but Sierra wasn’t even listening.

“Maybe you’d hate your job less if you did pop-ups like this, too,” Sierra said.

“Who says I hate my job?”

“Ruth, you work for the biggest corporation in the world and you hate chain food.”

“I hate chains because they swept in and took up everyone’s leases after COVID and now no one can open a restaurant.”

“I guess this means you don’t want to go to McDonald’s right now.”

“Why don’t we try to find a taco truck?” But even along Figueroa, which used to be lined with trucks, their bright signs scrolling BIRRIA MULITAS ASADA in the night, no one was out. The Garden was still open, though; Ruth sat in the car as Sierra ran in to get breadsticks.

That week at work, Ruth’s job was to find a use for this new buttermilk the company had sourced. It was genuinely fermented buttermilk, and good quality; it was perfect for biscuits, and if she could find a recipe that worked at scale, Alexa’s could change this dairy farmer’s life. By the end of the week, she had a biscuit she thought worked, and she gave it to the pastry cooks to test for the next night’s service. She even texted Sierra to tell her to swing by early for dinner, the first time she’d invited her to work. Ruth grifted some company time making a fresh batch of the biscuits herself to bring down for Sierra; when she got to the kitchen, she saw the cooks unwrapping a huge frozen pallet of premade biscuits to lob in the oven, next to the batch the pastry cooks had left to rise.

“What the hell is this?”

“We’re A/B testing, apparently,” Alonzo, the new chef, said with a roll of his eyes. “Kyle said these really taste homemade.”

Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself.

Kyle was the efficiency officer sent down from Seattle to oversee what he called Alexa’s “workflow.” He’d already been asking a lot of questions about why there were pastry chefs working here when most desserts could be bought frozen, as if the whole point of Alexa’s hadn’t been to offer a premium restaurant experience.

Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself. Sierra was sitting at the wine bar drinking ginger ale; Ruth tried not to watch her too intently as she munched on first the packaged biscuit, and then Ruth’s.

“Which do you like better?” Ruth said.

“Is this a test?”

“Either you can tell me or let the cameras assessing your expressions take a guess.”

“Wait, are you serious?”

“The cameras are a staff rumor.” But they all wore fitness trackers that monitored the tone of their voices as they spoke to each other and to guests, and produced a rating on “harmony” and “service” at the end of shift. No one shouted in the kitchen. But the servers had learned that only the most obsequious tone of voice got them good customer interaction ratings.

Sierra broke off a piece of both biscuits and chewed thoughtfully. “To be honest, I wish you guys had breadsticks.” She said it with a little flirty smile, trying to deploy it as an inside joke.

“Clearly biscuits aren’t worth the trouble,” Ruth said, and took the basket back.

“So this was a test.”

“One of these is a recipe I’ve spent all week on, from a batch I made myself, for you. The other came frozen out of a box. If my own girlfriend can’t tell that my version is better, then there’s probably not much hope for me here.”

“Babe, I don’t even like biscuits that much —”

“When you get your check, be sure to leave your feedback about breadsticks.”

Sierra asked her to sit down; Ruth made excuses about having to work back in the kitchen, and then hid, taking up space and messing up people’s flow. Kyle would not have approved; the step tracker was probably wondering who was standing stock still during a busy service. At one point, she tried scrolling Instagram to distract herself, and there was a message from one of the pop-up chefs, asking if Ruth could get them a job at Alexa’s until they finished rounding up all their investors, you know? They were sure they’d find a space soon.

“You’ve never cooked for me before,” Sierra said on the car ride home. “Maybe if I’d had your cooking, I would have recognized it.”

“You don’t seem to care much about food, so I don’t see the point.”

“What the fuck, Ruth. I care about you.”

“I mean, the cooking doesn’t make me who I am, right? We used to have to remind each other of that all the time. That we’re more than a job.”

“I work for this huge company and make something I care about. Why can’t you try to too?”

They had the conversation they always had, about how Ruth should start a secret pop-up, and Sierra would do all the branding and promotion, and then she’d get rich investors and live her dream again. The next week, Ruth got her pay docked for rudeness, probably from when she’d snapped at Sierra about the biscuits. On Sunday, they went out to the Garden, and Ruth ate breadsticks until her mouth tasted of nothing but salt.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/34UCH3U https://ift.tt/3bkKdpY

Ruth just wanted to eat somewhere — anywhere — that wasn’t a chain

Their vibe had been great on the app, but for their first date, the girl suggested the Garden, and Ruth almost ghosted. It was the newest location, the one on York Boulevard that got spray-painted with anti-gentrification graffiti saying things like, “GO BACK 2 UR SUBURB” a couple weeks back; after cleaning it off, the Garden had made a big show of installing a community fridge. Honestly, Ruth wouldn’t have agreed to go if she couldn’t have walked there from her house. On a Saturday night, York was busy, the outdoor parklet tables overflowing at Torchy’s Tacos and Shake Shack and True Food Kitchen; people with laptops were still hunched in the Go Get ’Em Tiger, and tired-looking parents hauled growlers of beer from the Golden Road pub, maybe with a six-pack of Bud under their arm.

The Garden was the street’s newest addition, its glass exterior covered in long green vines, looking disconcertingly hip and inviting next to the local chain Thai Town, huddled in a former barbershop. The girl, Sierra, was waiting inside, perusing the menu projected on the wall in old-school Italian-joint cursive. She was shorter than Ruth had expected, and the ponytail peeking out from her trucker hat was bright pink. She greeted Ruth with a huge smile, and Ruth tried to act normal; meeting someone after messaging back and forth always felt so unbearable, even worse if they were actually cute. Sierra was cute. They bantered back and forth about whether the cauliflower parm would be good or a disaster, and agreed they could not not get mozzarella sticks. After ordering at the counter, they sat down and a runner immediately brought out a basket of warm breadsticks, the only reminder of the chain that had spawned the Garden.

The breadsticks were the best thing, soft and salty and comforting. Ruth’s cauliflower parm was soggy on the bottom, and Sierra’s vegan alfredo was like slurping nutritional yeast. Their messaging over the app had been playful and cheekily uninformative; now Sierra explained she was a storyboard artist on a kids cartoon about girl superheroes, airing on Prime. Ruth used to lead with her now-defunct Instagram ice cream business, or even her old restaurant in New York, the one that closed. But the endless grind of first dates had sanded down her pride, so she stuck to honesty: She was a corporate chef at Alexa’s.

“So we both work for Amazon,” Ruth said. “What are the odds?”

