#no really like. out of network and deductible or whatever. that shit is not real. can’t emphasize this enough

[rumlnated]

Checking my health insurance stuff from work, which is more of a curiosity than anything since i’m not actively living in the country, and my god. what a joke it is to see the way they don’t reimburse anything for covid 19 at home tests purchased after may 30, 2023. or your vision/dental benefits, which is a joke. the pharmacies that are out-of-network and they close early, right as you’re finishing work. or the discounts they give you on the most random ass lotions and fitbits. what? what?? this is a joke of country. it’s not real. you just made that shit up and now those poor USAmericans are like “this is stupid, but i have to work otherwise i won’t get this meager discount of insurance on my $100,000 25 minute procedure that in actuality should cost $15 max for supplies and labor”

[hellomynameisbisexual]

Here's a shortlist of those who realized that I — a cis woman who'd identified as heterosexual for decades of life — was in fact actually bi, long before I realized it myself recently: my sister, all my friends, my boyfriend, and the TikTok algorithm.

On TikTok, the relationship between user and algorithm is uniquely (even sometimes uncannily) intimate. An app which seemingly contains as many multitudes of life experiences and niche communities as there are people in the world, we all start in the lowest common denominator of TikTok. Straight TikTok (as it's popularly dubbed) initially bombards your For You Page with the silly pet videos and viral teen dances that folks who don't use TikTok like to condescendingly reduce it to.

Quickly, though, TikTok begins reading your soul like some sort of divine digital oracle, prying open layers of your being never before known to your own conscious mind. The more you use it, the more tailored its content becomes to your deepest specificities, to the point where you get stuff that's so relatable that it can feel like a personal attack (in the best way) or (more dangerously) even a harmful trigger from lifelong traumas.

For example: I don't know what dark magic (read: privacy violations) immediately clued TikTok into the fact that I was half-Brazilian, but within days of first using it, Straight TikTok gave way to at first Portuguese-speaking then broader Latin TikTok. Feeling oddly seen (being white-passing and mostly American-raised, my Brazilian identity isn't often validated), I was liberal with the likes, knowing that engagement was the surefire way to go deeper down this identity-affirming corner of the social app.

TikTok made lots of assumptions from there, throwing me right down the boundless, beautiful, and oddest multiplicities of Alt TikTok, a counter to Straight TikTok's milquetoast mainstreamness.

Home to a wide spectrum of marginalized groups, I was giving out likes on my FYP like Oprah, smashing that heart button on every type of video: from TikTokers with disabilities, Black and Indigenous creators, political activists, body-stigma-busting fat women, and every glittering shade of the LGBTQ cornucopia. The faves were genuine, but also a way to support and help offset what I knew about the discriminatory biases in TikTok's algorithm.

My diverse range of likes started to get more specific by the minute, though. I wasn't just on general Black TikTok anymore, but Alt Cottagecore Middle-Class Black Girl TikTok (an actual label one creator gave her page's vibes). Then it was Queer Latina Roller Skating Girl TikTok, Women With Non-Hyperactive ADHD TikTok, and then a double whammy of Women Loving Women (WLW) TikTok alternating between beautiful lesbian couples and baby bisexuals.

Looking back at my history of likes, the transition from queer “ally” to “salivating simp” is almost imperceptible.

There was no one precise "aha" moment. I started getting "put a finger down" challenges that wouldn't reveal what you were putting a finger down for until the end. Then, 9-fingers deep (winkwink), I'd be congratulated for being 100% bisexual. Somewhere along the path of getting served multiple WLW Disney cosplays in a single day and even dom lesbian KinkTok roleplay — or whatever the fuck Bisexual Pirate TikTok is — deductive reasoning kind of spoke for itself.

But I will never forget the one video that was such a heat-seeking missile of a targeted attack that I was moved to finally text it to my group chat of WLW friends with a, "Wait, am I bi?" To which the overwhelming consensus was, "Magic 8 Ball says, 'Highly Likely.'"

Serendipitously posted during Pride Month, the video shows a girl shaking her head at the caption above her head, calling out confused and/or closeted queers who say shit like, "I think everyone is a LITTLE bisexual," to the tune of "Closer" by The Chainsmokers. When the lyrics land on the word "you," she points straight at the screen — at me — her finger and inquisitive look piercing my hopelessly bisexual soul like Cupid's goddamn arrow.

Oh no, the voice inside my head said, I have just been mercilessly perceived.

As someone who had, in fact, done feminist studies at a tiny liberal arts college with a gender gap of about 70 percent women, I'd of course dabbled. I've always been quick to bring up the Kinsey scale, to champion a true spectrum of sexuality, and to even declare (on multiple occasions) that I was, "straight, but would totally fuck that girl!"

Oh no, the voice inside my head returned, I've literally just been using extra words to say I was bi.

After consulting the expertise of my WLW friend group (whose mere existence, in retrospect, also should've clued me in on the flashing neon pink, purple, and blue flag of my raging bisexuality), I ran to my boyfriend to inform him of the "news."

"Yeah, baby, I know. We all know," he said kindly.

"How?!" I demanded.

Well for one, he pointed out, every time we came across a video of a hot girl while scrolling TikTok together, I'd without fail watch the whole way through, often more than once, regardless of content. (Apparently, straight girls do not tend to do this?) For another, I always breathlessly pointed out when we'd pass by a woman I found beautiful, often finding a way to send a compliment her way. ("I'm just a flirt!" I used to rationalize with a hand wave, "Obvs, I'm not actually sexually attracted to them!") Then, I guess, there were the TED Talk-like rants I'd subject him to about the thinly veiled queer relationship in Adventure Time between Princess Bubblegum and Marcelyne the Vampire Queen — which the cowards at Cartoon Network forced creators to keep as subtext!

And, well, when you lay it all out like that...

But my TikTok-fueled bisexual awakening might actually speak less to the omnipotence of the app's algorithm, and more to how heteronormativity is truly one helluva drug.

