#suntan Saturday baby!

[dazedsies]

I think they're in love actually

[bird-in-a-cage]

18 or 45! 💖

Thank you for the prompt! Sorry it took me a while to get back to you but I’m sure this will more than make up for it. Also two in one day? Look at me go!

My ask box is always open if anyone wants to drop a prompt from the list or just spout an idea off the dome!

I’ll get around to doing both. But here’s one just for now.

#18: “This is… exactly what it looks like”

Sailor Boy

Billy knew Steve’s routine as if it were his own, written all over his arm in permanent ink. He knew Monday was inventory day, Tuesday was delivery day. Wednesday and Thursday were Steve’s days off. Friday and Saturday Scoops Ahoy stayed open late, to coincide with the mall’s longer opening hours due to the movie theatre on the top floor, owners of the nautical based ice cream franchise clearly hoping that maybe movie goers would want to sneak in a cone or a tub mid flick.

Friday was when Billy finished early. His last swim class was at three. He could easily be done by five, shower just enough of the chlorine smell off his skin, change and be parked at the mall by six. He had taken the same route so many times now he could do it with his eyes closed, knew every stop sign, the rhythm of the traffic lights. How the cops liked to hide behind that low billboard on Maple to catch potential speeders heading out of town.

Even if he’d spent all of Thursday with Steve, rolling around his parents fucking mansion like the both owned the place, Friday was Billy’s favourite day. Friday he got to see his little sailor boy at work. Steve hated his uniform, he wasn’t shy about ever saying so. Hated the dumb hat, hated the dumb shirt that got itchy after two days of wear if it didn’t get washed in between, hated the socks he had to wear up to just below his knees that would constantly fall down, hated the fact his whole uniform felt wipe clean even though it wasn’t in the slightest. The one thing Steve hated and complained about most though, were the shorts. They were long and baggy and unshapely.

“It’s like wearing a sown up trash bag man, honestly!”

Billy loved those shorts. He loved the deep but not navy blue of their colour, he loved the white stripe that ran along the bottom of each cuff, he loved the deep pockets than ran much further down Steve’s thighs than they had any right too, he wasn’t carrying all that much around with him day to day, but most of all Billy loved the elasticated waistband. Always hidden almost halfway up Steve’s stomach the shorts were so big on his skinny frame.

Well, not skinny. Just skinnier than Billy. Steve still had plenty of muscle definition even if he was eating spoons of ice cream all day now, stealing maraschino cherries straight from the jar and rolling them with their juice in little cups of chocolate sprinkles, swearing blind he’d invented the greatest semi-healthy snack of all time just because at one point it had been a fruit.

Billy also knew that 6:15 was when Steve’s little work friend, that smart mouthed girl with too much eyeliner, went on her final break even though the store shut at eight. He knew to time it so good that sometimes he’d stroll in and Steve would still be talking like it was still her.

This day wasn’t one of those days. He strolled through the big open doors, that stupidly cheery music playing on a constant loop that must have driven Steve completely mad sometimes, to find him scooping up ice cream to display on their tubs. The place was dead. It always was. No one ever left the movie theatre mid picture to come down two floors just for ice cream, when the concessions were right outside. He kept scooping and piling even though Billy knew he had seen him. The corners of his lips twitched just a little then damped back down. Hiding a grin. Billy could play this game. He leant over the counter, pressing his chest up to the glass, knowing it would smudge just a little. No longer perfectly clear. Streaked with the last stubborn remnants of suntan lotion a crappy public shower couldn’t remove. Steve raised his head after a few long minutes into their stalemate and was still trying not to smile.

“Sir,” Oh he had on his customer service voice too, Billy loved that, it made the game more fun and he couldn’t hide the grin it caused to grow on his face. “Can I help you with anything?”

“That depends,” he pushed himself off the counter and slowly started spinning around the container of rainbow sprinkles, unscrewing the cap. “I’m looking for something specific.” He sucked on the tip of his finger and rolled it in the first layer of sprinkles until his fingertip was completely coated. Billy knew Steve hated when he did that. Both hated and loved it. Hated it because it was kind of disgusting, but loved it, cause, well, Steve was kind of disgusting. Under all the rich daddy’s boy front he was willing to try some kinky shit and Billy just drank up every last drop he could squeeze out. Billy wiggled his sprinkle coated finger around, watching Steve’s eyes follow it around like fish to bait, growing darker by the second.

“Well, I think I can be of some assistance….” he spoke calmly, and walked around more to the side of the counter. Billy matched his steps. He wasn’t quite over the invisible ‘employees only’ line just yet.  They locked eyes and Steve’s were nearly black with desire. He took Billy’s hand in his cold ones, they had just been in a freezer after all, and he pulled gently. He popped Billy’s sprinkle covered finger into his mouth and let his eyes get hooded, in the way he knew drove Billy crazy, especially when that perfect wide tongue started cleaning up the sugar speckled digit and with his pretty boy pout sucking further down to the second knuckle, then the third with clear intent, firm muscle sweeping back and forth and around Billy’s rougher skin, rendering his brain fucking mush every time.

Steve let the finger go with a wet, but soft, pop, letting his eyes open again. Billy glanced a look down and there was a definite tent in those hated shorts. They both crashed together at the same time, kissing feverishly as Billy pushed and Steve pulled, both of them stumbling through the swinging door and up against the wall next to the always empty notice board. Billy pinned Steve up to it, knocking the cap off his head in the process as they kissed deeper, licking into each other’s mouths and sharing the taste of chemically coloured sugar. Steve’s needy hands found Billy’s hips easily and pulled, hard, letting out the sweetest little desperate moan as Billy’s thicker thigh found its way between his own. Billy let Steve’s lips go, kissing over his jaw heavily, and moved his leg higher, tighter, to ring out more delicious sounds. 

His little sailor was always so cute trying to be quiet, especially at work, but Billy knew him inside out. Had made it his job to know every button Steve Harrington had, how and when to push them, which threads to pull at to watch him completely unravel. One of the first things they ever did, out in the quarry in the back of Billy’s camaro, Steve had humped his thigh like a bitch in heat. Steve loved his thighs. He was never shy in showing so. They were one of the big flashing buttons to push, to the point of Steve couldn’t come to the pool if Billy was on shift or risk popping a semi then and there just seeing a flash of red covering not very much leg.

Like this though, pressed up against the wall, Billy had all the control. Steve was pliant, warming his cold hands on Billy’s sun soaked stomach under his shirt, going over his abs with needy thumbs. Billy worked his thigh harder. Steve groaned biting his lip so not to let it all come streaming out loud and hot. He started grinding his hips at long last, all the layers of fabric between skin doing nothing but adding deliciously painful friction, as Billy nibbled his earlobe. 

Yeah, Harrington had a lot of buttons. And god if they weren’t fun to press.

Deep down Billy wanted to ruin Steve for good. Even if what they had, whatever it was, wasn’t a long term plan and just a way to blow off steam for the long hot summer months, Billy was determined that no one would ever rock his little sailor’s boat like he could. No one would ever make Harrington come like he could, no one would ever make him cry out in the middle of the night with his peachy ass burning with hand marks like he could, no one would make him choke on a cock behind the arcade in broad daylight where they could be seen at any moment and still have those swollen come shiny lips beg for more like an angel’s prayer like he could.

Whether he knew it or not, Steve was going to be ruined for the rest of his days.

Billy growled next to his ear possessively. His sailor melted and ground his hips harder, starting to get desperate so soon. God if that didn’t make Billy’s dick kick something horrific in his jeans.

“Needy tonight huh baby?” Billy grunted roughly in his deepest voice, the one he knew that if Harrington had a pussy, it would make him gush buckets and ruin those shorts. “Did I not do a good job filling you up yesterday?” Billy pulled Steve’s hips off the wall to get his hands on that perfect peach, where he knew it must have been difficult to sit down all day, what with how red and sore it looked the night previous. He felt Steve’s hips stutter for just a moment, hissing around a moan as his body wasn’t sure if it was pleasure or pain or both it wanted to express. Billy wanted to laugh. He did keep singing harder god please harder so had no one but himself to blame for the mess he was in.

“Too good,” Steve sighed out as Billy worked his hands down the back of that elasticated waist, past his own briefs Steve had stolen that morning, grabbing handfuls of tenderized meat and squeezing rough. The noise Steve made was exquisite, his hips starting to rock again faster and stronger, pushing forward and pushing back in equal measure with no set rhythm. Billy loved when he was like this, his little plaything, teetering on the edge of no return.

“Let me see baby,” he muttered, dripping with heat and desire. “Don’t wanna get your uniform all messy. Captain will be mad.”

Steve scrambled to push his shorts and briefs down just enough for the thick, gleaming head to pop free but the rest still be trapped and untouched, pushing his shirt up over his stomach, fingers trembling and lips quivering around a sound that couldn’t be kept quiet as Billy’s sucked on but now dry digit found his sailor’s well used hole. His cock throbbed visibly between them, pushing out more shiny clear liquid that threatened to stain Billy’s pale denim jeans. God it made Billy’s mouth water. And if he wasn’t rock hard before he definitely was now.

But later. That was for later. They were running out of time.

Billy worked his thigh harder still, trying to keep up with Steve’s erratic hips which was no easy job, drinking down his noises of pure ecstasy, until his whole body stuttered and tensed and he came with a cry that couldn’t be contained, creamy white come splashing up his torso and staining his already pale skin. Billy smirked like the devil, kissing Steve deeply as he tried to pant coming down, taking his hands out of his boy’s shorts, only just managing to tuck him away and let his shirt fall over the mess when the door swung open and there was eyeliner girl, right on time. As always.

Steve had the dignity and had regained just enough mental function to look embarrassed, even if he was still panting like a mutt trying to speak with Billy all up in his space, greedy for it all. No one laid eyes on his sailor boy.