“Honestly, this isn’t the first time this happened on a date,” Sierra said. “Though you’re the first chef I’ve gone out with. And I brought you to a competitor!”

The Garden was not a competitor; Alexa’s did full table service, with good wines and produce pulled from the Whole Foods pipeline. Every dish was made by a person, at some point, from scratch. Ruth didn’t like how tightly she clung to this. “I appreciate Olive Garden’s way with breadsticks.”

“I was so pumped when this place opened in the neighborhood.”

“It’s not really my style?”

“Then on the next date, take me somewhere with better breadsticks.” She laughed, and Ruth decided she liked her.

Sierra came back to Ruth’s fixer-upper bungalow she’d run out of money to fixer-up, and they made out for a while. It was pleasantly awkward; neither quite knew why they liked the other yet, but what they stumbled onto was promising. Sierra said she’d be back for breakfast the next morning, a move Ruth honestly kind of appreciated because she’d worked a surprise double shift Friday and needed sleep. The next morning, Sierra let herself in with a bag of glossy chocolate Dunkin Donuts and sweet, milky coffee. Ruth asked if this was technically a second date, and Sierra slid her hands up Ruth’s loose T-shirt. The ice melted in the coffee by the time they got to it, but Ruth was glad for the doughnuts, even if they were a little stale.

Both she and Sierra worked 70-hour weeks — animating an empowering kids show was a real nightmare, it turned out — so they stole time together when they could. Mostly, they spent Sundays together, since Ruth was working Saturday nights again, the exact thing selling out was supposed to fix, but Alexa’s kept expanding and taking her chefs to open in Venice and Inglewood and Glassell Park and then she was stuck expediting again. Alexa’s was technically a New American restaurant, built around exclusive deals with farmers and Whole Foods’ zero-waste pledge (if a bunch of bruised peaches went from Whole Foods to Alexa’s house jam, everybody except the cooks who had to scramble to make jam was happy). The menu was shaped by algorithms that analyzed purchases and searches, or that’s what corporate claimed; Ruth would never have put Huli Huli chicken and a brown butter pasta on the same menu, but she had dutifully developed the recipes and watched them sell out night after night.

They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering.

Ruth kept putting off taking Sierra out for old-school Italian all the way across town. Instead, on Sundays they’d spend most of the day in bed, ordering in Sweetgreen if they couldn’t remember the last time they had vegetables, or Domino’s if they didn’t need to feel virtuous (mostly, they didn’t). Occasionally, they’d walk down to York or head to Figueroa for brunch. At the Houston’s in a historic former hotel, they always split the spinach artichoke dip, and at the Taco Bell Cantina that opened in one of the many former Mexican restaurants that used to line the neighborhood, they drank shitty bright blue frozen cocktails under a local graffiti artist’s mural that was preserved alongside the Taco Bell logo. Ruth hadn’t gone out this much since moving to Los Angeles, and it felt gross, sometimes, eating nothing but chain food. They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering. But it’s not like there was very much else, not anymore.

Late one Sunday morning while Sierra was listing off the usual brunch and delivery options, Ruth tried to express this to her, but all that came out was, “The thing is all these places kind of suck?”

Sierra stared at her phone. “I will not let you slander Domino’s in bed.” One of the characters on her show was obsessed with greasy pizza, and she had personally designed the cheese pull.

“Don’t you miss eating at mom and pops?”

“Taco Bell and the Garden are mom and pops. They’re all franchises.”

“We should make actual memories together.”

“Sharing breadsticks at the Garden is a real memory!”

Ruth took out her phone and started scrolling through Instagram. She found the image of pork belly drenched in a glossy red sauce she’d been thinking of and showed it to Sierra, saying they should try something authentic. So they put on pants and drove to Alhambra and went to this new Hunan restaurant every food person Ruth followed on Instagram was hyping up. When they opened their menus, Sierra let out a snort and pointed to the cute illustrated map of the restaurant’s 50 locations across China.

After that, Ruth’s thrashing about chain restaurants became a thing, mostly a cute joke. Sierra regaled her friends about her obsessive chef girlfriend dragging her to an old-school burger stand literally surrounded by a luxury apartment building (Shake Shack was taking over the lease) and a 7/11 secretly serving Sri Lankan food and a backyard barbacoa set-up, all of them requiring at least an hour in traffic, maybe more. Ironically, this kind of restaurant tourism wasn’t a thing Ruth had had time for when she had her own restaurant, but now that she had gone corporate, sometimes there was such a thing as a slow week, so she could check out other people’s restaurants. Actually, Sierra would continue, the barbacoa stand they’d spent all Sunday seeking out had been glorious, but it was also so sad — the city had raided it the next week. The cooks at Alexa’s told Ruth the city was raiding street vendors all over the city, not just on commercial strips, now that the big chains were lobbying the city to clean up “unsafe” competition.

For Sierra’s birthday, Ruth surprised her with tickets to a secret pop-up supper club high up in Montecito Heights, hosted on a terraced patio overlooking the hazy towers of downtown. It was run by two white, queer chefs, an impossibly attractive tattooed couple, who were maybe 10 or 15 years younger than Ruth; in New York she would have known them, but out here she was so disconnected. There was a land acknowledgment and prompt to send money to a local mutual aid fund, and then 15 small courses of pepino melons over glass noodles, blistered purple okra with popped buckwheat, and hot-smoked salmon collars with a yuzu-miso glaze, broken up by two “palate cleanser” courses: a Spam sando and tiny Magnum ice cream bars. The food wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was seasonal and playful, and Ruth had only a few quibbles over technique: The house sourdough was overproofed, and the popped buckwheat did nothing for the okra.

“So what’d you think?” Ruth said on the ride home.

“Great view,” Sierra said. “That whole house was insane.”

“I really loved the corn pudding, but I’m not so sure about that buckwheat on okra.”

“There were a lot of really pretentious courses, and then, like, tiny ice cream? I wish there’d been more stuff like the bread and butter.”

“Oh, I thought it was overproofed,” Ruth said, but Sierra wasn’t even listening.

“Maybe you’d hate your job less if you did pop-ups like this, too,” Sierra said.

“Who says I hate my job?”

“Ruth, you work for the biggest corporation in the world and you hate chain food.”

“I hate chains because they swept in and took up everyone’s leases after COVID and now no one can open a restaurant.”

“I guess this means you don’t want to go to McDonald’s right now.”