Sure, TikTok bombarded me with the thirst traps of my exact type of domineering masc lady queers, who reduced me to a puddle of drool I could no longer deny. But I also recalled a pivotal moment in college when I briefly questioned my heterosexuality, only to have a lesbian friend roll her eyes and chastise me for being one of those straight girls who leads Actual Queer Women on. I figured she must know better. So I never pursued any of my lady crushes in college, which meant I never experimented much sexually, which made me conclude that I couldn't call myself bisexual if I'd never had actual sex with a woman. I also didn't really enjoy lesbian porn much, though the fact that I'd often find myself fixating on the woman during heterosexual porn should've clued me into that probably coming more from how mainstream lesbian porn is designed for straight men.

The ubiquity of heterormativity, even when unwittingly perpetrated by members of the queer community, is such an effective self-sustaining cycle. Aside from being met with queer-gating (something I've since learned bi folks often experience), I had a hard time identifying my attraction to women as genuine attraction, simply because it felt different to how I was attracted to men.

Heteronormativity is truly one helluva drug.

So much of women's sexuality — of my sexuality — can feel defined by that carnivorous kind of validation you get from men. I met no societal resistance in fully embodying and exploring my desire for men, either (which, to be clear, was and is insatiable slut levels of wanting that peen.) But in retrospect, I wonder how many men I slept with not because I was truly attracted to them, but because I got off on how much they wanted me.

My attraction to women comes with a different texture of eroticism. With women (and bare with a baby bi, here), the attraction feels more shared, more mutual, more tender rather than possessive. It's no less raw or hot or all-consuming, don't get me wrong. But for me at least, it comes more from a place of equality rather than just power play. I love the way women seem to see right through me, to know me, without us really needing to say a word.

I am still, as it turns out, a sexual submissive through-and-through, regardless of what gender my would-be partner is. But, ignorantly and unknowingly, I'd been limiting my concept of who could embody dominant sexual personas to cis men. But when TikTok sent me down that glorious rabbit hole of masc women (who know exactly what they're doing, btw), I realized my attraction was not to men, but a certain type of masculinity. It didn't matter which body or genitalia that presentation came with.

There is something about TikTok that feels particularly suited to these journeys of sexual self-discovery and, in the case of women loving women, I don't think it's just the prescient algorithm. The short-form video format lends itself to lightning bolt-like jolts of soul-bearing nakedness, with the POV camera angles bucking conventions of the male gaze, which entrenches the language of film and TV in heterosexual male desire.

In fairness to me, I'm far from the only one who missed their inner gay for a long time — only to have her pop out like a queer jack-in-the-box throughout a near year-long quarantine that led many of us to join TikTok. There was the baby bi mom, and scores of others who no longer had to publicly perform their heterosexuality during lockdown — only to realize that, hey, maybe I'm not heterosexual at all?

Flooded with video after video affirming my suspicions, reflecting my exact experiences as they happened to others, the change in my sexual identity was so normalized on TikTok that I didn't even feel like I needed to formally "come out." I thought this safe home I'd found to foster my baby bisexuality online would extend into the real world.

But I was in for a rude awakening.

Testing out my bisexuality on other platforms, casually referring to it on Twitter, posting pictures of myself decked out in a rainbow skate outfit (which I bought before realizing I was queer), I received nothing but unquestioning support and validation. Eventually, I realized I should probably let some members of my family know before they learned through one of these posts, though.

Daunted by the idea of trying to tell my Latina Catholic mother and Swiss Army veteran father (who's had a crass running joke about me being a "lesbian" ever since I first declared myself a feminist at age 12), I chose the sibling closest to me. Seeing as how gender studies was one of her majors in college too, I thought it was a shoo-in. I sent an off-handed, joke-y but serious, "btw I'm bi now!" text, believing that's all that would be needed to receive the same nonchalant acceptance I found online.

It was not.

I didn't receive a response for two days. Hurt and panicked by what was potentially my first mild experience of homophobia, I called them out. They responded by insisting we need to have a phone call for such "serious" conversations. As I calmly tried to express my hurt on said call, I was told my text had been enough to make this sibling worry about my mental wellbeing. They said I should be more understanding of why it'd be hard for them to (and I'm paraphrasing) "think you were one way for twenty-eight years" before having to contend with me deciding I was now "something else."

But I wasn't "something else," I tried to explain, voice shaking. I hadn't knowingly been deceiving or hiding this part of me. I'd simply discovered a more appropriate label. But it was like we were speaking different languages. Other family members were more accepting, thankfully. There are many ways I'm exceptionally lucky, my IRL environment as supportive as Baby Bi TikTok. Namely, I'm in a loving relationship with a man who never once mistook any of it as a threat, instead giving me all the space in the world to understand this new facet of my sexuality.

I don't have it all figured out yet. But at least when someone asks if I listen to Girl in Red on social media, I know to answer with a resounding, "Yes," even though I've never listened to a single one of her songs. And for now, that's enough.

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 10 - In Which Jack Hosts A Fashion Show

Jack is finally ready for his first runway show, after months of work and agonizing over every small detail and making sure he keeps up appearances as a flighty party boy with enough money that he doesn't need to have talent or ambition.

But he's honestly quite proud of how everything has turned out. He's tailored the runway fashions for the trendy, upscale gallery that's hosting the show, of course, so everything is very modern and very stark. There are a lot of geometric shapes, structured collars, plunging triangular necklines and sideslits, things like that. Lots of metallic black fabrics.

It's all very cyberpunk dystopia - but chic. Because the upper echelons of society will commodify and romanticize everything, including the surveillance state.

It does appear to be a successful strategy, however. Mary has been taking pictures of his work throughout the process. Pictures that are framed to hint, to tantalize, but not to actually reveal anything. And there's been significant hype building around the show. Some of the backstage photos from the runway rehearsal have even appeared in the society sections of various newspapers. Which nobody really reads anymore, but Jack's Instagram account has simultaneously blown up, so that's probably a better indication that he's on the right track with this designer nonsense.

And he's had no trouble filling seats at the show itself. Since it's all rich assholes in attendance, they'd never do anything so gauche as to charge admission, but there's an understanding that everyone who attends the event will provide a hefty (and tax deductible, after some creative accounting) donation to both the art gallery and Jack's little design company. And Kaylen has used her extensive network of snooty art acquaintances to make sure there are plenty of critics in the audience, which should help get his name out there in the fashion world so he can start broadening their field of influence.