“It’s… fuck… I’m sorry Rob…” 

She stared back blankly at the two of them, setting a Burger King milkshake, if Billy had to hazard a guess it would be strawberry flavoured, on the counter they had back here, simply saying “You’re scraping the freezer tonight,” before going back through the door from where she’d came.

Billy didn’t let Steve stand back up straight away, even as he knew the messy spatter of come was starting to dry and cause the uniform to stick to his slender body. He cupped Steve’s cheek and kissed him, rough but sweet. As sweet as Billy did really. Steve melted for it each time. Another button. Another step of ruining.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said, getting Steve solid on his feet before letting go and walking away like he wasn’t painfully hard. The girl scowled at him blankly out front, especially when he took a cherry from the jar and grinned with it between his teeth while holding the stem, walking backwards out of the store and giving her a two finger salute from his forehead.

“Captain...”

Billy walked with purpose back to his car out front, having parked in his usual spot near the back where it wasn’t under one of the tall lights that illuminated most of the area, getting straight in to sit on his backseat and wait. He checked the time on his watch and lit up a well needed cigarette.

He had 45 minutes to wait for his little sailor to pull into harbour. 

[dubai-visas]

Pool Party Dubai – 5 Amazing Places to Beat the Sweltering Heat

Now is the time to soak up the sunshine and join some of Dubai's most fancy pool party Dubai. Grab your most trendy swimwear, put on some shimmer, and invite your best pals to join you at one of these fantastic venues. 

If you want to avoid the sweltering heat, why not take a dip in one of these beautiful pools? When it comes to the nightlife, Dubai ranks among the top places in the world! And there is a lot of partying to relish at the top Dubai pool parties.

Dates of the event – 30th June 2022

Before you get all excited and plan out your trip to Dubai, make sure to apply for Dubai visa well in advance to avoid last-minute hassles!

So, ready to delve into the world of Dubai’s trendiest pool parties in 2022? Let’s go!

5 Best Places to Enjoy a Memorable Pool Party in Dubai

Vogue Midnight Pool – One of Dubai’s Trendiest Pool Parties in 2022

Dubai's Azure Beach is one of the city's most popular hangouts. As far as pool parties go, it's not far behind either.

The Vogue Midnight Pool Party at the Azure Beach Club in Dubai is one of the city's most popular pool parties. Entry costs 400 dirhams, but the experience is well worth the price tag.

And what's more?  Get half your money back to spend on lip-smacking drinks and delicious gastronomical delights.  When in Dubai, this must be on your list of things to do. 

For those who are water babies and like to party on Saturdays, this is the place for you!

Timings – 8 PM to 1 AM (Saturdays) at Rixos Premium Dubai

Zero Gravity’s Tropical Brunch – A Day-Time Pool Party in Dubai

This is for those who want to enjoy a night out but still have to make it in time for bed.

It's hard to believe that a brunch hosted in broad daylight by Zero Gravity could compete with other pool parties in Dubai. So, why is the Tropical Brunch so popular? Because of its beautiful ambience and a spectacular glass-fronted infinity pool.

At one o'clock in the afternoon on Fridays, the brunch and poolside bash start. From unlimited food and drink options to exciting music, this pool party has something for everyone's taste. 

All of this costs Dhs295 for women and Dhs345 for men, which is pretty affordable.

Timings – 1 PM to 5 PM (Fridays) at Skydive Dubai

Beach by Five – Instagram-worthy Pools

Bohemia @beachbyfive, one of Dubai's best beach parties, features an Instagrammable pool and is sure to impress you and your pals!  It includes floating loungers in the lake to keep you cool as you suntan.

It's one of the hottest pools in town right now, thanks to its boho ambience, great music, and delicious drinks. On a Saturday, gather your buddies and head over to the FIVE Hotel on the Palm Jumeirah for an unforgettable night.

Timings – 9 AM to 2 AM (Sunday to Thursday) & 9 AM to 3 AM (Friday & Saturday)

FIVE Palm Jumeriah’s Summer Ice - Pool Party Bars

The Five Palm Jumeirah includes Dubai's most lively, Instagram-famous, and social pool. Go to one of Dubai's most exciting pool parties with your FIVE-person crew, since this event is truly one of a kind.

Enjoy Chicos Bos and other exciting lineups for Dhs300 (Dhs150 applicable towards food and beverage) for the guys and free entrance for the ladies.

On a hot summer day, nothing sounds better than enjoying live music, cool drinks, and tasty snacks while lounging by the pool. Yes, I'm already feeling more at ease.

Timings – 2 PM to 7.30 PM (Fridays) at Five Palm Jumeirah, Dubai

Barasti Pool’s Slippery When Wet - Popular Pool Party in Dubai

At the Barasti Pool, Thursdays are a one-of-a-kind experience. Anyone who is willing to show up in their swimsuits is welcome at this event. On Thursdays, the Barasti Pool is the place to be if you're looking for a good time.

This pool party is open to everyone and does not leave a hole in your wallet thanks to free admittance and unlimited cocktails and house beverages at Dhs100 for the ladies. From 8 p.m. until 10 p.m., guys can enjoy the benefits of happy hour! 

Timings – 7 PM to 10 PM (Thursdays) at Le Meridien Mina Syahi Beach Resort, Dubai

A relaxed day at the pool with your favourite drink or smoothie is one of the first ideas that spring to mind when we hear the word "summer." 

At the end of the day, there's not much energy left to revel and sweat it out in the blistering heat of the day. However, it's still possible to get drenched in sweat while partying in the evenings.

Summer's arrival sends shivers down the spine of everyone who wants to party out. However, Summer brings a bounty of delights, from mouthwatering fruits to the summer outfits you've been waiting all year to wear.

And who doesn't enjoy spending time with their loved ones and having a good time? These hand-picked Dubai pool parties will help you make the most of these special occasions!

So, get your Dubai visa from UK today and head over to these amazing pool parties with your friends, family or even colleagues!

[tattoogeisha]

Chapter 2/31

Fandom: Yu-gi-oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Relationship: Seto/Atem; Prideshipping

Pridecember2020, YGOPridecember

Prompt 2: Desire

What makes someone desirable? The answer may surprise you.

---------------------

“Seto, Baby…”

“Hmm?”

“Am I desirable?”

Seto looked up from his laptop. They were outside today, lounging out by the large pool on a sunny, Saturday afternoon. Seto sat at the patio table, doing some light work, and Atem was laying in his favorite lounge chair, dressed in loose swim trunks and sunglasses, a magazine in his lap. His skin positively glowed due to the suntan lotion slathered all over his body and the young CEO narrowed his eyes. How on earth could he say such a thing?

[welshjule]

You got me begging you for mercy

To my Friends, Family and all Readers,

Welcome to my first blog. Every week I will be posting a story ‘loosely based’ on my life in Australia since 1982. My aim is to provide a little escapism in a sometimes-hard world and to hopefully make you laugh. The content will be mature themed as I am in no way attempting to be a role-model!

Happy reading my Darlings

Let me know what you think.

Ju xx

Perth, Australia.

January 1995

It was a Sunday night and I had just put my daughter Alice to bed. The house was red hot, the windows were wide open and there wasn’t a breeze; it was like living inside a sweaty sock. Summer in Perth can be brutal and it is a dry, burning heat that scorches the hair on your arms and rips the skin off your feet if you try and walk barefoot outside. The temperature had hit forty degrees that day and I only had two stand-up fans, so a load of our family and friends had been swimming at the local pool.

We got home and Alice, who was about five years old, spent about two hours in a cold bath – in her bathers, underwater, face-down and pretending to be dead! My job was to run in and rescue her every so often but I kept forgetting. I gave the nickname ‘Insane Alice’ to my daughter when she was very young because she was my wild, brave, curious nutcase, who always had something to say and most of it was somewhat demented. Over the years, we dropped the Insane bit and it was just Alice, but to tell the truth, she’s still a bit touched.

My Father called her ’his Alice’ for thirty years.

So, my exhausted daughter was now asleep with a wet towel on top of her and a fan blowing hot air around her room.

Walking into the kitchen, I stuck my head under the cold tap until my hair and face were soaking wet. Grabbing an ice-cold beer from the fridge, I wandered out to the garden and laid back on an old lounger. Tracey Chapman was singing about a fast car as I lit a fag and skulled my beer.

The house was like a furnace and there was no reprieve outside. From November to March, you went to bed sweating and you got up the same way. We lived in a low-income area and nobody had air-conditioning; you just had to deal with the heat.

At that time, single mothers didn’t get to choose the houses with alarm systems and swimming pools. We could only afford tired, old rentals with dripping taps and broken flyscreens and to make matters worse, I was cleaning two ‘beach-front’ mansions a day while Alice was at school.

 #These were palaces, with huge swimming pools, wine cellars and balconies overlooking the blue ocean and I earned a pittance. I had to shut my mouth like Ruby from ‘Upstairs, Downstairs’ when the ‘lady of the house’ complained about smears on the bathroom mirror or dust on the roof because I needed the money.

Looking around now, my poor garden looked so sad; that unrelenting ball of fire had burnt the beautiful flowers I had planted and singed the lawn so badly that it was now just dry, straw.

I was feeling a bit weird and conflicted because everyone around me seemed to think that I should be trying to find a man to ‘look after me and be a father to Alice.’ Don’t get me wrong, it was said with kindness, but I was bored of the whole thing.

Thirty years ago, there was a real stigma attached to being a single mother. If your marriage failed but the dad was still on the scene with the kids, that was ok. If there was no father in sight, it played with people’s heads.

I chose to leave Alice’s father when she was a baby and bring up my daughter alone and I loved it.

I didn’t have a man and I didn’t really want one.

But some people just weren’t comfortable with it. Was I a lesbian? Did I hate men? Was I flirting with their man? They wanted to set me up with their husband’s mate from Bunnings and it was all, ‘We’ve got to find you a nice fella’ and ‘you can’t be too fussy.’ What a cheek! I was thirty years old with no visible hump on my back. Who were they thinking of wheeling in? Alf F##king Stewart?’’