“Why don’t we try to find a taco truck?” But even along Figueroa, which used to be lined with trucks, their bright signs scrolling BIRRIA MULITAS ASADA in the night, no one was out. The Garden was still open, though; Ruth sat in the car as Sierra ran in to get breadsticks.

That week at work, Ruth’s job was to find a use for this new buttermilk the company had sourced. It was genuinely fermented buttermilk, and good quality; it was perfect for biscuits, and if she could find a recipe that worked at scale, Alexa’s could change this dairy farmer’s life. By the end of the week, she had a biscuit she thought worked, and she gave it to the pastry cooks to test for the next night’s service. She even texted Sierra to tell her to swing by early for dinner, the first time she’d invited her to work. Ruth grifted some company time making a fresh batch of the biscuits herself to bring down for Sierra; when she got to the kitchen, she saw the cooks unwrapping a huge frozen pallet of premade biscuits to lob in the oven, next to the batch the pastry cooks had left to rise.

“What the hell is this?”

“We’re A/B testing, apparently,” Alonzo, the new chef, said with a roll of his eyes. “Kyle said these really taste homemade.”

Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself.

Kyle was the efficiency officer sent down from Seattle to oversee what he called Alexa’s “workflow.” He’d already been asking a lot of questions about why there were pastry chefs working here when most desserts could be bought frozen, as if the whole point of Alexa’s hadn’t been to offer a premium restaurant experience.

Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself. Sierra was sitting at the wine bar drinking ginger ale; Ruth tried not to watch her too intently as she munched on first the packaged biscuit, and then Ruth’s.

“Which do you like better?” Ruth said.

“Is this a test?”

“Either you can tell me or let the cameras assessing your expressions take a guess.”

“Wait, are you serious?”

“The cameras are a staff rumor.” But they all wore fitness trackers that monitored the tone of their voices as they spoke to each other and to guests, and produced a rating on “harmony” and “service” at the end of shift. No one shouted in the kitchen. But the servers had learned that only the most obsequious tone of voice got them good customer interaction ratings.

Sierra broke off a piece of both biscuits and chewed thoughtfully. “To be honest, I wish you guys had breadsticks.” She said it with a little flirty smile, trying to deploy it as an inside joke.

“Clearly biscuits aren’t worth the trouble,” Ruth said, and took the basket back.

“So this was a test.”

“One of these is a recipe I’ve spent all week on, from a batch I made myself, for you. The other came frozen out of a box. If my own girlfriend can’t tell that my version is better, then there’s probably not much hope for me here.”

“Babe, I don’t even like biscuits that much —”

“When you get your check, be sure to leave your feedback about breadsticks.”

Sierra asked her to sit down; Ruth made excuses about having to work back in the kitchen, and then hid, taking up space and messing up people’s flow. Kyle would not have approved; the step tracker was probably wondering who was standing stock still during a busy service. At one point, she tried scrolling Instagram to distract herself, and there was a message from one of the pop-up chefs, asking if Ruth could get them a job at Alexa’s until they finished rounding up all their investors, you know? They were sure they’d find a space soon.

“You’ve never cooked for me before,” Sierra said on the car ride home. “Maybe if I’d had your cooking, I would have recognized it.”

“You don’t seem to care much about food, so I don’t see the point.”

“What the fuck, Ruth. I care about you.”

“I mean, the cooking doesn’t make me who I am, right? We used to have to remind each other of that all the time. That we’re more than a job.”

“I work for this huge company and make something I care about. Why can’t you try to too?”

They had the conversation they always had, about how Ruth should start a secret pop-up, and Sierra would do all the branding and promotion, and then she’d get rich investors and live her dream again. The next week, Ruth got her pay docked for rudeness, probably from when she’d snapped at Sierra about the biscuits. On Sunday, they went out to the Garden, and Ruth ate breadsticks until her mouth tasted of nothing but salt.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/34UCH3U via Blogger https://ift.tt/3gPS2os

[lostborderline]