So the last thing that remains to be done is to personally invite the Councilor to the show. Not only because Jack is trying to develop a deeper friendship with him (and thereby cement his influence over any and all planning decisions) but also because Max wants to form another sort of relationship with Councilor Featherstone. Ie. she wants one of her girls to start “dating” the esteemed Councilor and whispering sweet nothings about their competitors into his ear instead of pillow talk. Which is also why Jack's throwing an after party at his house where the invitees can mingle with the models, get to know them a little better.

Jack had initially been rather uncomfortable with this plan. Mostly because he doesn't like people in his house messing up his things. But also because this feels just slightly skeevy in a way he hasn't been before. He's a con and a killer and a dealer, but he's not a pimp.

But when he'd talked to the girls about this plan, they'd seemed surprised at his reservations. One girl - Jackie – had even asked if the Councilor was, quote, wicked and seemed disappointed when Jack told her he had the sexual charisma of a bowl of lukewarm oatmeal. And Jack supposes it's their job, so they know what they're getting themselves into.

So he finds himself at the office building downtown (a pricey piece of real estate if Jack's ever seen one) to personally extend the glossy black invitation to both fashion show and after party to Councilor Featherstone. Who apparently has not yet grasped e-vites as a concept. And anyway, it's the personal touch that leaves a lasting impression.

And Charles has elected to accompany Jack, for whatever reason. He seems familiar with desk security and the building layout at least. Which is, perhaps, suspicious. As are the wary glances Councilor Featherstone's second in command – a man who's doing much what Max wants them to do in terms of filtering exactly what proposals actually reach the Councilor's desk, although his criteria for acceptance is more in line with being rich and titled and not a dirty foreigner - keeps giving Charles through Featherstone's glass door.

Charles's self satisfied smirk is not particularly encouraging either.

But he'd rather have any potential adversaries cowed as apposed to actively antagonistic. And Counselor Featherstone is more than happy to receive an invitation to his good friend Jack's debut fashion show. With front row seats to ensure that he gets a good look at all the models as they parade past on the catwalk. And Max's second sitting next to him - because Featherstone doesn't seem like the sort to approach a woman of his own volition and they'll need some indication of who to throw at him later tonight.

Jack's stupid fashion show is giving Anne a bitch of a headache. He's running around backstage in a fucking tizzy, because someone's makeup isn't quite right or they're wearing the wrong style of jewelry or a dozen other fucking things. And Anne's supposed to be coordinating this mess – as if that's fucking possible.

At least she's good at glaring and rude hand gestures. That appears to be all that's required to get the DJs – some poor fucks Max has by the balls – to get their shit set up and now there's some pumping electronic shit going as all the rich fucks mingle and drink cocktails, waiting for the show to start.

Fortunately, Eme'd been the one to recommend the caterers and other than pointing towards the kitchen and telling them when the show starts, she hasn't had to deal with them. And Mary's running around taking pictures of all the models and dresses and shit but she spares Anne a quick smile whenever they cross paths. So it could be worse.

And then Anne's pressed into lining up all the models in order and cuing when they're supposed to go out, so she's too busy to hear Jack's little speech at the start of the show. But by the polite applause he gets, it's a pretty good one – always been silver tongued, Jack has, and that ain't changed any with this new venture.

And it turns out he's pretty good at the whole designer thing too, which had been a surprise. Anne doesn't think much of the outfits – completely impracticable and all ugly weird dresses - but all these posh idiots are eating this shit up, if you take into account the fact that rich people excitement is a lot less loud than normal people excitement. The after party is sure to loosen them up, at least.

Jack slumps against the wall, absolutely exhausted. The fashion show had gone well, with several of the critics and many of the various high society invitees coming up to congratulate him afterwards. He's the darling of the upper crust for a night.

And in order to cement that for the future, he's in the process of throwing the mother of all parties – champagne, blow, stupid finger foods with gold leaf on them. The sort of club music that keeps coked up partiers on the dancefloor all night. And it's all getting to be a bit much.

Anne and Mary have already disappeared upstairs to bed, and Jack dearly wishes he could join them. Or at least meander in their general direction – he doubts they want him in their bed. Particularly because they're probably not even attempting to sleep what with all the noise downstairs.

And Jack doesn't really feel like laying awake for hours in his empty bed while Anne and Mary fuck down the hall, even if he wasn't bound by his persona to stay until the party ended or the sun rose. And it's starting to look like sunup will be the earlier of the two conditions, so it's just as well he's a jobless layabout who can sleep all day tomorrow.

At least Counselor Featherstone looks to be having fun with Idelle, all tucked into a sort of quiet corner with her and staring shamelessly at her tits. Which are quite noticeable in the dress she's wearing, to be fair. But Jack doesn't particularly want to spend his night thinking about that either.

So he turns on his heel and weaves through the crowd until he's reached the French doors leading to the little patio out back. He needs a minute – just one minute – of quiet and calm. Just a minute to catch his breath before he heads back into the heaving throng.

He walks out to the edge of the lawn and lets out a long sigh, head tipped towards the heavens.

“Get sick of the party, Jack?”

Charles emerges from the dark, only the glowing cherry of his cigar lighting his face, making his eyes gleam in a way that would be terrifying if Jack didn't know him so well.

But he does know Charles, so he just turns toward him, slumps against him in exhaustion. “I'll admit, it's a little harder to make it through these things without enough blow to keep an entire 80's office building supplied.”

Charles grins. “Or you're just getting old.”

“And what does that say about you, Chaz?” Jack leans back to look him in the eye. “You're the one out here in the dark all by yourself. Maybe you're the one getting too old for this shit.”

Charles eyes the house and all the guests making a disgusting mess all over Jack's fancy furniture. It's unbelievable, and he's spent his whole life, minus the last few months, living on the streets or in derelict drug dens.

“Don't know that I was ever young enough for this particular shit. Want to pretend to be desperate for a fuck and go hide upstairs?”

Jack considers it for a long moment, torn between responsibility to Max and his desire to escape the party. But fear of Max wins out – she can make is life awfully difficult. And that's without Anne giving him unimpressed looks on her behalf.

“Want to pretend to make out on the dancefloor instead?”

Charles grins. “Ok, but don't get pissy at me for grabbing your ass.” And he proceeds to steer Jack into the house and out into the middle of the dancefloor by doing just that, to the cheers and wolf whistles of everyone close enough to understand what he's doing.