There was a lot of pressure

And It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried.

I’d been to Bachelor and Spinster Balls, joined ‘Parents Without Partners’ (very creepy) and even went to ’Japanese conversation ‘night classes because everyone told me ‘There are loads of divorced men learning languages now Ju. There will be blokes everywhere.’          The only man I ever spoke to was wearing a grey cardigan and had just retired from the civil service.

God knows I tried

And I was about to try again

In 1995, there was no tinder or instant messaging because there were no mobile phones or computers (well not in our house anyway). People had to leave their residence and go hunting in pubs and clubs on a Saturday night for their own Brad Pitt or Pamela Anderson and it was utterly soul destroying.

But I had the Wanneroo Times and I was on a mission.

This local community newspaper had started printing adverts in their classifieds for single people wanting to meet a partner. It was basically, ‘man seeking woman’ or ‘woman seeking man’. Then, everybody told massive lies about themselves; ‘very attractive, happy go lucky, no baggage, loves a good red wine and walking on the beach at sunset.’ It was ridiculous but that didn’t stop me filling in the form.

My advert said,

If you are a sports fanatic and watch it on tv all weekend – read on

If you are bitter about your wife taking everything from you in the divorce, we’ve already met - read on

If you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain, warm winter fires, bubble baths and collecting driftwood. Stop reading Sir, for you are a dead set serial killer.

I didn’t say much about me, just,

’blonde, thirty, likes to write.’

And I posted it off.

It took a week to receive any responses.

I’d been watching ‘Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves’ and wondering how I could get in touch with Kevin Costner to tell him I was waiting for him here; in the hottest, most isolated corner of the world!

But I was feeling quite hopeful and ready for some romance in my life. I spent most of the week singing ‘You know it’s true, everything I do, I do it for you.’

On a Monday morning, the postman dropped an official looking, brown envelope into my post box and I had seven letters!!

Buzzing with excitement, I made a cup of coffee, lit a fag and opened the first one.

He had a wife but they didn’t sleep together. He desperately needed passion in his life, maybe two afternoons a week! Yeh right, dream on!

Three more were married and just wanted a bit on the side.

My fifth would-be suitor boasted of a body tattooed from his neck to his toes and a willingness to provide colour photos. I just couldn’t stomach it!

And the sixth little gem was a smooth-talking illiterate who claimed to be a ‘mad rooter’ but added that, ’If I was a ‘Fat Sheila,’ then not to bother eh!’

I could feel a black depression impending; Was I supposed to settle for this group of no-hopers?

But there was one letter remaining and that was written by a man named Fred.

Fred was English and had been in Perth for a couple of years. He worked in some office and liked Guinness. That was good enough for me!

We spoke on the phone a couple of times and met for a quick coffee. He was a nice bloke and didn’t seem to be deranged. He asked me to go to the movies to see ’Braveheart’ and I said ‘’lovely.’’

So, its Friday night and I am sorted. Alice is staying at my parents’ house and I have a date!

The Commitments are slaying Mustang Sally and I am drinking a vodka and tonic. My hair is a work of art! It has been washed, blow- dried, straightened, back-combed and gelled, plus I’ve used half a can of hairspray, so this hairdo is not shifting.

On goes the make-up, a pair of jeans that are much too small and a black shirt. Sounds simple doesn’t it?

But it is still 32 degrees at 6.30pm and the sweat is dripping down my back. I am sitting on an ice pack with my feet in a bowl of cold water and the pedestal fan is coughing, stale air at me like an old family dog. The jeans are slowly roasting my legs, the underneath of my hair is soaking wet and the makeup is dripping off my face.

But I don’t care, because I’m looking good, the house smells of ’Red Door’ perfume and I’ve had a few puffs of a lovely old joint I found on top of the kitchen cupboard.

I am ready for action!

Fred turned up at about seven and he looked very smart with jeans and a blue shirt. He was quite a portly fellow, very suntanned and with a completely bald head. I don’t know if he’d ever had any hair and I didn’t really care.

I was flying!

We were a bit early for the movies so we went for a drink first. The pub was practically empty but the night was young, so I told Fred that it was my shout. He asked the ‘gothic and heavily pierced’ barmaid, if she could make him a flat, white coffee and she looked at him with complete disgust. I ordered a double vodka and we sat down for a chat. I really wanted to find Fred attractive but he wasn’t giving me much.

He had a very strong Yorkshire accent and was into cycling and re-cycling. He started telling me about sustainable compost heaps and I just glazed over.

But, as I sat looking at him, the room started spinning and Fred began to morph into Dierdre Barlow from Coronation Street and a brown, boiled egg.

That old puff was strong!

’’I’m that choofed you chose me lass,’’ he said ‘’and I’m having a grand time, but I’m not one for the drink.’’

’Jesus Christ! When am I going to cop a break?’ I thought, ‘I’m a thirty-year-old woman wearing skin tight jeans and high heels. My legs are shaved, my elbows moisturised and I HAVE THE HOUSE TO MYSELF!! Who gives a shit about recycling?

I didn’t want to talk about Fred’s ‘loovely bunch of lasses at work’ or ’the benefits of riding a bicycle.’

My life consisted of chicken nuggets, nit shampoo and a daughter who was obsessed with a demonic dessert called Strawberry Shortcake. This nauseating strawberry cake had three best friends called Apple Dumpling, Raspberry Tart and Cherry Cuddler. They sounded like a bunch of sex workers and their pimp was a freak called ‘The Prickly and Peculiar Pieman from Porcupine Creek. Alice had it on an old video and played it constantly. She had been speaking in an American accent for about three weeks and I was over it!    

 I wanted to act like a teenager. To get absolutely wasted, fall-down drunk and extremely immature. I wished Fred would suggest a drinking game so that we could get really loud and find everything hysterical. I needed him to make me laugh because that is sexy. I wanted to completely skip the bloody movie altogether!

Nah, take that back.

Fred was, in fact, an egg that spoke with a Yorkshire accent and he was boring me to death.

So, we walked to the cinema and bought our own tickets, (very civilised), then I was straight into the Candy Bar. Buying a very expensive choc- top ice-cream and some popcorn, I asked Fred what he was having and he said,

’’Nah, I’ll not have owt, I’m watching me weight.’’

That really irritated me because I’d been considering a box of Maltesers too and now I couldn’t have them because I would look like a pig.

We found two seats in the middle row. The place was packed out because it was the first night the film was showing.

‘’So, Fred, what’s this Braveheart about then? It’s not going to be all blood and gore is it?’’ I asked.

“I don’t know Julie, I haven’t seen it,’’ he said, but it translated to, ’’Ah doon’t know jooleh, I’ve not seen film.’’

Now, don’t forget, I was deep in the grip of Sherwood Forrest and I thought Braveheart would be similar; some battles, dodgy accents, a love story, some fantastic one-liners ‘a la’ Alan Rickman.

I thought wrong.

The beginning of the film showed the beauty of Scotland with some hauntingly lovely music and a softly-spoken narrator. By the time I had eaten my choc-top, there were bodies of men, women and children hanging from beams, heads chopped off and the stabbing and slashing of everyone in sight; including the poor horses.

I was in a hell of a state!

Alice always compares me to the late, great, British comedian Larry Grayson when I am out of my comfort zone and am shocked or horrified. I get flustered and loud, highly camp and completely over the top.

I have to have things explained to me very clearly.

This film was way beyond my comfort zone.

My hands were over my eyes and all you could hear from me was ‘’Oh my God, when are they going to stop killing?”  ‘’Oh, that’s gross!’’  ‘’I can’t look!’’  ‘’Why is there so much blood?’’ ‘’What’s happening Fred?”

And then an English soldier ties Braveheart’s beautiful bride to a tree.

I’m thinking, ‘’hurry up Wallace and save your woman.’’

Everyone is waiting for Mel to rescue her but he’s missing in action.

And the English Bast##d slits her throat!

Now, we still had about three more hours of this film to endure and the main character’s wife was dead. I just couldn’t believe it. She was exquisite, almost heavenly.

What was going on?

Í nudged Fred, ‘’What’s happening Fred? Is it a flashback or a dream? Is she coming back?’’

I was beside myself.

Fred was getting a little snippy at my endless questions and bad language because I couldn’t stop saying ‘’Oh F#ck’’ every time a limb was chopped off and it was constant carnage. It simply never stopped.

There was a teenage boy and his girlfriend sitting next to me and I tearfully asked the boy what he thought was going on. Did he think the lovely Marrun was coming back? Was it a flashback? He just looked horrified and two minutes later they both left.

So, now I’m crying and it’s serious. I’m absolutely gutted about useless Wallace not getting there in time and I don’t really feel like watching anymore.

Worse though, I haven’t got a tissue!

I am sobbing and my nose is running and I am doing that unattractive, hiccupy thing.

Fred’s forgotten his handkerchief and I’m hyperventilating and trying to quell my hysteria. But it’s just so sad and all you can hear in the whisper quiet audience are my racking sobs and sniffs. In the end, I had to use a KitKat wrapper and the sleeve of my top to wipe my nose. (yeh, I know, disgusting).

So now I’ve got to sit through another 150 minutes of butchery and treachery, heads in the mail, people being thrown out of windows and the mass raping of young maidens. It was relentless and I was suffering very loudly.

Fred was peeved, “Nah then, Jooleh, joost try to be a tad quieter pet. I can’t ‘ear film.’’

I was frazzled and I hadn’t even got to the torture of William Wallace.

What a joy that was!

About thirty minutes of Mel being hung, drawn and quartered very slowly with some lethal weapons (sorry, I had to).

First, he spits out the anaesthetic drug the princess slips him and then he refuses to shout ‘mercy’ to end his own torture. It was all too much and I kept shouting ‘mercy’ at the screen and crying loudly, but Mel just kept hanging on in there.