I am a melodramatic borderline with too much feeling and care for my own good. I am characterized by being extremely abnormal usually expressing myself through words or art (preferably realism or portraits), singing, and occasionally creating custom jean jacket patches to make myself look cool. Let me start my blog, or journal, if you will, with a bit about me to give you some insight. I mean, how can you imagine my life if you do not even know who I am? For starters, I am a strong advocate for mental illness awareness as I suffer from borderline myself mixed up with an assortment of others such as depression, anxiety, bipolar, and antisocial personality. I just turned 22, and I have been working in a Dunkin for four years so I have made some meaningful relationships with coworkers and customers although never close. My hobbies include writing freeverse poetry, short horror stories, skateboarding, playing video games (specifically Playstation), painting portraits, and singing + playing guitar. I have always been pretty creative in my life. I suppose all my pain fuels the passion for these creative outlets. My music does not vary a lot. I am very peculiar with music. I love any type of rock or pop music from the sixties, seventies/eighties punk music, classic rock or even boy bands such as the Backstreet Boys. My favorite bands being The Beatles, System of a Down, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Queen and Nirvana. I grew up on heavy metal, actually, like Mushroomhead or Mudvayne. My mom actually wanted to try heroin because “Kurt Cobain did heroin”, she was obsessed with him. That should tell you a lot about her. There’s nothing wrong with Cobain, just my mom is literally the epitome of mental health issues. When I was a preteen, I was constantly called a loser for saying no to taking drugs whenever she offered. I never needed drugs to feel like things were okay. I suppose I am a strong person. She was very depressed throughout my life. She’s even overdosed on stuff like oxycontin and Xanax in front of me, I constantly saw her being carried out in an ambulance, leaving me alone at home to cry about whether she was going to be okay or not. She never was a good mother. I feel bad for saying that, I think she really tried, she just had a shitty life and I happened to be an accident so she never really knew how to deal with her consequence. She was more of a best friend than a mother. There is nothing wrong with that, I mean she has always had my back except in times where she thought I was acting unloving towards her in which was not the case. She also has borderline. When I got arrested both times, our bond really played a role in me not getting incarcerated. She helped me make up lies to make the situation seem better than it was. In my defense, my arrests were caused by me standing up for myself. My mom had always dated really shitty guys. She was so desperate for love that she even turned to Indian guys for it, I’m talking, these guys also had a “special interest” in me too (gross). She allowed it, which was appalling. The height of her dating peaked when she married for the second time to a Satanist. Not even a true Satanist, like this guy actually worshipped the Devil, man. He was extremely abusive. He taught me to be very afraid of anger. I can recall him getting real close to my face and screaming in it, followed by taking a whole load of my toys I had and throwing it in the dumpster outside. If I had attempted to go and grab them, he threatened me. He also threatened to hang himself in front of my younger sister and me, not to mention, set my mom on fire. This whole thing went on for like four years. When I was a baby, my mom did not talk to me, like most parents did, so I lost weight. I never really cried either. Later on in life, my mom had a good job, so she constantly bought me Pokemon toys, anything related to that, it was my favorite. Then she lost her job. Enough about her, for now. In middle school, I was bullied for having purple hair, and dressing “goth”. It got to be enough to the point where I really became the bully. I started to go up to guys and start beating on them. I wanted to put fear into them, so I brought a knife to school and then I got expelled. I never regretted it, at all. It changed my life. I was never really bullied again, I actually made friends through fear. I enjoyed it. However, my depression still lingered, most likely from family, so I used to cut myself all over my left arm. I still have all the scars to this day. In high school I would sometimes accept my mom’s offers of ambien, Vicodin, and weed. My personal favorite was ambien, it made me see things, and everything was like you were drunk, walking into walls and such. The effect got to be too much during the trip and I would feel super nauseous and in a lot of pain so I forced myself to sleep. Vicodin made me feel like I was dying, literally. I could not tolerate it. I took ambien so much that it actually stopped working on me, and the only effect I had was feeling nauseous and in that same amount of pain. I knew that drug could really fuck you up too, but I did not care. I have always had impulses including cheating with multiple people. Maybe it has something to do with getting love or seeking a thrill, I think that's it. At one point I had two boyfriends at the same time and disgustingly, I was open about it. When I moved away in sophomore year and switched schools, I became attached to this one guy I met who, at first treated me and lead me on as if he actually liked me. He spent time talking about his previous love, although I did not know who she was at the time. We had sex and then the next day he said we should not talk at all anymore. The day before, he called me his “Snowflake”. I felt so used. The school found out, and the next thing I knew, his previous love bombarded me with messages calling me a whore and how she was still in love with him. I then had the reputation of a slut at school. He made me swear that I would deny ever having sex with him, it was our secret. I got so tired of keeping it to protect him, and I did not want the school to think I was a liar for attention. I had the texts between us, all the proof, so I posted it for the world to see. The day he threw me away I refused to go to school, I wanted to kill myself. My friends found out and called the school, in turn, the school called my mom and she threatened to take me to the mental hospital. I have had this happen to me a few times actually, being used. Not always sexual, either. I was dated at least twice to make their ex jealous, I was just a homecoming date, which was abandoned so he could go dance with his ex anyway. Surprise, the next day I was dumped. Starting to see a pattern here, right. I had this one guy who was always trying his hardest to fuck me but I always said no, I did not want to. His excuse for dumping me was that I refused to tell him who gave me a concussion, in order to protect my family, because my cousin did. That brings me to my cousin. When I moved, I became best friends with him. Also, surprise, he has borderline too. He would spend months at a time at my place, sleeping over. We would pull all nighters watching anime until we had to go to school. When he tried to kill himself, he was sent to a mental hospital, which left me alone. I had nobody to talk to, so I started to write a journal. It helped my anxiety so much. Whenever I had anxiety at school I would open it up and write. I also started to write poetry because of him. When he got out, he made me a bracelet symbolizing our bond. It was a bracelet with blue and red hearts with black beads. I must have cut it at least five times whenever we fought, and somehow I always managed to fix it. The final straw was when he gave me a concussion, I destroyed it permanently and lost the beads. I regret it every day. He was very protective of me, and whenever I dated. He knew I got used a lot. I have had people tell me they never loved me. At some point I started to notice there was something really wrong with me. I must have been traumatized somehow. I suddenly started to make it so my room was always pitch black during the day, I would sleep as much as I could, and I was actually emotionless. I could not feel any sort of emotion; love, attachment, happiness, sadness, any sort of care. It lasted for months. I started to only be awake at night from ten at night to six in the morning during the summer. I would not deal with reality at all. I was never on my personal Facebook, I was always on my role-play Facebook making “friends” with other accounts alike. I only watched anime and that’s literally it. There was absolutely no sense of reality, I never left the house, or dealt with problems. You could not have problems if you were always asleep, right? I was very cynical I realized. I hated people, everyone. Never wanted kids, hated them. I would have disturbing thoughts. Often including gore, or violence. They never really were a problem until later in life. When I moved during my junior year to a totally different state, I was so prejudice of the people around me. I am from the Northeast, and moving down south was entirely new. I had this very clear image of “redneck” painted within my mind, and it was not a good one. It was confederate flag city down there. I literally alienated every friendship I had. I constantly rejected this one guy who liked me and tried his best to win me over. I was very clear one how I did not want friends. Oh, and guess again, I dated a guy who dumped me right after homecoming, and completely mocked me for not wanting him to talk to me while he was under the influence. He also made fun of me for being depressed. I think I was more “myself” than I had ever been down there. I wore the weirdest outfits, I drew more than I ever have in my life, and wrote at least a thousand poems and stories. I focused solely on my schoolwork and was on high honors my entire senior year. I was so proud of myself. Fast forward to post-graduation. I was living with my boyfriend at the time, and my mom had her friend prank call me all the time. She constantly harassed me, I think she was angry that I moved out and started my life. I had to change my number, and to get back at her, I cussed her out and let everyone know how horrible she was. She let my sister do drugs at just over ten years old. Eventually, my sister got taken away from her because she was depressed and started cutting herself. Now, being in an entirely different relationship, I have accomplished so many things, and been through so much shit that is way worse than high school ever was. From being treated like shit at my job, to being in a toxic relationship that I still depend on, my borderline is worse than ever. I have gotten into really violent fights with my boyfriend that have resulted in a lot of blood, broken doors, broken walls, and broken hearts. I am really attached to him, and I could not imagine him being with anyone else. He is just so unsupportive of my mental health, and just does not understand it, despite saying he does just because he looked it up. Sometimes I wish he could go through what I have to. He thinks that you can just stop anxiety. Yeah. Besides still being in love, I also depend on him to be able to use his car to get around. It has progressively gotten worse over the years. From loving each other very wholesomely and spending all our waking time together, to arguing all the time and him being out with his friends whenever possible. I’m trying my hardest. Sometimes I wish I could go back to when I could not feel. He comes off as kind of suspicious. He will talk to a girl or send money to a girl and blatantly lie about it and make me seem like I am the crazy one and turns it back on me. He made up multiple stories for one incident, and frankly that makes it not add up. I always end up crawling back to him trying to get him to express his love for me. He has hit me multiple times, and slammed my head against the bathroom floor, causing me to bite my bottom lip and blood started spewing everywhere. My lip did not heal back to normal. My borderline is worse than ever. I am extremely impulsive. My moods are extreme, and never moderate. It’s either I am feeling an extreme emotion, or I am feeling absolutely nothing and empty. Everything is black and white. I either hate somebody and can love them the next minute. It is either a good day or a bad day. Nothing is ever in between, ever. I also dissociate often. What it feels like to me when it is happening is that my mind will leave reality and become very fuzzy. My eyes will unfocus themselves and become blurry and I will be completely blank, as if I am nothing but a shell of a human. Sometimes it happens while driving and can be dangerous. I do realize when I am doing it and eventually try to shake it off.  I feel like I have written enough about my life story, and about me. I did not intend to make a long ass journal about my whole damn self, I wanted to make it short and sweet, but I suppose it is better this way and will give clear insight as to my back story and the reason why I am the way I am. I have literally been typing this for at least two hours now and I am so fucking tired, my eyes actually hurt and itch. I intended to get some game playing in before going to bed but it’s probably unlikely now as I have overstayed my welcome here.  Thank you to whoever took the time to listen to my sob story, and welcome to my journal, and future entries. I also intend to post daily random pictures to also document my life. I figure it would be super cool.  Yours,  Corey