Which is a fair number, because Charles is not exactly known for being subtle. And then he sticks his tongue down Jack's throat.

“I hope you know this means I'm spending tomorrow braiding your hair in retaliation,” Jack growls at him, when he's finally let up for air. “And I will give you pigtails.”

Charles just laughs, so apparently it's not a enough of a threat. Jack will find something truly menacing at some point. He swears.

[xxlying-from-y0u]

25 Simple Things Every 20-Something Should Realize 🗣

1. Take care of yourself.

“Take care of your health. Take care of your sanity. Take care of the relationships that matter most to you. Enjoy experiences throughout life and be ready to learn. Try not to turn down interesting experiences.” — ElusivePineapple

2. You are not behind.

“Now is generally a time where you feel you should have done something by now, but at the same time have not have a chance to do anything yet.” — Monsterzz 

3. Learn your drinking limit. 

“The day I learned when to cut myself off so I could still be loose and have a good time but not yakking all over the place when I got home was the greatest day of my 20s.” — PunchBeard

4. Pursue a career that allows you to be happy.

“Find a job/career that will ALLOW you to be happy. Of course, there are jobs/careers out there that will MAKE you happy, but I assume that the majority of occupations will involve some factor that will make a person unhappy (long hours, time away from loved ones, perhaps strenuous manual labor, ect.).

However, if you can find an occupation that will allow you to focus on the things in your life that already make you happy, I say go for that. A persons happiness is everything, despite how oversimplified that may seem. Life will take a 180 degree turn when a person finds them self in a job that not only requires the entirety of their day, but requires the entirety of their mind as the workload never ends and causes a person to stress even when off work.

Pursue happiness.” — AyBake

5. Leave when you want to leave. 

“You owe your employer nothing. If you need to leave, leave. If you need your own time, don’t feel pressured to work overtime. If they push the law on what’s legal, take legal action. Try to be as friendly and helpful as possible, but take care of yourself first and don’t let that friendliness get in the way or prevent you from doing what’s right. Learn from my mistakes.” — GoabNZ

6. You need to take responsibility for yourself. 

“Generally, things won’t get better unless you make them better. At the end of the day, you need to take responsibility for yourself.

Sometimes you’ll be on the fortunate end of good luck, and sometimes you’ll be on the unfortunate end of bad luck.

Set goals. Work on them a little bit every day.

Make the life you want and don’t wait for it to be handed to you because chances are, it won’t be handed to you.” — jacobra94

7. Remember how valuable these years of your life are.

“It gets exponentially harder to have novel experiences and explore as you get older, have kids, a mortgage, stable career, etc.

So don’t waste your early-mid twenties. This means lots of different things. Travel if you can. But even if you can’t, meet new people, and go new places. Read about different ideas. Date different kinds of people. Don’t stay in relationships you’re not happy in.

Basically, this part of your life is more valuable than you think.” — TooMuchPants

8. Keep your standards high and your options open.

“You don’t have to marry the first person who pays attention to you.” — ChemicalThread

9. Stop chasing after happiness. 

“My advice: Stop searching for happiness.

I know that sounds all sorts of fucked up, but hear me out.

All the self-help books in the world keep telling you to look for happiness. You look around and all your friends seem to have found various forms of it….except for you. You keep trying to get it and you feel you keep failing and it causes you to panic or get depressed or just feel like an all-around failure. But during all this searching and striving and flailing, have you ever really thought about the nature of happiness itself?

Look – happiness is a feeling, not a state of being. It is lovely and it is fleeting but it is NOT – I emphasize, NOT – the state you should be wishing to live in forever.

Think about it this way.

Going about in a constant state of sadness is dangerous, yes? We discourage that, we spend so much time trying to raise people out of it, and we call it depression. We know it’s unhealthy to live in that state.

Why, then, do we think it’s somehow okay to live – much less set a goal – towards a constant state of happiness? Just because one is a pleasant emotion and the other an unpleasant one doesn’t mean one is any better for us than the other. They’re simply two extremes on a straight line – one above, one below. Neither is healthy over the long-term. Both are meant to be experienced only occasionally.

Instead, pursue the healthy. Pursue contentment.

Contentment means you experience the joy and the sadness in your life without expecting anything unrealistic. You can be secure in the knowledge both feelings will eventually dissipate. There will be moments of supreme joy you can embrace and moments of sadness you must endure. Both feelings have their own meaning.

Contentment is attainable. You can look at your life and say, ‘I have enough, right now. I am okay.’ And from there, any steps you make to further your joy will not come from a place of fear, where you feel you MUST find success or happiness – or you have nothing. You will already have enough. Within contentment, you find peace.” — locogirlp

10. Some friends aren’t meant to stay in your world forever.

“Always salt your pasta while it boils, bunny ears are a perfectly acceptable way to tie your sneakers, some friends aren’t meant to be around forever, save your money but know when to enjoy the fruits of your labor, she’s looking to have fun and feel safe stop trying to marry her, change your own oil, learn how to fix a flat, keep a clean car, never turn down opportunity for fear of failure, take pride in your appearance, and never forget that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.” — littlebeargiant

11. Stop making excuses.

“Excuses will destroy your life. Every excuse you make just takes something away from you. You’re not going to class because of shit going on in your life? You’re fucking up your future. Put on your big girl panties and do your shit or you’ll pay for it later.” — SouthernYankeeWitch 

12. Maintain perspective.

“Maintain perspective — things that may seem like a big deal (i.e. getting a large bill) are not worth a world of stress. Work hard and the rest will follow.” — EdMcGIV

13. Seriously, don’t do drugs. 

“Don’t fuck with opiates, stimulants, or benzos. Too many kids in their early twenties think it’s a good time to take prescription pills, be it OxyContin or adderall or Xanax. It all seems innocuous at first, but that shit is incredibly addictive. I was partial to opiates myself, and it fucked me up for a long time after I lost control of it.