William Wallace was no pussy!

Eventually though, all the organs have been removed from his body and he has to die.

In his last few seconds alive he sees his wife, Murron, walking through the crowds, waiting for him and she is so beautiful, it’s heart breaking. Braveheart shouts ‘Freedom’ and I’m completely finished.

Before anyone could move, I was out of my seat. ’’I’ll see you in the foyer Fred,” I sobbed and ran to the toilets before the lights came on.

My body was shaking, my legs were like jelly and I was sweating. I felt like I had given birth to ten-pound triplets in an African hut, alone and without pain relief!

Then I saw my face in the mirror and stopped dead.

The old mascara I had found in the kitchen drawer was not waterproof and I had these black spider lines all down my cheeks. My eyes were smudged with dark grey eyeshadow, my nose was bright red and my face was blotchy and oily, with no trace of a base!

For some reason, my hair had also suffered and it looked like a yellow bird’s nest that had been sat on.

I hadn’t brought a handbag out with me, just a small purse, so the only things I had to rescue this complete disaster was a ten dollar note, a factor 30 lip balm and a furry tic-tac.

Everybody was coming into the lady’s toilets now and they were all looking at me. One girl came over and pretended to care but I saw straight through her. I’d heard some of her friends laughing at me during the torture scene.

I didn’t have a spare head so there wasn’t much I could do. I just washed my face, blew my nose and went out to meet Fred. I refused to look him straight in the eye though because I was hideous.

As we drove back to my place, the car was silent and I knew that Fred was sulking.

He eventually said ‘’Appen, A’Il see film again wit’ lasses from work. I missed most of it!’’

I thought, ‘’Oh do one, you Bloody tart, you are definitely not coming in for coffee.’’

We hit my driveway and I jumped out of the car like an Olympian.

Fred said something that sounded like ‘’See thee soon then Lass’’ and I said ‘’lovely.’’

Slamming the front door, I felt shell-shocked.

I jumped under a cold shower, washed off all the makeup and gunk from my hair and tied an old sarong around myself. Making a cup of tea and some toast with Nutella, I grabbed the remote and sat on the sofa.

Two minutes later, it was just me and Kevin.

I didn’t think I would ever hear from Fred again, but he rang a few nights later while I was watching ‘Home and Away‘ with Alice.

‘’Ow do Jooleh love, can ya guess where I am?’’ he asked jovially.

I froze. Oh my God.

“You’re not outside are you Fred? ’I asked,

‘’Nah’’, he chuckled, ‘’I’m lyin’ in’t cold tub, sipping hot brew and eating an apple pie. Blooody Bliss!’’

I hung up the phone and we never went out again.

Dating makes me realise why I’m not married!

If you liked this story, there’s a lot more to read because Alice and I have been writing tales ‘loosely based’ on our lives for many years, with the hope of finally finishing a book called ’A Mother like mine.’ Every Saturday, I will be publishing a blog so that you can read it over the weekend. Sometimes, Alice will write one too.

We will talk about love, losses and dating disasters, womanhood, teenage years and being a Welsh, single parent family in a rough-arse suburb of Perth in the nineties; from our two, completely different perspectives. I will even tell you how my true love literally walked through my front door and I almost took Alice to live in Texas! Our stories will be mostly funny but there will also be our recollection of some hard times. Nobody escapes them and sometimes it helps to read about other people’s battles.

 Future titles include;

‘The Good, The Bad and the Aussies’

‘A Gang of Gary’s’

‘Doyawannarootorwhat’

‘Sorry about my little fella?’

‘Six months pregnant or a Tattoo?’

[rauliskafan]

Little Lessons in Expecting: Chapter 2

Authors’ Note: Hello and Happy Saturday, stunning readers! Last night we caught up with the Barba family as Natalia entered the third month of her pregnancy. Now it’s month four, and Rafael and his girls are about to take a little trip. @vintagemichelle91 and I hope that you enjoy, and we look forward to your feedback!!! :)

           “Mami, when it Halloween?”

           Rafael looked up from his legal pad to see Violetta standing at the French doors, her little nose pressed against the glass while Natalia rinsed off the last of the dinner plates and popped a double chocolate chip cookie in her mouth, chewing quickly and brushing the crumbs from her hands into the trash bin before she joined their daughter and dropped to her knees.

           “Just a few more weeks, sweet pea,” Natalia said with a kiss, looking ready to lift the little girl up. Immediately, Rafael let his pen fall and rushed to her side.

           “Careful now, hermosa,” he gently chided. “You need to take it easy.”

           “I’m fine, Atticus,” she insisted.

           “And I not so heavy,” Violetta chimed in. Still, Rafael carried her back to the sofa, stopping off at the kitchen to get her a cookie of her own.

           “I never said that, muñequita,” Rafael started. “But Mami needs to be extra careful until the two new babies come home.”

           Sighing, Natalia began to draw the curtains, and Violetta folded her arms across her tiny chest, looking frustrated as she ignored her dessert.

           “What is it, sweet pea?” Natalia asked. “You are excited for the babies, right?”

            “Mami, not everything in this world about that.”

           Glancing at his wife, Rafael wondered if she was being honest. Despite the assurance that nothing would alter how much they loved her, did Violetta feel slighted? That was something they could not have, the last thing they would ever want. As Natalia assumed the seat at Violetta’s other side, Rafael winded one arm around her small shoulders.

           “So what’s up?” he asked. “You know that you can tell Mami and Papi anything.”

           He held his breath and felt Natalia do the same as Violetta curled her lips over her teeth, her ankles bouncing just shy of the cushions until she opened her mouth again.

           “Lots happen lately,” Violetta said.

           “But it’s not bad,” Natalia contended. “Remember what we said; you’re going to have two new friends to play with.”

           “Yes and that very nice, Mami,” Violetta said, cutting her mother off. “But we were sposed to take a trip before it got too cold. And after Halloween it be too cold to swim with the fishys.”

           Looking to his wife again, Rafael tensed, realizing that they had reneged on their promise, that they failed to understand how much the idea of the getaway must have meant. Ever since Maggie dazzled her with an array of honeymoon pics, a trip to the tropics had to have been at the forefront of her mind. Not that he had been in any condition to travel that far when… not that Natalia was any shape to do so now…

           “Next year,” Natalia said, kissing the top of her daughter’s head. “We’ll all be here, and we—”

           “That forever away,” Violetta pouted. “I be like a old lady by then.”

           Rafael stifled a laugh, ready to tell her that in no world would that age qualify her for AARP status. But as Violetta’s big green eyes began to brim with tears, he dialed the observation back.

           “How old will you be come this weekend?” he asked.

           “Still three,” she stated sadly. “And every day that go by is one I never get back.”

           Taken aback by her morbid statement, and suspecting that his own mother’s occasional belief that time was passing her by at lightning speed was rubbing off on the little one, Rafael tickled her tummy until she giggled and gathered both of his girls closer.

           “Well still three is the perfect age to go to the Hamptons,” he said. “What do you say to that?”

           Before Violetta had a chance to respond one way or the other, Natalia quickly clapped her hands together.

           “Yes please, Atticus!” she exclaimed. “We haven’t been back there since…”

           Her voice trailed off in the wake of Rafael’s sharp nod. But Violetta’s little head turned in time to see the glance passing between them.

           “This have something to do with how I at your wedding?” she asked. “What you two get up to in the Amptons?”

           Fumbling for words, Rafael was relieved when Natalia simply smothered her with kisses, and extolled the virtues and the beauty of quiet beaches where the waters would still be warm enough to wade in.

           “And there we see the fishys?” Violetta asked.

           “Well… there aren’t any tropical fishys in the Atlantic,” Rafael said, sad to see her frown.

           “But just you wait,” Natalia promised. “There are so many other fun things to do.”

            Waiting in silence, Rafael watched Violetta ponder the proposal, her lips coiling out of its frown. Not quite a smile. Not just yet. But…

           “Okay. I tell Harold that we need to start thinking about a suitcase.”

           And if the hippo was in the mix, they were already on the right track.

           Securing the house was hardly a feat of strength. One phone call to Liv where the Chief jumped on the line, speaking on behalf of a friend of a friend confirmed the spot. All that was left to do was pick up the keys and rent a car for four days and three nights. At the start of the drive made much longer by unexpected clusters of traffic, Violetta sat quietly with Harold, but soon she used the hippo as an excuse when the ride kept dragging on.

           “Harold want to know how much longer?” she asked.

           “Harold does?” Rafael challenged.

           “Harold going to need a snack soon. She have low blood sugar and don’t want to get crumbs in the car that not really ours.”

           Having no idea where she got that from, Rafael looked to the GPS promising that they only had another thirty-three minutes to go.

           “A lollipop won’t make too much of a mess,” Natalia said, reaching into her purse for two strawberry suckers, passing them back and unwrapping a watermelon for herself.

           “Nothing for me?” Rafael asked, gazing at his wife out of the corner of his eye.

           “You need to keep both hands on the wheel, Atticus,” Natalia said. “But here; have a lick of mine.”

           “You’re too kind,” he said, accepting the offer.

           “More where that came from,” she murmured.

           “What does that—?”

           “Just drive, Rafael.”

           Focusing once more on the way ahead, grateful to shave ten minutes off their ETA, they finally pulled up to a cream-colored cottage with pink trim.

           “Oh, it’s darling,” Natalia said. “It looks like a gingerbread house!”

           “But it not for eating, Mami,” Violetta instructed, dragging Harold behind her as she stomped towards the small steps. “I know you a very hungry lady now, but we need the roof in case it rain.”

           “It’s not going to rain, and no one is eating the roof,” Rafael said as he carried the bags through the little rose door. Once inside, they saw an array of ornate antique furniture resting on hardwood floors just beyond the billowing lace curtains that opened onto a small terrace.