[inhabitonline]

Inhabit: At Home with Patty Sheehan

Who are you? 

My name is Patty Sheehan, Commissioner Patty Sheehan. Although, I don’t insist on people using my title because I think there’s a lot more respect in a tone of voice than a title. I’m 56 years old. I live in Colonialtown with my little rescue dog, Sienna. I have four urban chickens and a cat named Nina Simone. Where are we currently and what is the importance of this space? Right now we are in my living room. This is my sanctuary. I collect a lot of local art. I’ve got lots of local artists from Tony Garren to Crawford to crazy boom art guy to Lee Vandergrift. To me it’s kind of like I remember where I was and how I met the artist. Usually it’s at a show and there’s a really cool experience that’s attached to it.

Patty is also an artist. She has an ongoing project called “Bad Kitty” which she began as a form of therapy after a bad breakup. I lost 3 quarters of my pets and a lot of my stuff. And the only thing that was left in the house when I got home was a few pieces of furniture and some canvases. And I missed my cat. So I started painting the cat as therapy, which is ridiculous. It was kind of my way to kind of reconnect with him and the crazy thing is that my friend Mindy Cowells saw the paintings. I was crying into my beer one night and I said “Look at my cat.” She said, “These are delightful. We’re gonna do a show.” I always thought I was gonna be an artist. But politics [and public service] is what I do for a living. But I still have this intense connection to artists and a lot of them are my friends. I just love that. I think that gives me a balance. I think that’s why I can handle what I do, because politics can be very mean. Especially now in the political climate we are in. And when Pulse happened, that’s the only way that I healed. I was taking a class at the time [you typically can’t talk in pottery classes] and my instructor said “You take yourself over in the corner and you do what you have to do, I understand.”

I had so much I had to do, but I still went to class because it was a way of connecting to who I was before it happened. They say part of post traumatic stress is it takes you out of who you were, into a bad place, and you have to continue to go back and reconnect with who you were. And that’s the really hard thing for all these Pulse families. They realize they are never going to be the way they were before. And neither will I. Neither is anyone who was affected in any way. 

This is the second time healing through art has been mentioned in one of the interviews in this column. One of the first people that we interviewed, his name was Doug. He’s a poet. He owned two schools where he taught people to be massage therapists and before that he was in the military. One thing he kept bringing up, that you also mentioned, was the aspect of healing through art and how the theme of healing kept coming up for him throughout his life’s different paths. So that’s cool to hear you say that. I think people think “Well you know, I’m gonna pick this course for me and this is gonna be my career and this is what I’m going to do.” But I think it’s really important to be able to adapt. I never was able to support myself through art. So I went into marketing and then I did that for a long time and I moved downtown and I got kind of ticked at my city commissioner for not being responsive and I decided to run. People say, “What are you going to do next?” You know what, bloom where you’re planted. I live in the same house I’ve lived in for 22 years. I love what I do and if I get an opportunity to do something else, fine. I don’t have this 5 year plan where I’ve got to be here [or there]. I think that we don’t do enough to try and perfect everything that we do. I see a lot of folks, especially younger people, and they’re like, “Well, you know, I want to get on this career path and I want to do this and that.”’ I’m like, “If you do every job that you’ve ever had with absolute perfection then you’re gonna be able to [get to where you want]. Don’t look at [any job] as being beneath you. I was a Dunkin Donut hostess. I worked at a plant nursery on hot tar paper all day long laying plants outside, but I was taught at a very young age to do every job to the best of your ability. You could be working at Mcdonald’s, make that best hamburger you can.

Patty and I went on to talk about the idea of success and what it means to our current society.

I could be much wealthier in terms of what most people would count as success. I could make a great deal more money doing anything. People have threatened me, “We’re gonna take your job away!” Well, you know, I could pretty much manage a store and make more money. That’s kind of a fail threat to me to be quite honest. I live simply. I think that most people think of material success as wealth. I’m reading Yvon Chouinard’s book. I don’t know who that is. He’s amazing. He’s the founder of Patagonia and his book is called Let My People Go Surfing and he talks about how he’s managed to make this multi-million dollar company out of living simply and he’s tried with everything he’s doing to interweave that through his life and practice. I don’t think you have to have a huge house to be successful. I see my colleagues sometimes; they’re so worried about losing their jobs that they won’t do the right thing. And you know what, I can do the right thing because I can do anything else and make a lot more money. I’m living within my means and that gives me a sense of autonomy and I’m proud of it.