Shit goes from ‘fun and recreational’ to ‘desperate because I need it’ faster than you’d think.” — lemon_catgrass

14. Appreciate the people in your universe. 

“You are young, but if you take a second to look around, the family you have been with your whole life have begun to grow old. Your grandparents won’t be around much longer, and your parents are getting into their 40s and 50s. Spend the time with them while they can still enjoy it, because it’s those memories you will have when they get old and are no longer able to do them/aren’t around anymore.” — dourazel

15. Find a balance between work and fun.

“What you spend your time doing right now will lay the foundation for the rest of your life. Have fun, but don’t waste it. You can’t get that time back.” — uacoop

16. Remember that you are still young.

“When I was 24, I had a 30-year old, married couple that I knew and hung out with. The wife told me, ‘Whatever mess you make in your 20’s, you can clean up in your 30’s.’ She said this because I was worried about my career and the possibility of buying a house with my fiance.

Basically, you still have time to grow into a functional adult and you still have the energy and motivation to start your life over and/or make some bad decisions. Experiment. Try and get that new job you want. Move somewhere else.

But try and get your life at least a little bit in order before your 30.” — the_planes_walker

17. Find a career you actually enjoy. 

“Working a job you hate for the money will just make you hate your life. Do something you enjoy even if it pays less and learn to live on that.” — itsZiz

18. Invest in your retirement from an early age.

“As soon as you get a job start investing in your retirement if you can afford it (401k, ira).

Typically your investments should double every 10 years. So every dollar you can invest now will be 16 dollars when you retire. Not to mention the tax shelter when you start making real money (pre tax deductions or post tax taxfree growth).” — workact

19. Realize there are gray areas in life. 

“Critical thinking: Knowing that having two opposing ideas in your head isn’t the cause for a meltdown. Search out at least two (more are better) differing opinions and news sources before deciding on the truth (or relative truth) of a thing. Sometimes there is no black or white, only gray.” — JasperDyne

20. Never forget the importance of networking. 

“Network. Build those work relationships. Be friendly with your coworkers (classmates if you’re still in school). They may know someone who can help you out down the line.

In this world, connections are everything.” — 420shadesofgreen

21. Learn to communicate (and laugh) with your person about sex.

“One of my favorite pieces of sex advicebeyond the very obvious — learn to communicate and talk about sex, is to learn to laugh. Find someone you can laugh with in bed so if the anal or whatever else you try goes completely wrong, it’ll be okay because you can laugh about it. I always feel bad for those people who try something and it goes wrong and they are afraid to ever speak tot he person again or both partners just shut down and won’t speak of it. Laughter defuses so much tension. And while this may not be true of everyone, gosh damn does a good laugh just feel good sometimes. Naked, bed shaking laughter is so underrated.

Plus, the whole communication thing seems to go easier if you both are able to laugh. Sex doesn’t have to be this very serious thing. Not all the time anyway.” — Tzipity

22. Ask your elders for advice before making major decisions.

“Ask the advice of older people before making a big purchase like a house or car. Have them come with you if you can. Young people will often get taken advantage of when taking out loans for something like that. Don’t buy super nice things yet. Buy used things for cheaper and save your money.” — ediblehearts

23. Never forget to wear sunscreen.

“If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it.

The longterm benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience.” — Yooreka

24. Know your single status isn’t embarrassing. 

“You do not need to be married by now.” — aden34

25. Treat your body with respect.

“Do not take your body or your health for granted. You need your teeth, arteries, lungs and joints to last you the rest of your life. Treat them with the respect they deserve for keeping you alive, and perhaps that life will be long and healthful.” — bakemeawaytoys

[violetsystems]

#personal

It was a productive but discouraging week for the most part.  I received my second dose of the Pfizer shot on Wednesday.  I felt a little more exhausted than usual but I’m fine.  Thursday I had a message in my inbox on LinkedIn about a job.  Two or three weeks ago I had applied for another job which was seen but no reply.  The offer sounded interesting so I replied and they asked to schedule a phone call.  So this was to be the first human interview I’ve had since ten months or so ago.  The recruiter’s prescreening went pretty well.  The first call.  Which means there were a total of about three or four calls in a two hour span.  I’ve interviewed a lot of people over the years but never really had the reason to interview myself.  That happens when you are consecutively employed for twenty years.  So while I am a little rusty, this occasion I had a particularly good opener for a classic question.  What drew me to the job in the first place?  I had a nametag tucked above a cabinet from 2014 that I had forgotten about.  It was from when I attended a lecture by myself about Abenomics and the rebuilding of Japan after the Tsunami.  It was at the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago.  It’s pretty tight security in that building.  But in 2014 they let a malcontent like myself in there.  At the time I was doing a lot of work which LinkedIn now categorizes as “human rights.”  Mostly volunteering for local organizations like Japan America Society of Chicago to attend these lectures and even helping run a Korean fest with a chamber of commerce after work.  I did all this alone.  Mostly to network and meet new people.  This is back when I thought meeting new people was the answer.  The answer in the interview was a lot shorter but it impressed the screener enough to finish the call and send me the scary forms to fill out.  Then there was a call back.  “I’m so sorry we forgot to talk about wages.”  That really wasn’t my fault.  But that is always the hardest part.  The job offer was a six month contract and not salary.  So I quoted my current hourly rate which was seemingly too high for the recruiter.  So they quoted low.  Which worked out to be about half of my salary last year without benefits.  I still had interest.  It was remote work but I’m literally not very far and fully vaccinated.  I told them on the first call I had a zero trust office network set up for my consulting.  Then the tone started to get weird.  I had sent a 2020 resume because it was the most relevant.  That did not include my current consulting business.  The woman on the second call started to dig deeper after the salary question.  “Can you tell me what you’ve been doing since your last job at the school and why you didn’t include it on your resume?”  I explained that I formed a LLC back in later December and have been working for smaller clients freelance.  She asked me to edit my resume and add this.  She wanted it within the hour so she could “sell me to her hiring manager” properly to be considered for an interview.  I did so.  A third call.  “Can you add specifically the types of computers you supported?”  That was in there.  A request to fill out more scary forms for the federal reserve.  A fourth message.  “Can you add specifically the types of computer you supported at your old job as well?”  It was then I thought something was extremely fishy.  So I apologized and rescinded my offer.  Then I spent most of the rest of the day feeling like a failure.  Discouraging but productive.