           “This like what we have at home,” Violetta said, her smile threatening to turn upside down until Natalia took her by the hand and led her out the back to a private stretch of beach, the sand hardly spoiled and the gentle waves lapping at the shore. Violetta’s green gaze shifted to the sky and the flock of seagulls swirling overhead.

           “Is this like what we have at home?” Natalia asked. For a second Violetta was speechless, finally pressing her ear to Harold’s pink snout.

           “Okay. She say now we impressed.”

           Heaving a sigh of relief, Rafael hugged one arm around Natalia’s waist, kissing her cheek and suggesting a nap after the long drive.

           “You can nap at home, Papi,” Violetta insisted. “We not come all this way to sleep.”

           “You heard the boss,” Natalia joked, kicking off her sandals, lifting a wicker basket, and leading the little girl and the plush hippo towards the shoreline.

           “You’re going to get her all wet,” Rafael cautioned as he ran after them.

           “Papi, hippos go in the water during the day,” Violetta moaned.

            “But Harold is a city hippo,” Natalia said. “Here.”

           Reaching into the basket, she laid out a large checkered blanket and patted a space for Harold to sit.

           “Okay, Mami,” Violetta agreed. “Harold, you stay here so you get good suntan.”

           Hanging with said city hippo, Rafael watched his girls scamper towards the water. The waves just circled their toes when Violetta took a step back and quickly clung to Natalia’s leg.

           “Is it too cold, sweet pea?” Natalia asked.

           “No, it not that. But it come so fast!”

           Just as quickly the current rushed out to infinity. Had Maggie’s pictures promised something best left on a camera roll? Fearing that the trip was a bust before it even started, Rafael was ready to return to the car, to trek back to Manhattan when another wave came rumbled against the beach, and Violetta jumped over the foamy water, splashing happily as Natalia held her hands.

           “This so fun!” she cried, looking back to the blanket with wide eyes. “Papi, please!”

           “Good job, muñequita!” he called back. “But Harold has to stay—”

           “I talking bout you, silly!” she squealed. “You need treat too after driving so long!”

           Beckoning him closer with a tilt of her head, her honey-colored locks suddenly tinged by the sun and glowing even brighter, Natalia extended her arm, and Rafael toed off his shoes.

           “Good thing you no wear your crazy socks today, Papi!” Violetta continued as he joined his family in the surf, savoring the feel of the cool water caressing his toes as he exhaled a grateful breath, sliding against the slick sand and falling into the water with an even larger splash than anything Violetta could manage.

           “Papi?”

           “Atticus, are you alright?” Looking up with tousled hair, his khakis soaked, Rafael winked before pulling Violetta into the water, her squeals growing louder as he balanced her on his feet and watched her shake the spray from her curls.

           “Mami, come play, too!” Violetta said.

           “Muñequita, Mami has to—”

           “I’m not going to break, Rafael,” she chided, hiking up her skirt, her splashes and giggles rivaled their daughter’s. They played for what felt like hours, and Violetta finally ran back to the blanket to show Harold a seashell. Only then did Rafael brush a few strands of Natalia’s hair from her face, his fingers falling to her damp blouse.

           “You know we did pack swimsuits,” he reminded her.

           “And I’m pretty sure I saw a fireplace inside,” she said, nipping at his neck.

           “Your point?” he asked.

           “We’ll dry out and get warm soon enough. Remember when we looked at the house where I wanted to make s’mores for breakfast, lunch and dinner?”

           “I’d wager the realtor’s still having nightmares,” Rafael said with a mock shudder, helping his wife to her feet as he glanced at the skyline and the sun just starting to set.

           “But Violetta wanted the townhouse,” Natalia continued.

           “And she always gets her way.”

           “So do I,” Natalia said, her eyes shining as the last of the day’s sunlight twinkled through the clouds. Her fingers playfully pinched her husband’s thighs as he arched an eyebrow, his voice catching in his throat before he could speak again.

           “I think you’re craving something more than s’mores, hermosa,” Rafael whispered.

           “I love it when we’re in sync,” she said, her hand gliding down his chest. Natalia grabbed his shirt and pulled him back to dry land, the pair of them joining Violetta as she looked to the sky.

           “Guess we done now, Mami?” Violetta sadly asked.

           “It’s time to eat, sweet pea.”

           Even as her tummy rumbled, Violetta rolled her eyes and looked to Harold.

           “Someday I gonna have two babies so I can eat everything in the world, too,” she said.

           “Not until you’re seventy-eight,” Rafael said.

           “But you say I have to wait that long to get married,” Violetta whined.

           “Then it’s going to be a very busy year in your life, muñequita.”

           Returning to the cottage, the family settled before the fireplace, Rafael trying and failing several times to light a match until Natalia formed a flame with a single strike, and the wood began to glow.

           “Now we’ll get changed while Papi roasts the hot dogs and marshmallows,” Natalia said.

           “That’s what you packed for dinner?” Rafael asked.

           “Don’t knock it, Papi,” Violetta said. “Mami’s pizza yucky, but this sound pretty good.”

           “You’re outnumbered, Atticus,” Natalia said, tossing him a towel to dry his hair as they disappeared into another room.

           “In a few more months it won’t be two against one,” he called out, shedding his shirt in favor of a sweater and a clean pair of slacks.

           “It be four then, Papi!” Violetta yelled, and Natalia laughed in agreement as Rafael looked to Harold, his shoulders slumping.

           “Sometimes I wish you could talk,” he told the hippo only to shake his head when he realized that Harold had enough smarts to pick the winning side, leaving him out in the cold.

           But the world was decidedly warmer when his girls returned and they snuggled before the roaring fire to roast the red hots and the marshmallows.

           “Not bad, right?” Natalia said.

           “Family dinner is always fine by me,” he said, finding ice for the lemonade as Violetta rattled on and on about all she wanted to do the next day.

           “First we go back and say hi to the ocean,” she started. “Then we swim and then we make a sandcastle so Harold can help and then we do brunch.”

           “Brunch?” Rafael echoed. “Did you bring the fixings for cheesy pancakes and huevos motulenos?”

           “Plus extra pineapple for everything,” Natalia smirked, earning Rafael’s laughter as Violetta yawned and brought her head to rest in Harold’s lap.

           “Make mine without, Papi,” she said in a sleepy voice, her eyelids fluttering as she curled her feet under her nightgown.

           “And she’s out like a light,” Rafael said.

           “Long day,” Natalia replied. “You want me to put her to bed?”

           “I’ve got it,” he said, gingerly picking her up as Natalia handed Harold over. “You wait here.”

           “Uh uh,” Natalia said. “Meet me in the bedroom at the end of hall.”

           Inhaling sharply, Natalia kissed their daughter and turned on her heel. Rafael placed Violetta underneath a patchwork quilt, tucking Harold in for good measure and patting both their heads before flicking the switch on the wall and listening to the sound of Natalia’s off key hum as he neared their door.

           “Are you going to sing me a lullaby, hermosa?” he teased. “Violetta might object, but I—”

           “That’s not the music I had in mind, Atticus.”

           He stopped at the edge of the candlelit room to see his wife stretched out across pale peach sheets, her hands in her hair, and wearing a light blue baby doll maternity set accented with black lace… in all the right places.

           “Cat got your tongue, Atticus?” she said. “I thought I already made my intentions clear.”

           “That you did,” he said, the look of her bathed in blue exceptionally enticing. Finding her fingers in her locks made lighter by their day in the sun, Rafael bowed his head in search of her lips, the sweet taste of her tongue taking control of his senses as he rested his brow to hers.

           “Are you sure?” Rafael asked, kissing her cheeks as her hands went to work on his shirt.

           “Don’t be silly, Papi,” she crooned.

           “I just… I mean we haven’t since—”

           “No,” she said, gently bringing one hand over his mouth as she pressed her lips to his ear. “Not even a mention of… of that man in any bed of ours ever again.”

           Staring into her eyes and worried that he’d broken the spell before the most magical moments, Rafael was relieved when she rendered his chest bare and eased him to the pillows, her smooth thighs straddling his legs as she leaned down to kiss his naval before her lips traveled the length of his torso back to his waiting mouth.

           “Do I make myself clear, Atticus?” she purred.

           “And you’ll get your way,” he agreed, his hands moving towards the ribbon so close to her waist. With one pull he unveiled her breasts, her growing belly glistening in the candlelight as he stroked her skin.

           “This… it’s really okay with the twins?” he asked.

           “It’s a pregnancy, Rafael,” she said, her teeth tenderly nibbling at his earlobe as she ran her hands down his face. “I already told you that I won’t break.”

           “Good,” he said, his fingers falling down her arms until he had her soft hands in his. “Because I never want anything to happen to you.” Laughing lightly, she lowered his fly, her lips curling into a wicked smile as her breath washed over his hard cock, and her eyes just met his again.

           “Well there is this one thing,” she said, her voice lusty as her hands floated up his sides.

           “What?” he asked, his breaths coming shorter and sharper as his body begged for more under her touch.

           “I simply have to have my handsome husband, or I think I’m going to lose my mind.”

           “We can’t have that,” he said, winking as she stripped him bare and pressed her body closer to his. “Too many cold showers after just looking at you.”

           “Then let’s turn up the heat, counselor.”

           Hitching his fingers into her panties, Natalia helped him drag the lace away, her fiery warmth melting around him with barely a single thrust. No question about it; it was music to hear her moans as their lust met and mingled, and Rafael lifted his head to feel her warm breath drizzling over his face, dancing in the air with his sighs as he wrapped his arm around her neck.

           “Are we getting warm?” she teased between kisses, her tender flesh tightening around his as he caressed her flushed face, somehow finding the strength to nod.

           “Smoldering, hermosa,” he said. “I’m going to—”

           “Not yet,” she said, her finger tracing the line of his parted lips. Suckling the tips of her nails, he tried to calm himself inside her as she peppered his face with kisses and sighed into his shoulder.