Patty has spent years getting to know a group of people in a nearby public housing complex. She told me of visiting this neighborhood one year after Thanksgiving and delivering meals to people around the complex.   There was this one family that insisted we come in and they didn’t have much in their house. They had a small dining room table and minimal furniture. This lady had been living in public housing a long time and I knew her story and she had gotten off drugs and she was raising her kids and her kids were now teenagers and they were lovely young ladies. And she said, “I want you to see the wall.” They had put this piece of paper on the wall and she had her children write everything they were thankful for. Here’s people who are living in public housing and they barely have a stick of furniture to their name and they are the most happy people I know and they have this huge thing on their wall [declaring their thankfulness] and my name was on it. People are missing out so much on what life’s really about. And I think the happiest people are the most grateful people. And I can’t tell that story without crying. The people that were helping me pass out dinners probably thought I was completely insane, but you know, that wasn’t staged, she didn’t even know I was going to be coming with that dinner that day. We just knocked on her door and delivered it and it means alot to me that her children would think to say that. Were not grateful enough as people. We always think about what other things we want. It’s all about the next thing. “I’ll be happy if, I’ll be happy when I get this. I’ll be happy when this happens to me.” And I think it’s a false narrative. It’s how we make ourselves miserable and create hell on earth for ourselves. 

Its interesting because I have OCD-like tendencies, not things having to be organized, but things will just continue on repeat in my head over and over. Omg- this house must drive you crazy. 

See, that’s the thing, that doesn’t bother me. It’s literally, I did this thing bad or I’m stressed out with money and it keeps repeating over and over to the point where I can’t focus on anything around me. So I’ve started going to counseling and to go along with with what you were saying, I was asking the counselor, how do I break these modes of obsession and he said, “You should start writing all of the things you are thankful for when you’re starting to obsess and you should start doing random acts of kindness to get you out of your mind. Like if you’re in line at Starbucks, say something to the person behind you, pay for their coffee.” I think we really get caught up with ourselves and it’s amazing how much restoration can come to our selves and to those around us when we are constantly just approaching everything with thankfulness and humility. Yeah, well, part of my addiction was my inner critic and the amount of negative thinking I was doing. So I started doing some reading about that and one of the exercises I found was to make a note of every negative thing you say about yourself or other people. 

By addiction do you mean with alcohol? Alcohol, yeah. I quit drinking four and a half years ago.

So, when I started losing count [of all the negatives], I’m like “Wow, this is awful. I don’t want to live like that.” So instead, I got to, “Okay, I’m saying something negative, how can I turn that around? What am I grateful for and what can I do to make myself feel better instead of worse?” I think it was a vital part of my recovery–gratitude and not giving into all that self-critical thinking and negativity towards others. It’s a toxic suit. And that was a lesson I didn’t learn until I was in my 50’s and some people never learn. I kind of get down on myself. I’m like gosh, I wished had learned this stuff earlier, but bottom line is, you learn it when you’re ready. Life is a journey. We’re all at our places of learning and I’m glad I got there. I found a video from 2007 when I was researching for this interview and you looked completely different. I actually messaged our Chief Editor, and was like, what happened to Patty, she looks hot now!! Hahahahaha. He was like, “She stopped drinking,” and I was like, “Oh, alright. Makes sense!” A lot of people think that and it’s not just drinking. Drinking is a symptom. Everybody has different addictions. It’s because you haven’t dealt with whatever that hole is that you’re trying to fill that with addiction. And I had to deal with my own holes. I had to deal with whatever I was trying to fill. And sometimes peering in that old darkness in your own soul is not a happy time, but it’s necessary to get to the light. You have to know dark to know light. You have to know sorrow to know joy.

People were like, “You had work done!” I have not had plastic surgery! Are you kidding me?!?!? You think I look better because I had work done? I changed my diet. I exercise every day now, which I didn’t do. I don’t have a hangover every morning and I’ve made conscious choices to change my diet and to change a lot of things in my life. It’s all connected. And it’s spiritual. Some people believe in God. Some people don’t. I do. I needed to reconnect that. As a gay person, I thought that God had left me because religious people had left me. But I need to reconnect with that spiritual. I don’t believe God is this man on a cloud with thunderbolts, but I do believe God is in everything. I’m more in tune with the Unitarian kind of spirit, that God is in everything and that God is in everyone. I believe in that source of connection with good. I don’t believe in hell as a place. I don’t believe in heaven as a place. I believe we create it here and I believe in God as a spirit of good in all of us. 

At the Pulse vigil, I don’t know how it came up, but I think you were just talking about hatred within the church towards the LGBTQ community and you said that you considered yourself a Christian. I said I was coming out as a Christian, which is a funny thing to say. That is something I was curious about, because now as you were explaining it, it doesn’t entirely sound like that. I consider myself a Christian because I believe in the Christ-in-all-of-us type of thing. I’m not going to get too much in the weeds of my own personal belief. I think that evangelicals have hijacked Christianity to the point that it’s become almost an obsession with hurting people and judging people. You know, I’m a person who’s actually read the Bible, six times from cover to cover and there are thousands of scriptures about judgement and there’s only a few that call out behavior.

So, if you’re really gonna read it and you’re really saying that you’re following it, judgment is the thing that kind of gets you in trouble. So yeah, I am a Christian and I’m not afraid or ashamed of that. I was raised Catholic. There are many things that I’ve learned through religion that are really really good. And there are some things that I’ve experienced in religion that have been really awful, but I don’t think it’s either or. 

I guess it’s just difficult for me also because I was raised Christian and I still consider myself to be a Christian on most days. I was raised growing up being told, “Homosexuality is a sin” and it’s really difficult for me now as an adult to know people like you and people that I love and say “God doesn’t love them” or that I could even say “God doesn’t agree with them.” But I guess to say that you are a Christ follower, for me, that goes against what I was taught as a kid. Of course, I’ve read it myself. I’m just processing aloud here. I’ve read the man’s words and who did he hang out with? He hung out with hookers and fisherman, who were like the grossest people. He was a carpenter. Would any of the religious people who have built these mega churches be hanging out with Jesus if he was alive today? He’d probably drive a pickup truck, he’d be hanging out with people that they wouldn’t associate with. I think it would be fascinating to do a film with modern Jesus and see how everything would play out. On a lighter note to wrap it up- Politics and religion, my god. 

It’s my fault, I pushed us that direction. You mentioned a lot about paddle boarding, and having the chickens, what are the activities that you enjoy the most outside of art and your job? We’re going to go in the garden in a little bit. That’s my thing. I worked for the Department of Agriculture for 12 years. I worked for Cardinal Homes and we basically sold prefab housing by landscaping it beautifully before anybody else was doing landscaping at apartment complexes. So I’ve always had this connection to art and plants.