I woke up the next morning to an email in my professional inbox from another person at the recruiting agency.  It was legal in nature informing me I had the option to file a EEO form.  This is tied to equal opportunity insofar that by signing it, the recruiter must by law share with their client all the names of applicants that they screened and probably why.  Do I expect any justice?  Not really.  I don’t know that I would have even been selected if I got the chance to interview.  It is a federal job after all.  The point is that in the eyes of a hiring manager at a recruitment agency, my resume did not seem strong enough.  If learning through failure is apparent, I shudder to think if I didn’t start a company back in December what my next interview would be like.  That is if I even get an interview.  I was reading this morning that HP and HP Enterprise are being hit with a class action for age discrimination.  There’s a lot of reasons for this.  But particularly when it comes to the money game, people fresh out of school are easier to leverage.  Whether it is tax breaks for hiring new grads or simply cheaper salaries with less experience, the agenda is simple.  Save more money so CEO’s and shareholders can get a bigger piece of the cut.  Meanwhile, America’s answer is that it is the perfect time to start your own business.  Then compete with huge sprawling mega corporations and recruitment firms that have galvanized the employment market with their magic show of balance sheets and deductions.  I’m qualified to do a lot of things which is great.  I just bought a drone so I could use the SDK to learn Python and UI design.  These are great things to add to my resume for 2021.  But the likelihood of being employable with no debt to speak of is like kryptonite to the job market.  Much less the fact that my entire professional network is scared to admit I’m alive in fear of them being blamed for favoring their job security over friendship.  I was very lucky to be where I was at when this happened back in July because of the CARES act.  I just finished the personal nightmare side of my taxes from that year on tax day.  There’s still my business to do.  Which if anything I’m more qualified to do these days, it’s your accounting.  Add those skills to the resume stat.  Along with all the computers you supported since before you were born.  Twice.  It still does not matter.  And this is where I hit this insane brick wall.  I try to be acknowledged and useful.  I try to be employable and valuable.  And I am treated in such a shitty and abusive way that I’m starting to wonder if I’m better off behind closed doors.  I have money.  I have deductions.   I have time on my hands to organize my life so I don’t spend unwisely.  I have a roof over my head with a verbal agreement at best.  And I have been living in the oblivion of no one wanting to admit fault or praise since July in varying degrees of comfort.  I’ve had people stalk me in the street because of the companies I’ve invested in like they’re the fucking mob.  I’ve gone through all of this alone while people have peeped over my shoulder.  And I’m supposed to think the law is on my side in a city that shoots thirteen year olds point blank in the chest with their hands up.  If I know one thing, it is what I can rely on.  And mostly that has been my own instinct, wisdom and prudent decisions.  And I know where I’m at at the end of the day.  Pretty much at the end of my rope with the whole process of being ignored and treated like some joke.  Then there’s people who see me in a different light.  A different hue of the spectrum.  Easier to read than my resume after it’s been edited fourteen times that’s for sure.

Things are extremely broken.  Living in a neighborhood and a sanctuary city sometimes you look for the places that aren’t.  Regardless of feeling useless and unemployable, there are times when I feel valued.  Times when people in the street follow me around more so in solidarity than fear.  People who want to be free to express themselves and look the way they feel.  People who don’t want to lower themselves to mediocre standards just to get ahead.  People who want to walk around without being judged by people who never critique themselves.  As fucked up as everything is, there’s another side to this coin.  People do get what I’m about.  That meme about people going to your hood or block and never hearing about you?  You try that shit with me and you are in for a history lesson these days.  There are no shortage of people in Chicago who will tell you all about me.  Some of it is skewed.  Some of it is nostalgia.  And then there’s people in this neighborhood who know all about stuff I haven’t told anyone.  Like I don’t sit on the weekends talking to my friends about who I like or who I think the world of.  I don’t really have the luxury of trusting many people in my situation.  And yet sometimes when I walk out to get groceries or pay the bills, someone is there to say it without even saying it.  That people just get what I’m about without me having to say anything.  Besides three paragraphs on the internet every week or so.  The reason I don’t fuck with people.  The reason I keep to myself.  The reason I don’t really care if you get me or not.  That confidence is something infectious.  That after all the fucking shit I’ve been through I keep it real regardless.  Every year some troll has to prove me wrong and fails.  Every failure proves a very clear point.  The problem isn’t me.  I’m not invisible.  I’m not hard to understand.  I’m not a liar or a traitor.  I’m literally just existing here while people size me up.  Nobody has asked my name or my agenda.  Nobody really has had enough of a human conversation to pry it out of me.  I’m an only child.  I grew up lonely and learned how to survive on my own.  I also learned begrudgingly to stand up for myself.  It doesn’t mean I don’t like society or am anti social.  How the fuck can I be anti social when everyone can’t stop talking about me in public?  I understand people are antsy, paranoid and fatigued because of the pandemic.  But some of us have literally been rolling through this warzone for years.  I’m supposed to feel humbled and privileged to be so lucky to have survived?  Fuck you.  The number one thing con artists try to do is fuck with your confidence.  Because we all know better by this point.  America is not working.  Specifically we can’t when we’re overqualified and a threat to the natural order of whatever corporate scam is going on these days.  The one thing I know is that people with actual money got richer this year.  Stocks, 401k’s, CEO salaries, tax breaks, and whatever else you throw in there.  If I learned one thing from starting an actual business, it’s that the books are overcooked for a reason.  Not that mine are.  Years and years of shady deals are hard to cover up.  Donald Trump took a loss on his business for years and evaded taxes.  I’m technically what they call going concern.  But there aren’t many tax breaks for me as a small business.  Nor is there much money coming in other than what I can hustle out of the market or royalties.  Did I mention I’m royalty?  Not in the Prince Harry sense of the word.  But I do hold the sword and shield up for feminism in America.  That much we’ve learned by now.  That and the glass ceiling is harsher for women than it is for me.  So maybe I’ll sit this one out and let the ladies take control.  In that I know my work is worth something.  Just consider me interning for the movement at the moment.  And make sure you sign that contract in bright pink because I’m not really paying attention to anything in the red.  As far as the federal reserve is concerned, my finances are in the green.  <3 Tim

