#[shows up to the yoga thing like two weeks late with starbucks]

[lurkerviolin]

Apparently writing 911 fics makes me want to try my hand at making covers.

Basically, I read a fic that was tagged “Ana Bashing” and I’ve decided I disagree, so we’re sending them on a good time.

🌅

Ana Flores/Taylor Kelly / Rated: T / 15k

🌅

The house has been cleaned thoroughly enough to damn near eat off the floor twice in the past week.

The first time was because Ana didn’t know what else to do with herself being home for good this time and her hands were itching for something to do, to fix. The second time was because her friends showed up to get her drunk and she wound up knocking a wine glass off the counter gesturing a little too intensely.

It’d been enough to send her into a crying fit, but the good thing about her friends is they are all generally more prone to emotional displays than she is and always immediately leap to support her in her rare breakdowns. They quickly bustled her away to the bathroom to clean up and by the time she woke up this morning, the house was spotless again. Dejah never leaves anyone’s house a mess after a party—even a pity party—if she can help it and Chichi is a professional partier, so she makes sure Ana wakes up to aspirin and water within arm’s reach of her bed.

Ana doesn’t want to deal with getting up today, doesn’t technically have to, but laying here isn’t going to make anything hurt any less. It takes some convincing to get her body on board with that information, but eventually she decides to see what today has for her. Frankly, all she wants is to sit on the couch watching daytime TV.

She’s just made it to the stage of her plan that involves sitting at her kitchen table eating buttered tortillas between sips of Pedialyte when she hears a knock on the door.

Glancing at the clock, Ana figures ten is late enough in the morning for Chichi to be awake and deciding Ana needs kolaches and a little hair of the dog. The thought of having any more to drink at this point makes her stomach roil, but also Chichi is the sort of person that takes up enough space that no room or heart ever feels empty when she’s around. Greasy sausages or no, Ana could use that.

The doorbell rings a second later and Ana gets to her feet. “Ya me voy, Chichi, hold on!” she calls as she gets up. She’s talking before she gets the door all the way open, “If you were going to show up this early, you could’ve just stayed—” She cuts off.

Taylor Kelly is standing on her front porch.

For a moment, Ana’s brain stalls out and she’s waiting to have a microphone shoved in her face and be accused of something, or be demanded to explain how you could let this happen, Vice Principal Flores, but eventually her thoughts catch up with her brain. This isn’t reporter Taylor Kelly with Skywitness News Eight. There’s no camera crew, no microphone or recorder, just two Starbucks cups in a holder, one frappe already half-empty.

This morning, Ana isn’t seeing a woman in a crisp suit with a knowing glint in her eyes. Taylor’s got on jeans and a plaid button down. Her hair is pulled back into a messy tail and her sunshades are big enough to nearly cover the entire upper half of her face. Even with the shield of expensive plastic frames, Ana can tell she’s not wearing the full face of makeup she’s had on every time she’s seen her before now.

Still, in sweats and a droopy old yoga shirt, Ana feels distinctly exposed and underdressed. She doesn’t even have on a bra. “Taylor?”

“The one and only,” Taylor says, before taking her sunshades off to reveal eyes that are tender and pink like she’s been crying. Ana feels a twinge of concern for her, at least until Taylor rather blatantly eyes her up and says, “So, you got dumped, too, huh?”

Ana almost closes the door in her face.

🌅

Continue reading on ao3!

[snarkspawn]

Ru warmups :) boy got a new muzzle mask

also nicked @damarlegacy‘s hello nexu design, I hope that’s alright

[spiltscribbles]

Hi love!! I just took a look at the prompt lists u have linked and the prompt “you said what to your teacher?” sounds like it could be absolutely hilarious if u wanna write something for that!! <33333

Notes: OMFG HIYA DAN BABEYYYY!!!! Thank you SO SO much you absolute angel face!!! This was the first thing I tried writing and actually enjoyed and just wrote it all at once in the middle of the night dlkfsajlkgjasdofiewghklsdgj THANK YOU AND I LOVE YOU!!!!

.-

You Said What To Your Teacher? | Send Me A Prompt💜

.-

“Do you remember when we were nine and I gave you my last sparkler because Regulus was crying that he wanted your purple smoke bomb and I was left with only my shitty poppers to throw when the ball dropped on New Year’s.”

Sub half way to his mouth and mobile lodged between his shoulder and ear, Sirius gently sets down his sandwich and dabs off the splatter of mayonnaise on his cupids bow as he tries to parse out what in bloody hell his best friend is blabbering on about.

“Oh, hi, Jem. Yeah I’m doing well, mate, thanks for asking. Works the typical grind but I think Minnie is about to give me that promotion any day now.”

“It’s a simple yes, or no answer, arse.” James retorts haughtily, sounding somehow frenzied and buoyant all at once.