My chickens make compost and I make a pot of Bromeliads out of it. To me it’s just this cool connection of all the things that I’m interested in. When I go to another city I go to the farmers market. That’s how I found out about urban chickens. I was in Phoenix and they had this ‘Tour de coops’ and I thought, “That’s the coolest thing I ever heard of.” I started doing research on urban chickens and that was my ordinance. The thing that I think I bring to city council is I will find something I’m fascinated by, work with the planning department, and get an ordinance written. I don’t know of any other commissioners that have really worked on ordinances to get them passed. And that’s what I do, I love what I do. Patty will soon be exhibiting a fall edition of her ongoing series, “Bad Kitty”. Be sure to check it out at The District on September 29th.

[easyfoodnetwork]

Ruth just wanted to eat somewhere — anywhere — that wasn’t a chain Their vibe had been great on the app, but for their first date, the girl suggested the Garden, and Ruth almost ghosted. It was the newest location, the one on York Boulevard that got spray-painted with anti-gentrification graffiti saying things like, “GO BACK 2 UR SUBURB” a couple weeks back; after cleaning it off, the Garden had made a big show of installing a community fridge. Honestly, Ruth wouldn’t have agreed to go if she couldn’t have walked there from her house. On a Saturday night, York was busy, the outdoor parklet tables overflowing at Torchy’s Tacos and Shake Shack and True Food Kitchen; people with laptops were still hunched in the Go Get ’Em Tiger, and tired-looking parents hauled growlers of beer from the Golden Road pub, maybe with a six-pack of Bud under their arm. The Garden was the street’s newest addition, its glass exterior covered in long green vines, looking disconcertingly hip and inviting next to the local chain Thai Town, huddled in a former barbershop. The girl, Sierra, was waiting inside, perusing the menu projected on the wall in old-school Italian-joint cursive. She was shorter than Ruth had expected, and the ponytail peeking out from her trucker hat was bright pink. She greeted Ruth with a huge smile, and Ruth tried to act normal; meeting someone after messaging back and forth always felt so unbearable, even worse if they were actually cute. Sierra was cute. They bantered back and forth about whether the cauliflower parm would be good or a disaster, and agreed they could not not get mozzarella sticks. After ordering at the counter, they sat down and a runner immediately brought out a basket of warm breadsticks, the only reminder of the chain that had spawned the Garden. The breadsticks were the best thing, soft and salty and comforting. Ruth’s cauliflower parm was soggy on the bottom, and Sierra’s vegan alfredo was like slurping nutritional yeast. Their messaging over the app had been playful and cheekily uninformative; now Sierra explained she was a storyboard artist on a kids cartoon about girl superheroes, airing on Prime. Ruth used to lead with her now-defunct Instagram ice cream business, or even her old restaurant in New York, the one that closed. But the endless grind of first dates had sanded down her pride, so she stuck to honesty: She was a corporate chef at Alexa’s. “So we both work for Amazon,” Ruth said. “What are the odds?” “Honestly, this isn’t the first time this happened on a date,” Sierra said. “Though you’re the first chef I’ve gone out with. And I brought you to a competitor!” The Garden was not a competitor; Alexa’s did full table service, with good wines and produce pulled from the Whole Foods pipeline. Every dish was made by a person, at some point, from scratch. Ruth didn’t like how tightly she clung to this. “I appreciate Olive Garden’s way with breadsticks.” “I was so pumped when this place opened in the neighborhood.” “It’s not really my style?” “Then on the next date, take me somewhere with better breadsticks.” She laughed, and Ruth decided she liked her. Sierra came back to Ruth’s fixer-upper bungalow she’d run out of money to fixer-up, and they made out for a while. It was pleasantly awkward; neither quite knew why they liked the other yet, but what they stumbled onto was promising. Sierra said she’d be back for breakfast the next morning, a move Ruth honestly kind of appreciated because she’d worked a surprise double shift Friday and needed sleep. The next morning, Sierra let herself in with a bag of glossy chocolate Dunkin Donuts and sweet, milky coffee. Ruth asked if this was technically a second date, and Sierra slid her hands up Ruth’s loose T-shirt. The ice melted in the coffee by the time they got to it, but Ruth was glad for the doughnuts, even if they were a little stale. Both she and Sierra worked 70-hour weeks — animating an empowering kids show was a real nightmare, it turned out — so they stole time together when they could. Mostly, they spent Sundays together, since Ruth was working Saturday nights again, the exact thing selling out was supposed to fix, but Alexa’s kept expanding and taking her chefs to open in Venice and Inglewood and Glassell Park and then she was stuck expediting again. Alexa’s was technically a New American restaurant, built around exclusive deals with farmers and Whole Foods’ zero-waste pledge (if a bunch of bruised peaches went from Whole Foods to Alexa’s house jam, everybody except the cooks who had to scramble to make jam was happy). The menu was shaped by algorithms that analyzed purchases and searches, or that’s what corporate claimed; Ruth would never have put Huli Huli chicken and a brown butter pasta on the same menu, but she had dutifully developed the recipes and watched them sell out night after night. They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering. Ruth kept putting off taking Sierra out for old-school Italian all the way across town. Instead, on Sundays they’d spend most of the day in bed, ordering in Sweetgreen if they couldn’t remember the last time they had vegetables, or Domino’s if they didn’t need to feel virtuous (mostly, they didn’t). Occasionally, they’d walk down to York or head to Figueroa for brunch. At the Houston’s in a historic former hotel, they always split the spinach artichoke dip, and at the Taco Bell Cantina that opened in one of the many former Mexican restaurants that used to line the neighborhood, they drank shitty bright blue frozen cocktails under a local graffiti artist’s mural that was preserved alongside the Taco Bell logo. Ruth hadn’t gone out this much since moving to Los Angeles, and it felt gross, sometimes, eating nothing but chain food. They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering. But it’s not like there was very much else, not anymore. Late one Sunday morning while Sierra was listing off the usual brunch and delivery options, Ruth tried to express this to her, but all that came out was, “The thing is all these places kind of suck?” Sierra stared at her phone. “I will not let you slander Domino’s in bed.” One of the characters on her show was obsessed with greasy pizza, and she had personally designed the cheese pull. “Don’t you miss eating at mom and pops?” “Taco Bell and the Garden are mom and pops. They’re all franchises.” “We should make actual memories together.” “Sharing breadsticks at the Garden is a real memory!” Ruth took out her phone and started scrolling through Instagram. She found the image of pork belly drenched in a glossy red sauce she’d been thinking of and showed it to Sierra, saying they should try something authentic. So they put on pants and drove