[loudest-subtext-in-tv]

is this a version of alibi theory that already exists? I can't keep up with anything, link me if anyone's laid it out this way The real story is that Mary did betray AGRA, she was "the Englishwoman" that the torturers alluded to. But John and Sherlock couldn't be sure of that at first. They colluded up to the Morocco bit -- this could be coded texts if you want, or else the cheating bit happened to show that John did not like or trust Mary or value the marriage (to show casuals John might not be as reluctant to kill her as they'd assume). John killed AJ in Morocco and they rewrote that bit, which was why it was so weird with Kareem walking in with police but like, calmly carrying tea until the last second. They still have nothing solid on Mary so Sherlock explores other leads and thinks of Norbury. John thinks maybe Mary has been telling the truth and he was going to confess either to texting E, or if it was coded collusion he was going to confess that he hadn't trusted her before but he was going to try to now, or something. Either reason is why John was feeling guilty or whatever on the plane. Sherlock asks Mrs. Hudson to say "Norbury" to him when he gets too cocky because he really had believed it was Norbury, but when he showed up at the aquarium, Norbury totally snitched on Mary working for Moriarty. Norbury is a mirror for both John and Mary because at the aquarium, Mary tried to shoot Sherlock again (out of "jealousy" maybe, like Sherlock says is Norbury's motive, or just because she was found out) which is why Sherlock is obsessing over escaping death twice (the Samarra story), but John shoots Mary from behind. Norbury also mirrors Moriarty a bit just because Mary was working for him, so it's part of the Mary mirror. Mycroft and Lestrade witness it but they all agree to cover it up NOT merely because John killed Mary -- the circumstances make it pretty legal -- but because it looks terrible for Mycroft and MI6 to have been employing someone like Mary. Instead, they paint a super pristine picture of Mary, someone the government wouldn't have been ashamed to employ, and just pin it on Norbury because she sucks too and they want an excuse to punish her even more severely. That ties up all of Mycroft's loose ends. And they make Mary say all this super nice shit about John to make John look blameless. The cheating-or-whatever texts aren't part of the story they tell or anything, that's just for the viewer because it's a clue to Sherlock collusion or John not being invested in the marriage. Either the estrangement is faked to strengthen the cover-up story -- they figure John would have to be mad if his wife sacrificed herself for Sherlock -- or else John was actually angry at Sherlock for not doing a better job of taking out Moriarty's network and letting him marry an assassin or something. Or John unfairly blames Sherlock and the estrangement is real because having to shoot the mother of his child because his crush's nemesis had a long game to ruin him is a very "what the fuck is my life" thing to go through, and he's beating himself up for his attraction to dangerous people and telling himself he needs to have a normal life yet again. He would have a lot of pressure on him not to let his daughter get hurt, and they'd both have reason to think Moriarty's long game isn't over. (We see Sherlock admit he's still expecting something when he puts in the DVD.) The skull frame shows up for "The Cardiac Arrest" case and glows during the secret assassin working for Moriarty bit because Mary gets shot in the heart and was a secret assassin working for Moriarty, and that's why she died. That's also why John is replaced with a fake (the balloon) in that scene. It's just signalling that there's a fakeness about those events. It's not the cleanest set of clues but it sort of works. Ella's office is fake because Sherlock sends himself to MP therapy after all that shit goes down, not because the entire story is 100% fake. The Six Thatchers case was used again because Moriarty knew about the AGRA drive (he was telling AJ where the busts were), knew the Thatcher bust would catch Sherlock's attention, and was slowly revealing Mary's past -- without Mary's permission -- because he doesn't care about a henchman and it would really fuck with John and Sherlock both. Maybe Mary really did think she could live a normal life, like Moriarty told her she could just have John because it makes things easier for him, but she's "shortsighted" (Sherlock's deduction in TEH) and failed to realize Moriarty will always just use her however it most amuses him. She never thought through that her exposure and death could be a great way to cause a rift and burn Sherlock's heart out. What I can't explain: - I have no idea what to make of the Miss Me? DVD. I have an EMP reading but even that one is a wild guess. Maybe the "save John Watson" bit was a nice Mary story, but the real DVD just told Sherlock to go to hell because Mary realized things were unraveling? Like, Sherlock goes to investigate a weird murder that has this inexplicable Thatcher bust tie-in, then a bust has an AGRA stick... and Mary realizes that's not a coincidence and Moriarty must be setting her up for something bad? - The Duplicate Man case, where a person is dead in one place and alive in another. I can only come up with an EMP explanation. Maybe it's not significant? - Why specifically the secret assassin working for Moriarty was administering mind control drugs, which fits perfectly with EMP and the MI6 guy insisting Sherlock was high in the beginning of the ep. But maybe that's all nothing.

[violetsystems]

#personal

I guess you could count how many of these I’ve written since I’ve lost my job.  It’s been six months of my life.  The entire process of whatever goes on in the shadows is far longer than that.  You start to look back in times of chaos at the things in your life that are stable.  I’ve been living at my address for about ten years now.  Yesterday I had a chance conversation with my landlord.  I asked them how they were doing.  They replied not good.  Mostly issues we’ve talked about on the property are ongoing.  About the only stable thing in my life that is one hundred percent tangible is the roof over my head.  I had just created a logo for my consultancy.  A nice Edwardian script that turned the LLC into a gordian knot by accident.  The website for it references the street address  along with the letters ‘vs.’  It’s very simple.  I have an appointment Monday with the bank to set up my checking with it.  I decided to pay  the rent early with a personal check of my own volition.  My personal discovery for anyone contemplating a small business is that Quickbooks is the easiest way to stay accountable for deductions.  A business check for rent does look nice.  It’s also nice if I ever have to hire someone.  I haven’t been in a lease for years.  My landlord is a family from Poland and not some huge land developer.  Largely my experience with being personally accountable for my own behavior and lifestyle is what gets me by in terms of security.  Being able to be always on in terms of being a people person is hard.  I have become an ‘on the spot’ sort of person by necessity since everyone is either up in your face or on the periphery here in Chicago.  People talk and gossip.  You can’t really hide anything here.  And yet, it’s hard to shake a stable foundation.  People talk a lot about clout out here.  When you think your history is buried and what you’ve done, it isn’t like you are in Hoffa’s grave or anything.  It’ll be dug up eventually.  And people will talk about it again and again.  There’s a point when stepping up is more like standing your ground.  And the more you stand your ground angry, the more people think you are looking for a fight.  Fighting is exhausting.  So is defending your every breath.  For however needlessly complex people process me behind my back, I’m pretty stubborn and predictable.  I’ve been on here saying the same thing for years though it has evolved considerably.  People ignore me on a level that is psychosocial at best.  I get invited to comment on professional threads on LinkedIn and it further proves the point.  Nobody listens or pays attention.  I’ve said it over and over again.  I begin to feel like the invisible man and it chews on my self worth like a meat grinder every day.  The basic metrics people use to evaluate their lives don’t really compare to what I’ve gone through.  This I know and am patient with.  People in business talk about the long term ‘scarring’ of what this economy has done to it’s people.  But they’re never in the streets with the people.  Their money is locked behind savings accounts, tax write offs, and bricks of gold not on expanding their payroll for professionals like myself.  And yet people are still hurting.  Nobody hurts more than I do even if I never show it.  I write about it week after week seemingly to an invisible audience.  An audience that probably feels exactly as invisible as I do.