           “I… I thought you were about to lose your mind,” he panted.

           “I am,” she said. “Let me show you how.”

           Stretching up and pushing him deeper into the bed, Rafael looked up at her with wide eyes, Natalia’s curves caught in a beam of moonlight passing through the window when she tossed her head back, her hands on her breasts as she moved with him again, her moans coming fast and furious as his cock was ready to burst.

           “Hermosa? Por favor?”

           “Rafael…”

           Raking her nails over his chest, Natalia suddenly pulled him close to her heaving breasts, her kisses short and sweet, her quivering essence setting the bed and his body on fire as he kept calling out her name even after his voice was spent. Collapsing into her, clinging to her lithe frame, he made no other move until she pressed two fingers under his chin to gaze into his grateful green eyes.

           “Did… did absence make your heart grow fonder?” she asked. Struggling to speak, Rafael brought her back to the bed, his lust cooling in the warmth of her walls while she stroked his face and waited with a smiling stare.

           “I have never loved you more, mi hermosa flor,” he finally said. Nuzzling his nose as she shared his pillow, Natalia’s touch played against his palm, and she pressed her fingertips to his with another light laugh.

           “Careful. You’ll make me think that’s the only reason you married me.”

           He was on the verge of launching into a list of the reasons why he wanted their lives linked for all time ranging from the limitless love in her heart to the strength of her spirit. Natalia’s smirk kept any attempt at poetry at bay as he pulled the sheets over their bodies and slowly shook his head.

           “Not at all, hermosa,” he said. “I married you for all the extra pineapple.”

           Stunned for a second, Natalia playfully swatted his face. Rafael raised his hands to ward off her teasing attack before folding her in his arms and kissing her to the ends of every ocean as they fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

[artsychica2012]

(via 11 Secrets to Writing Effective Character Description)

The characters in our stories, songs, poems, and essays embody our writing. They are our words made flesh. Sometimes they even speak for us, carrying much of the burden of plot, theme, mood, idea, and emotion. But they do not exist until we describe them on the page. Until we anchor them with words, they drift, bodiless and ethereal. They weigh nothing; they have no voice. Once we’ve written the first words—“Belinda Beatrice,” perhaps, or “the dark-eyed salesman in the back of the room,” or simply “the girl”—our characters begin to take form. Soon they’ll be more than mere names. They’ll put on jeans or rubber hip boots, light thin cigarettes or thick cigars; they’ll stutter or shout, buy a townhouse on the Upper East Side or a studio in the Village; they’ll marry for life or survive a series of happy affairs; they’ll beat their children or embrace them. What they become, on the page, is up to us.

Here are 11 secrets to keep in mind as you breathe life into your characters through description.

1. Description that relies solely on physical attributes too often turns into what Janet Burroway calls the “all-points bulletin.”

It reads something like this: “My father is a tall, middle-aged man of average build. He has green eyes and brown hair and usually wears khakis and oxford shirts.”

This description is so mundane, it barely qualifies as an “all-points bulletin.” Can you imagine the police searching for this suspect? No identifying marks, no scars or tattoos, nothing to distinguish him. He appears as a cardboard cutout rather than as a living, breathing character. Yes, the details are accurate, but they don’t call forth vivid images. We can barely make out this character’s form; how can we be expected to remember him?

When we describe a character, factual information alone is not sufficient, no matter how accurate it might be. The details must appeal to our senses. Phrases that merely label (like tall, middle-aged, and average) bring no clear image to our minds. Since most people form their first impression of someone through visual clues, it makes sense to describe our characters using visual images. Green eyes is a beginning, but it doesn’t go far enough. Are they pale green or dark green? Even a simple adjective can strengthen a detail. If the adjective also suggests a metaphor—forest green, pea green, or emerald green—the reader not only begins to make associations (positive or negative) but also visualizes in her mind’s eye the vehicle of the metaphor—forest trees, peas, or glittering gems.

2. The problem with intensifying an image only by adjectives is that adjectives encourage cliché.

It’s hard to think of adjective descriptors that haven’t been overused: bulging or ropy muscles, clean-cut good looks, frizzy hair. If you use an adjective to describe a physical attribute, make sure that the phrase is not only accurate and sensory but also fresh. In her short story “Flowering Judas,” Katherine Anne Porter describes Braggioni’s singing voice as a “furry, mournful voice” that takes the high notes “in a prolonged painful squeal.” Often the easiest way to avoid an adjective-based cliché is to free the phrase entirely from its adjective modifier. For example, rather than describing her eyes merely as “hazel,” Emily Dickinson remarked that they were “the color of the sherry the guests leave in the glasses.”

3. Strengthen physical descriptions by making details more specific.

In my earlier “all-points bulletin” example, the description of the father’s hair might be improved with a detail such as “a military buzz-cut, prickly to the touch” or “the aging hippie’s last chance—a long ponytail striated with gray.” Either of these descriptions would paint a stronger picture than the bland phrase brown hair. In the same way, his oxford shirt could become “a white oxford button-down that he’d steam-pleated just minutes before” or “the same style of baby blue oxford he’d worn since prep school, rolled carelessly at the elbows.” These descriptions not only bring forth images, they also suggest the background and the personality of the father.

4. Select physical details carefully, choosing only those that create the strongest, most revealing impression.

One well-chosen physical trait, item of clothing, or idiosyncratic mannerism can reveal character more effectively than a dozen random images. This applies to characters in nonfiction as well as fiction. When I write about my grandmother, I usually focus on her strong, jutting chin—not only because it was her most dominant feature but also because it suggests her stubbornness and determination. When I write about Uncle Leland, I describe the wandering eye that gave him a perpetually distracted look, as if only his body was present. His spirit, it seemed, had already left on some journey he’d glimpsed peripherally, a place the rest of us were unable to see. As you describe real-life characters, zero in on distinguishing characteristics that reveal personality: gnarled, arthritic hands always busy at some task; a habit of covering her mouth each time a giggle rises up; a lopsided swagger as he makes his way to the horse barn; the scent of coconut suntan oil, cigarettes, and leather each time she sashays past your chair.

5. A character’s immediate surroundings can provide the backdrop for the sensory and significant details that shape the description of the character himself.

If your character doesn’t yet have a job, a hobby, a place to live, or a place to wander, you might need to supply these things. Once your character is situated comfortably, he may relax enough to reveal his secrets. On the other hand, you might purposely make your character uncomfortable—that is, put him in an environment where he definitely doesn’t fit, just to see how he’ll respond. Let’s say you’ve written several descriptions of an elderly woman working in the kitchen, yet she hasn’t begun to ripen into the three-dimensional character you know she could become. Try putting her at a gay bar on a Saturday night, or in a tattoo parlor, or (if you’re up for a little time travel) at Appomattox, serving her famous buttermilk biscuits to Grant and Lee.

6. In describing a character’s surroundings, you don’t have to limit yourself to a character’s present life.

Early environments shape fictional characters as well as flesh-and-blood people. In Flaubert’s description of Emma Bovary’s adolescent years in the convent, he foreshadows the woman she will become, a woman who moves through life in a romantic malaise, dreaming of faraway lands and loves. We learn about Madame Bovary through concrete, sensory descriptions of the place that formed her. In addition, Flaubert describes the book that held her attention during mass and the images that she particularly loved—a sick lamb, a pierced heart.

Living among those white-faced women with their rosaries and copper crosses, never getting away from the stuffy schoolroom atmosphere, she gradually succumbed to the mystic languor exhaled by the perfumes of the altar, the coolness of the holy-water fonts and the radiance of the tapers. Instead of following the Mass, she used to gaze at the azure-bordered religious drawings in her book. She loved the sick lamb, the Sacred Heart pierced with sharp arrows, and poor Jesus falling beneath His cross.

7. Characters reveal their inner lives—their preoccupations, values, lifestyles, likes and dislikes, fears and aspirations—by the objects that fill their hands, houses, offices, cars, suitcases, grocery carts, and dreams.

In the opening scenes of the film The Big Chill, we’re introduced to the main characters by watching them unpack the bags they’ve brought for a weekend trip to a mutual friend’s funeral. One character has packed enough pills to stock a drugstore; another has packed a calculator; still another, several packages of condoms. Before a word is spoken—even before we know anyone’s name—we catch glimpses of the characters’ lives through the objects that define them.

What items would your character pack for a weekend away? What would she use for luggage? A leather valise with a gold monogram on the handle? An old accordion case with decals from every theme park she’s visited? A duffel bag? Make a list of everything your character would pack: a “Save the Whales” T-shirt; a white cotton nursing bra, size 36D; a breast pump; a Mickey Mouse alarm clock; a photograph of her husband rocking a child to sleep; a can of Mace; three Hershey bars.

8. Description doesn’t have to be direct to be effective.

Techniques abound for describing a character indirectly, for instance, through the objects that fill her world. Create a grocery list for your character—or two or three, depending on who’s coming for dinner. Show us the character’s credit card bill or the itemized deductions on her income tax forms. Let your character host a garage sale and watch her squirm while neighbors and strangers rifle through her stuff. Which items is she practically giving away? What has she overpriced, secretly hoping no one will buy it? Write your character’s Last Will and Testament. Which niece gets the Steinway? Who gets the lake cottage—the stepson or the daughter? If your main characters are divorcing, how will they divide their assets? Which one will fight hardest to keep the dog?

9. To make characters believable to readers, set them in motion.

The earlier “all-points bulletin” description of the father failed not only because the details were mundane and the prose stilted; it also suffered from lack of movement. To enlarge the description, imagine that same father in a particular setting—not just in the house but also sitting in the brown recliner. Then, because setting implies time as well as place, choose a particular time in which to place him. The time may be bound by the clock (six o’clock, sunrise, early afternoon) or bound only by the father’s personal history (after the divorce, the day he lost his job, two weeks before his sixtieth birthday).