to Alhambra and went to this new Hunan restaurant every food person Ruth followed on Instagram was hyping up. When they opened their menus, Sierra let out a snort and pointed to the cute illustrated map of the restaurant’s 50 locations across China. After that, Ruth’s thrashing about chain restaurants became a thing, mostly a cute joke. Sierra regaled her friends about her obsessive chef girlfriend dragging her to an old-school burger stand literally surrounded by a luxury apartment building (Shake Shack was taking over the lease) and a 7/11 secretly serving Sri Lankan food and a backyard barbacoa set-up, all of them requiring at least an hour in traffic, maybe more. Ironically, this kind of restaurant tourism wasn’t a thing Ruth had had time for when she had her own restaurant, but now that she had gone corporate, sometimes there was such a thing as a slow week, so she could check out other people’s restaurants. Actually, Sierra would continue, the barbacoa stand they’d spent all Sunday seeking out had been glorious, but it was also so sad — the city had raided it the next week. The cooks at Alexa’s told Ruth the city was raiding street vendors all over the city, not just on commercial strips, now that the big chains were lobbying the city to clean up “unsafe” competition. For Sierra’s birthday, Ruth surprised her with tickets to a secret pop-up supper club high up in Montecito Heights, hosted on a terraced patio overlooking the hazy towers of downtown. It was run by two white, queer chefs, an impossibly attractive tattooed couple, who were maybe 10 or 15 years younger than Ruth; in New York she would have known them, but out here she was so disconnected. There was a land acknowledgment and prompt to send money to a local mutual aid fund, and then 15 small courses of pepino melons over glass noodles, blistered purple okra with popped buckwheat, and hot-smoked salmon collars with a yuzu-miso glaze, broken up by two “palate cleanser” courses: a Spam sando and tiny Magnum ice cream bars. The food wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was seasonal and playful, and Ruth had only a few quibbles over technique: The house sourdough was overproofed, and the popped buckwheat did nothing for the okra. “So what’d you think?” Ruth said on the ride home. “Great view,” Sierra said. “That whole house was insane.” “I really loved the corn pudding, but I’m not so sure about that buckwheat on okra.” “There were a lot of really pretentious courses, and then, like, tiny ice cream? I wish there’d been more stuff like the bread and butter.” “Oh, I thought it was overproofed,” Ruth said, but Sierra wasn’t even listening. “Maybe you’d hate your job less if you did pop-ups like this, too,” Sierra said. “Who says I hate my job?” “Ruth, you work for the biggest corporation in the world and you hate chain food.” “I hate chains because they swept in and took up everyone’s leases after COVID and now no one can open a restaurant.” “I guess this means you don’t want to go to McDonald’s right now.” “Why don’t we try to find a taco truck?” But even along Figueroa, which used to be lined with trucks, their bright signs scrolling BIRRIA MULITAS ASADA in the night, no one was out. The Garden was still open, though; Ruth sat in the car as Sierra ran in to get breadsticks. That week at work, Ruth’s job was to find a use for this new buttermilk the company had sourced. It was genuinely fermented buttermilk, and good quality; it was perfect for biscuits, and if she could find a recipe that worked at scale, Alexa’s could change this dairy farmer’s life. By the end of the week, she had a biscuit she thought worked, and she gave it to the pastry cooks to test for the next night’s service. She even texted Sierra to tell her to swing by early for dinner, the first time she’d invited her to work. Ruth grifted some company time making a fresh batch of the biscuits herself to bring down for Sierra; when she got to the kitchen, she saw the cooks unwrapping a huge frozen pallet of premade biscuits to lob in the oven, next to the batch the pastry cooks had left to rise. “What the hell is this?” “We’re A/B testing, apparently,” Alonzo, the new chef, said with a roll of his eyes. “Kyle said these really taste homemade.” Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself. Kyle was the efficiency officer sent down from Seattle to oversee what he called Alexa’s “workflow.” He’d already been asking a lot of questions about why there were pastry chefs working here when most desserts could be bought frozen, as if the whole point of Alexa’s hadn’t been to offer a premium restaurant experience. Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself. Sierra was sitting at the wine bar drinking ginger ale; Ruth tried not to watch her too intently as she munched on first the packaged biscuit, and then Ruth’s. “Which do you like better?” Ruth said. “Is this a test?” “Either you can tell me or let the cameras assessing your expressions take a guess.” “Wait, are you serious?” “The cameras are a staff rumor.” But they all wore fitness trackers that monitored the tone of their voices as they spoke to each other and to guests, and produced a rating on “harmony” and “service” at the end of shift. No one shouted in the kitchen. But the servers had learned that only the most obsequious tone of voice got them good customer interaction ratings. Sierra broke off a piece of both biscuits and chewed thoughtfully. “To be honest, I wish you guys had breadsticks.” She said it with a little flirty smile, trying to deploy it as an inside joke. “Clearly biscuits aren’t worth the trouble,” Ruth said, and took the basket back. “So this was a test.” “One of these is a recipe I’ve spent all week on, from a batch I made myself, for you. The other came frozen out of a box. If my own girlfriend can’t tell that my version is better, then there’s probably not much hope for me here.” “Babe, I don’t even like biscuits that much —” “When you get your check, be sure to leave your feedback about breadsticks.” Sierra asked her to sit down; Ruth made excuses about having to work back in the kitchen, and then hid, taking up space and messing up people’s flow. Kyle would not have approved; the step tracker was probably wondering who was standing stock still during a busy service. At one point, she tried scrolling Instagram to distract herself, and there was a message from one of the pop-up chefs, asking if Ruth could get them a job at Alexa’s until they finished rounding up all their investors, you know? They were sure they’d find a space soon. “You’ve never cooked for me before,” Sierra said on the car ride home. “Maybe if I’d had your cooking, I would have recognized it.” “You don’t seem to care much about food, so I don’t see the point.” “What the fuck, Ruth. I care about you.” “I mean, the cooking doesn’t make me who I am, right? We used to have to remind each other of that all the time. That we’re more than a job.” “I work for this huge company and make something I care about. Why can’t you try to too?” They had the conversation they always had, about how Ruth should start a secret pop-up, and Sierra would do all the branding and promotion, and then she’d get rich investors and live her dream again. The next week, Ruth got her pay docked for rudeness, probably from when she’d snapped at Sierra about the biscuits. On Sunday, they went out to the Garden, and Ruth ate breadsticks until her mouth tasted of nothing but salt. from Eater - All https://ift.tt/34UCH3U

http://easyfoodnetwork.blogspot.com/2020/09/what-if-nothing-but-chain-restaurants.html