That’s the trick, Mr. Potter.  I love that line.  I’ve been referencing it a lot mostly because Prometheus is on HBO.   It counts as a Christmas movie mostly because of Idris Elba’s line about time and the holidays.  Michael Fassbinder’s David is the one who is obsessed with Laurence of Arabia.  The scene is a trick involving a match.  The trick is not minding that it hurts.  How did I do it?  It was already done to me a long time ago.  And it always hurts every day the place I find myself in.  One might argue this is the human condition.  David is just jealous.  He gets his body torn in half by the maker.  Not his maker of course.  He’s just a slave to the Weyland corporation.  And later in the movie, the main tool for humanity to finally confront it’s maker.  I like the idea the main character is faced with a choice after losing everything.  Go back to earth and wait for the inevitable or head out into the unknown and face the truth.  The sacrifices are immense and the unknown just as expansive.  Just like the last couple of decades of my life.  I could go back.  Back to the workforce and fit into a tiny expectation of what my true potential is.  But nobody cares to know my name for the most part.  It does all hurt.  Sometimes it hurts all too well.  And it’s a familiar kind of hurt that is almost boring to me.  Pain for the most part and suffering largely don’t excite me very much any more.  I’m over it.  It doesn’t mean I’m beyond it.  A bass guitar literally came crashing down on my head the other day.  I’m over that as well.  It hurts more to settle with not being happy.  It hurts to be ignored.  To interpret the awkwardness of society not being able to meet you eye to eye as some sort of sleight or punishment.  The trick to breaking through people’s barriers are removing them in yourself.  What holds you back?  What overwhelms you deeply when you experience the mere hint of pain?  What keeps you from loving a person freely and what holds you back from opening your arms?  I don’t make those judgements for other people.  That’s love.  You wait and you are patient because you are free and open.  You don’t mind that it hurts.  To care about someone or something without any guarantee or expectation that they think about you at all.  The lack of validation does hurt.  It requires you to find the confidence to know that you matter.  And sometimes we overshoot this especially when our internal life isn’t in balance.  We over speculate or underestimate our value all the time.  We get ahead of ourselves or fall behind.  There is no pacing.  No self control.  The zen is somewhere in the middle through trial and error.  The trick is we feel pain and we work our way through it.  Just like I wake up sore as fuck from whatever exercise routines I keep up daily living in total isolation.  Being alone does hurt.  Having no real solid connections with people in real life sucks.  But once you get over that, you start to see the world a little differently.  It’s not about you.  It’s about the perception.  How did you do that trick?  Get your life completely fucked over time and time again and still be so cool about everything.  That’s the trick.  I’m cool as fuck.  And it hurts just as much to stay cool all these years.

It hurts less not to have to revisit the same failed ways and history.  It’s a lot easier to pay my rent no questions asked.  I can generate income doing things I like to do.  I can work as much as I want and see the results.  I can still look for a job to work for someone for less than what I’m worth as a tax write off.  I can wait six months and get vaccinated and be worth five times as much globally.  I can still participate in professional discussions and hope that if everyone ignores me the AI will eventually set me aside like Roko’s Basilisk.  And I can just keep making cautious decisions with my own investments and see where that leads.  I can be ignored year after year and feel like nobody wants me.  And then I can realize that every beautiful person I know still thinks the world of what I go through daily.  You see if you could look into my heart and see the emotion I feel after all of this, you’d break down and cry.  It’s horrendous.  I have been through literal shit.  And yet, everyone else has their soapbox.  It seems everyone’s problems are more important.  I’ve stopped trying to sell my victimhood.  It’s not a great look if you are sitting in a position of privilege.  Which to be honest, I’m not exactly living the same life of privilege as the entire professional network that pretends I died or became a spy.  The truth is I am in levels of pain nobody would ever survive.  What the world is asking of me isn’t something anyone would willfully put themselves through.  And then there’s the trick that I perform effortlessly.  How I show I care about someone without ever saying a word?  How it echoes through the net and the streets like a pulse instead of a shout.  How I never really know anything and yet I know we connect.  It’s painful to see the trick everyday expand in front of my eyes.  How I survive with little help but my own.  How people use me as a talking point and leave my name out of the equation.  How I feel like a fucking ghost and the quote echoes in my head like the memories of people that inspired me to even write here in the first place.  How nobody says anything remotely of emotional weight in reality.  How everything is just a punchline and joke to the horror nobody wants to face.  It hurts horribly to know the truth.  That it’s worse to get it half right.  To perform the trick but lose the magic.  To tell and not show.  To talk and not walk it.  To be the person who isn’t me constantly comparing themselves to someone they’ll never be.  To be on trial for the crimes of humanity and stranded just the same.  To move forward with little or no fanfare while the lies around you fall apart.  I pay my rent just the same.  I keep the faith with my friends without a word.  And I love you with no baggage other than that Jaguar rolling suitcase I picked up the other day.  Big fan of Pete Buttigieg becoming transportation secretary for the record.  I heard him say that airports are the most romantic places in the universe.  Different strokes for different folks.  Either way get used to seeing me at O’hare.  We can kiss and ride the train to my office all you want when the world comes together.  Just tell Pete to mind his own business.  Better than Rahm by a fucking lightyear.  <3 Tim