Then set the father in motion. Again, be as specific as possible. “Reading the newspaper” is a start, but it does little more than label a generic activity. In order for readers to enter the fictional dream, the activity must be shown. Often this means breaking a large, generic activity into smaller, more particular parts: “scowling at the Dow Jones averages,” perhaps, or “skimming the used-car ads” or “wiping his ink-stained fingers on the monogrammed handkerchief.” Besides providing visual images for the reader, specific and representative actions also suggest the personality of the character, his habits and desires, and even the emotional life hidden beneath the physical details.

10. Verbs are the foot soldiers of action-based description.

However, we don’t need to confine our use of verbs to the actions a character performs. Well-placed verbs can sharpen almost any physical description of a character. In the following passage from Marilynne Robinson’s novel Housekeeping, verbs enliven the description even when the grandmother isn’t in motion.

… in the last years she continued to settle and began to shrink. Her mouth bowed forward and her brow sloped back, and her skull shone pink and speckled within a mere haze of hair, which hovered about her head like the remembered shape of an altered thing. She looked as if the nimbus of humanity were fading away and she were turning monkey. Tendrils grew from her eyebrows and coarse white hairs sprouted on her lip and chin. When she put on an old dress the bosom hung empty and the hem swept the floor. Old hats fell down over her eyes. Sometimes she put her hand over her mouth and laughed, her eyes closed and her shoulder shaking.

Notice the strong verbs Robinson uses throughout the description. The mouth “bowed” forward; the brow “sloped” back; the hair “hovered,” then “sprouted”; the hem “swept” the floor; hats “fell” down over her eyes. Even when the grandmother’s body is at rest, the description pulses with activity. And when the grandmother finally does move—putting a hand over her mouth, closing her eyes, laughing until her shoulders shake—we visualize her in our mind’s eye because the actions are concrete and specific. They are what the playwright David Mamet calls “actable actions.” Opening a window is an actable action, as is slamming a door. “Coming to terms with himself” or “understanding that he’s been wrong all along” are not actable actions. This distinction between nonactable and actable actions echoes our earlier distinction between showing and telling. For the most part, a character’s movements must be rendered concretely—that is, shown—before the reader can participate in the fictional dream.

Actable actions are important elements in many fiction and nonfiction scenes that include dialogue. In some cases, actions, along with environmental clues, are even more important to character development than the words the characters speak. Writers of effective dialogue include pauses, voice inflections, repetitions, gestures, and other details to suggest the psychological and emotional subtext of a scene. Journalists and other nonfiction writers do the same. Let’s say you’ve just interviewed your cousin about his military service during the Vietnam War. You have a transcript of the interview, based on audio or video recordings, but you also took notes about what else was going on in that room. As you write, include nonverbal clues as well as your cousin’s actual words. When you asked him about his tour of duty, did he look out the window, light another cigarette, and change the subject? Was it a stormy afternoon? What song was playing on the radio? If his ancient dog was asleep on your cousin’s lap, did he stroke the dog as he spoke? When the phone rang, did your cousin ignore it or jump up to answer it, looking relieved for the interruption? Including details such as these will deepen your character description.

11. We don’t always have to use concrete, sensory details to describe our characters, and we aren’t limited to describing actable actions.

The novels of Milan Kundera use little outward description of characters or their actions. Kundera is more concerned with a character’s interior landscape, with what he calls a character’s “existential problem,” than with sensory description of person or action. In The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Tomas’s body is not described at all, since the idea of body does not constitute Tomas’s internal dilemma. Teresa’s body is described in physical, concrete terms (though not with the degree of detail most novelists would employ) only because her body represents one of her existential preoccupations. For Kundera, a novel is more a meditation on ideas and the private world of the mind than a realistic depiction of characters. Reading Kundera, I always feel that I’m living inside the characters rather than watching them move, bodily, through the world.

With writers like Kundera, we learn about characters through the themes and obsessions of their inner lives, their “existential problems” as depicted primarily through dreams, visions, memories, and thoughts. Other writers probe characters’ inner lives through what characters see through their eyes. A writer who describes what a character sees also reveals, in part, a character’s inner drama. In The Madness of a Seduced Woman, Susan Fromberg Schaeffer describes a farm through the eyes of the novel’s main character, Agnes, who has just fallen in love and is anticipating her first sexual encounter, which she simultaneously longs for and fears.

… and I saw how the smooth, white curve of the snow as it lay on the ground was like the curve of a woman’s body, and I saw how the farm was like the body of a woman which lay down under the sun and under the freezing snow and perpetually and relentlessly produced uncountable swarms of living things, all born with mouths open and cries rising from them into the air, long-boned muzzles opening … as if they would swallow the world whole …

Later in the book, when Agnes’s sexual relationship has led to pregnancy, then to a life-threatening abortion, she describes the farm in quite different terms.

It was August, high summer, but there was something definite and curiously insubstantial in the air. … In the fields near me, the cattle were untroubled, their jaws grinding the last of the grass, their large, fat tongues drinking the clear brook water. But there was something in the air, a sad note the weather played upon the instrument of the bone-stretched skin. … In October, the leaves would be off the trees; the fallen leaves would be beaten flat by heavy rains and the first fall of snow. The bony ledges of the earth would begin to show, the earth’s skeleton shedding its unnecessary flesh.

By describing the farm through Agnes’s eyes, Schaeffer not only shows us Agnes’s inner landscape—her ongoing obsession with sex and pregnancy—but also demonstrates a turning point in Agnes’s view of sexuality. In the first passage, which depicts a farm in winter, Agnes sees images of beginnings and births. The earth is curved and full like a woman’s fleshy body. In the second scene, described as occurring in “high summer,” images of death prevail. Agnes’s mind jumps ahead to autumn, to dying leaves and heavy rains, a time when the earth, no longer curved in a womanly shape, is little more than a skeleton, having shed the flesh it no longer needs.

[jacobsonofalltrades]

Day 13 - Groundhog’s Day, Resort Style

Matt and I woke up early on our respective territories of the Hollywood King, and casually strolled down to Spice for breakfast.  We were basically allergic to air conditioning at this point, so we opted for an outdoor terrace on the balcony.  You unfortunately can’t see through the sunshade in the picture, but the terrace overlooks the ocean.

While there was a great selection at the breakfast buffet, the New Yorker in me just wanted an egg sandwich.  In an unusual move, I ordered scrambled eggs and smoked salmon (lox) on a croissant.  I guess Matt is really starting to wear off on me.  I loved it, and Matt said it was the best lox and eggs he had eaten in a long time. We also really enjoyed the refreshing tropical juice shot we were given when seated.

While we were chatting about our plans for the day, I couldn’t help but think of a line from “Pinky and the Brain,” a Saturday morning cartoon from when I was a kid.  Every episode opened with the following exchange between the dopey sidekick Pinky and the aptly named ringleader Brain:

We decided we would do the same thing we’d had so much fun doing the prior two days - swim, relax, eat, repeat.

The hotel offered all the same water sports as its counterparts in the Caribbean (scuba diving, jet skiing, parasailing), but we wanted to return home with our bodies and the Jacobson Family Fortune intact.  Plus, we had a 9:00 p.m. flight to Kuala Lumpur in the evening, and wanted to save up some energy for that endeavor.

So we happily went for a stroll along the beach...    

Found a prime spot in one of the poolside cabanas...

...applied sunscreen like responsible thirtysomething adults...

...and ate to our hearts’ content.

The Japanese restaurant was only about fifteen feet from our cabana, so it seemed the obvious choice for lunch.

I was still stuffed from breakfast, so I just had an appetizer -  Tuna Crispy Rice, with tuna sashimi, crispy Japanese rice and wasabi mayonnaise.  It was like the fancier version of tuna salad on saltine crackers that my mom used to make me as a kid, and was a perfect poolside snack.

Matt (unsurprisingly), had no issue whatsoever fitting in another full sized meal, and ordered the Tonkotsu Ramen - Pork broth, ginger chasu pork, poached egg, spinach, sweet corn and crispy nori. The broth was very rich and velvety and the crispy nori provided a nice salty element. While soup typically wouldn’t jump out at most on a sunny 87 degree day, we were beginning to feel like locals where soup for lunch is normal.

While all this was going on, our hotel had been putting the finishing touches on our complimentary (!!!) laundry service.  The prospect of going home with all clean clothes made my day, and I was already promising the staff I’d be back for another stay as soon as humanly possible.  

Just look at the way they matched and folded the socks.  Marie Kondo is applauding out there somewhere, and these little babies definitely sparked some joy in my life.

We very sadly had to check out of the hotel in the afternoon, but they kindly let us hang out there until we had to leave for our flight.  I stayed in my bathing suit until the last possible minute, and then showered in the “Departure Lounge,” which exists for just that purpose.

Freshly clean, wearing our freshly clean clothes, we made our way to the lounge for our last round of high tea and sunset cocktails.  We said goodbye to all of the lovely and incredibly helpful staff at the hotel...

...we said goodbye to the Indian Ocean...

...and we reluctantly said goodbye, for now, to Bali.  A quick, painless and uneventful flight to Kuala Lumpur rounded out the evening, and we went to sleep suntanned and happy.

This trip had far exceeded my expectations, and I was struck by how much more there still was to see!  I had dozens of little stars all over my trusty travel book, and we had only managed to see a small fraction of the sites on my list.  

As I said multiple times along the way, Matt really knocked this one out of the park.  A girl couldn’t ask for a more phenomenal birthday gift, or a better travel companion.  I can’t wait until we have the chance to visit again.  

A very high bar has also been sent for decade birthday celebrations.  I’ll have to take Matt to the moon (or the foodie equivalent) for his next big birthday. 

[rockbrary]

 OZZY OSBOURNE, KISS, KORN ROB ZOMBIE, SLAYER, GODSMACK, STONE SOUR LEAD AN ALL-STAR LINEUP OF ROCK’S TOP ARTISTS AT SECOND ANNUAL CHICAGO OPEN AIR FRIDAY, JULY 14, SATURDAY, JULY 15 AND SUNDAY, JULY 16 AT TOYOTA PARK IN BRIDGEVIEW, IL

TICKETS ON SALE FRIDAY, JANUARY 20

The second annual Chicago Open Air will bring together an all-star lineup of rock’s top artists on Friday, July 14, Saturday, July 15 and Sunday, July 16 at Toyota Park in Bridgeview, IL, just outside Chicago. The three-day music, craft beer and Gourmet Man Food festival will feature over 40 performances, including legendary rock artists Ozzy Osbourne, KISS, and Korn, along with Rob Zombie, Slayer, Godsmack, Stone Sour, Megadeth, Lamb Of God, Seether, Meshuggah, Anthrax, Clutch, Body Count, and many more.

Tickets for Chicago Open Air go on sale Friday, January 20 at Noon CT at www.ChicagoOpenAir.com.

In addition to three days of nonstop rock, Chicago Open Air’s celebration of everything loud will also include Gourmet Man Food featuring local and regional cuisine, the Headbangers Bier Hall highlighting top brews from the region, other entertainment and fan experiences, and will be hosted by SiriusXM’s Jose Mangin. The weekend gets started with The Chicago Open Air Kick Off Fiesta (details to be announced in February) and the official Chicago Open Air Pre-Party at Concord Music Hall on Thursday, July 13.

The daily band lineup (subject to change) is as follows:

Friday, July 14: KISS, Rob Zombie, Megadeth, Anthrax, Meshuggah, The Dillinger Escape Plan, Falling In Reverse, Vimic, Suicide Silence, Whitechapel, Crobot, Code Orange, Hell or Highwater, Failure Anthem

  Saturday, July 15: Korn, Godsmack, Seether, Clutch, Steel Panther, Body Count, Avatar, Mushroomhead, Metal Church, Pig Destroyer, Dragonforce, Cane Hill, Night Verses, Black Map

Sunday, July 16: Ozzy Osbourne, Slayer, Stone Sour, Lamb Of God, Amon Amarth, Behemoth, Hellyeah, Demon Hunter, DevilDriver, KYNG, Norma Jean, Whores., DED

Here’s what some of Chicago Open Air’s top artists have to say about playing the festival:

 Corey Taylor, Stone Sour: “We are beyond stoked to be a part of Chicago Open Air this year. If you’ve never seen Stone Sour before, you’re in for a goddamn treat. If you HAVE seen Stone Sour before, forget what you’re expecting. It’s a whole new ballgame. See you all soon!”

Dave Mustaine, Megadeth: “This year’s Chicago Open Air festival is going to kick so much ass! I mean, KISS, Megadeth, Anthrax, and Rob Zombie?! If I wasn’t playing, I would want to go just to be part of the party!!

 Randy Blythe, Lamb Of God: “Wassup Chicago! We’re stoked to be playing the Chicago Open Air this year. It’ll be nice to be outside in Illinois for a change, especially since it won’t be 10 below, haha. So come on out and bring your baggies, bikinis and suntan lotion, and surfboards (ok, so you can leave the surfboards at home). See ya there!”

Danny Wimmer, Founder of Danny Wimmer Presents said, “Walking through the site last year, I saw people from all over the world. Different ages, different races – people celebrating rock culture. When curating the 2017 version of Chicago Open Air, we wanted to find that balance for everyone who attends the festival. From iconic artists like Ozzy, KISS, Korn and Slayer to Rob Zombie, Godsmack and Stone Sour to Amon Amarth, Meshuggah and Behemoth. If you are a rock fan, this is a must see experience.”

“Rock is clearly alive and well in Chicagoland, and year two of Chicago Open Air promises to build on where we left off in creating one of America’s best destination hard rock festivals,” said Jason Wright, Live Nation’s Midwest President.

Tickets are priced as follows:

3-day General Admission Field: starting at $209.50

3-day General Admission Bowl: starting at $119.50

3-day VIP: starting at $425.00

Single Day General Admission Bowl: starting at $50.00

All VIP tickets include: VIP entrance lanes into the event, access to a VIP lounge area featuring dedicated food and beverage offerings (for additional purchase), field and stadium level viewing areas of the main stage, dedicated restroom facilities, and a commemorative Chicago Open Air VIP-only laminate.

No Service Fee tickets will be available at the Chicago Open Air Official Pop-Up Party at Kuma’s Corner downtown (666 W. Diversey Pkwy., Chicago) on Friday, January 20, starting at Noon. In addition, all three Chicago-area Kuma’s locations (http://www.kumascorner.com/locations.html) will be selling No Service Fee tickets and exclusive Chicago Open Air / Kuma’s merchandise.

Discounted hotel rates are also available through Curadora. Visit www.ChicagoOpenAir.com for details.

Here’s a preliminary list of Chicago Open Air special events, Gourmet Man Food and craft beer partners, as well as onsite experiences and nonprofit organizations with a presence at Chicago Open Air:

Chicago Open Air Kick Off Fiesta, hosted by Jose Mangin: Kick off the Chicago Open Air weekend with this fiesta. This intimate dinner will be hosted by SiriusXM’s Liquid Metal DJ Jose Mangin. The menu and more information will be announced in the coming weeks.

Chicago Open Air Official Pre-Party & After-Show Events: The official Chicago Open Air Pre-Party will be held at Concord Music Hall on Thursday, July 13. Bands and more details will be announced soon. In addition, official after-show events will be held at Double Door on Friday, The Metro on Saturday, and the official afterparty will be at House of Blues in Chicago on Sunday.

Gourmet Man Food: The initial Gourmet Man Food lineup includes selections from Chicago favorites such as: Bruges Brothers, Chicago Doghouse, Crème of the Crop, Dia De Los Tamales, Dinky’s Donuts, Kuma’s Corner, Pizano’s (Chicago deep dish), and Yum Dum. Additional Gourmet Man Food vendors from around the country will include: Aporkalypse Now, BBD’s Restaurant, Ben’s Burrito Bowl, Cheeze Louise, Cravin’ Cajun, Master of Patties, Ollie’s Tots, Pie Baby (wood-fired pizza), Sweet Pete’s, and The Big Cheesy.

Headbangers Bier Hall: This unique METAL themed dive bar is returning to Chicago Open Air. Headbangers Bier Hall will feature national and regional craft beers and artist inspired beverages including: Goose Island (Chicago – 312 Urban Wheat Ale, Four Star Pils), Half Acre Beer Company (Chicago – Daisy Cutter Pale Ale, Vallejo IPA, Pony Pilsner), Iron Maiden’s Trooper Beer, Lagunitas (Petaluma, CA – IPA, A Little Sumpin’ Sumpin’), Motörhead Wine, Revolution Brewing (Chicago – Fist City, Rev Pils), Surly(Minneapolis – Surly Hell Lager, Surly Furious IPA), Two Brothers Brewing (Chicago – Sidekick Extra Pale Ale, Dog Days Dortmunder Style Lager), and more to be announced. Look for unique experiences throughout the weekend.

Monster Energy Experience: Fueling the festival experience with energy, the Monster Energy Experience offers free Monster drink samples and artist signings. Stop by the Monster Energy Experience and get energized for Chicago Open Air!

Kuma’s Corner: Kuma’s Corner will be returning to serve their signature metal themed burgers.

The Music Experience: The Music Experience features all the elements that are involved in making music in a professional band setting. The interactive exhibit features guitars, basses, amps, drums, keyboards, and electronic gear that are used by today’s most popular bands. After laying your hands on the hottest equipment available, you will walk away feeling like a rock star and you may even see one there, too! Come and meet your favorite band members from the festival at the Music Experience Tent. You can win free amps, free guitars and get tons of other free stuff, as well.

FYE Fan Experience: FYE will be hosting the ultimate fan and artist interactive experiences throughout the festival! FYE is the only place at the festival to get your favorite band’s music, and maybe even get to meet your favorite Chicago Open Air performer!

Fxck Cancer / Dyin 2 Live: The Dyin 2 Live Dreams program is a wish-granting organization whose purpose is to try and enrich the lives of those fighting cancer by offering them an experience that will bring hope and inspiration to their lives. In doing this, we hope it can help give them a chance to forget, even if it’s only for a day. Through our extensive network of friends, supporters, and affiliates, we are able to reach out to individuals and present them with one of a kind experiences and opportunities that arise. We feel a Dyin 2 Live Dream can offer a source of inspiration for those undergoing difficult medical treatments and be a positive force that offers a life-changing impact not only for them, but also the family to overcome their obstacles. If you are currently fighting cancer or know of someone in the fight who could benefit from a Dyin 2 Live Dream, please submit your story and tell us why and how a Dyin 2 Live day would help. Also, anyone interested in being a supporter, volunteer or donor, please contact us at mywish@dyin2live.org.

 Take Me Home: Take Me Home (TMH) has been saving the lives of homeless animals since 2001. TMH was founded as an animal rights advocacy foundation saving orphaned animals and striving to end animal overpopulation. TMH works in conjunction with shelters and rescues throughout California and beyond to help save animals on death row, on the streets, or in unsafe living conditions. Stop by their booth for custom gear and contribute to a great cause.

Chicago Open Air is produced by Danny Wimmer Presents, Live Nation, and Toyota Park, with the support of the Village of Bridgeview and Bridgeview Mayor Steven Landek.

Chicago Open Air is fueled by Monster Energy. Additional 2017 sponsors include: Jack Daniel’s, FYE, The Music Experience, Fxck Cancer, Take Me Home, Soho Concessions and more.

  Chicago Open Air: Music Craft Beer and Gourmet Food  OZZY OSBOURNE, KISS, KORN ROB ZOMBIE, SLAYER, GODSMACK, STONE SOUR LEAD AN ALL-STAR LINEUP OF ROCK’S TOP ARTISTS AT…