“Pardon me, I thought we would just have a normal conversation like typical blokes,” Sirius sniffs, tilting back on his chair and clicking around on his desktop to look at the revised dimensions of a new building his firm was employed to begin constructing in south London. “Now remind me, my sweet. Was this the same New Year’s that you stuffed that stink bomb in the back of my shirt after stomping on it so it’d explode on me?”

“That is neither here, nor there.”

“I still feel the debris on my poor back on especially rough days.”

“You’re a twat.”

“And you’re acting dodgy.”

“I need a favor, and I thought a transactional proposition would be the sort of thing that you corporate types would appreciate.” James jabs, laughter in his words. Sirius just hopes he could picture the middle finger he’s emulating through the line.

“Just because you’ve completed residency doesn’t make you a special snowflake, you do realize this, correct?” Sirius tells him, already shooting a message to Minerva and his team that he’ll be jetting off a bit earlier so he could do whatever it is that James needs.

“Slander! It makes me the most special snowflake, Black. And it eats you up inside.” James retorts, moving away from the receiver to yell something towards one of his interns about a patient or the other.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, gorgeous. Now are you going to ever tell me what it is you need from me, or keep trying to get in my trousers, because listen either option is aces on my end. I’ll just add it to the document I send Lily every week about how I’m so obviously your dream partner.”

“It always just comes back to your burning jealousy that I chose her over you, doesn’t it?” James pretends to sigh forlornly. “Listen, my love. It’s not my fault that some birds are just born prettier than others.”

“Psha, I’m the prettiest fucker you know, Potter.”

“It’s the attitude for me, just absolutely no decorum about you.”

“Is this about that snag with me teaching Haz how to properly curse at a United fan?” Sirius asks, moving to collect his satchel and jacket. “Because I stand by that. We’re a fucking Arsenal family, damn it.”

“We were at brunch when he called that poor woman a weasel faced toad, Sirius.”

“Good man,” Sirius insists, waving goodbye to the secretary who always gives him the most devoted heart eyes.

“Well, speaking of the sprog. I’m stuck here with a new bout of paperwork to get someone transported to us from a hospital in the states, and Lily’s stuck in the maternity ward till at least nine.”

“Ooo, a bit of God father/God son time then??”

“With great power, comes great responsibility,” James says gravely.

“What have I told you about your shitty nerd references and how they give me a rash.”

“Spider-man isn’t simply for nerds you absolute pleb! There’s been three bloody franchisements for him in the past two decades!”

“Imma let Harry eat ice cream for dessert, I reckon.”

“Then you’ll have Lily to answer to,” James warns, still seething from the jibe. “And if you’re taking the bike, can you at least park a block away. This new school we’ve enrolled him into this year is well and proper, and I’d not want them to think that our son’s God father is some sort of ne’er-do-well.”

“You put respect on Rosco’s name, or so help me!”

“Right, right, the only constant love in your life.”

“She’s the only one who understands me.”

“ Whatever, just try and behave decently, will you?”

“Hah, and why wouldn’t I?” Sirius asks as he tosses his helmet into the air, patting Rosco in apology for James’s impertinence.

“Hmm, we’ll see, won’t we.” James says in an irritatingly ominous tone before clicking off the line.

.-

There are a lot of reasons why Sirius could hate James. He could hate him for forcing Sirius to join him on his morning runs, or hate him for his intensely perky attitude about every sodding thing. Hell he could probably hate him for his complete disregard of the mad sport that is American football. But all that withstanding, Sirius reasons that for today he’ll hate him for his cryptic fucking warning and how he knew this would happen and is probably cackling over it as he fills out a new set of discharge papers.

That absolute, unceasing, weasel faced, toad.

The ‘this’ that Sirius is referring to of course is the fact that Sirius is left dumbstruck and gawping as he strolls leisurely into Harry’s third year class, eyes roaming over the small cluster of children who had stayed after hours for extra tutoring and who are now just lounging around, waiting for a guardian to come and pick them up. But instead of first spotting the dark head that belongs to his God son, Sirius’s gaze focusses on a man… A very fit, very golden, very beautiful man. A man that’s all lithe limbs and honey eyes, and a small, quietly encouraging smile as he kneels down to chat with a blonde girl who’s got on a blue tutu and rainbow poncho.

“Fuck you James Potter,” Sirius hisses lowly to himself as he tries to collect his wits about him, and remind himself that flirting with his God son’s actual, fucking professor is not a thing that is approved of.

“Uncle Pads!”

Sirius starts, feeling suddenly grounded as Harry bounds towards him and hugs his torso with a tight squeeze. “Hiya Prongslet,” he says, grinning indulgently as he ruffles a hand through Harry’s wild mop of curls.

“Am I coming to yours then?”

“If you’ll have me,” Sirius winks, tapping the bridge of his specs fondly.

“Brilliant! I’ll just tell Professor Lupin.”

Oh, that’s a very sexy name if Sirius does say so himself, though he tries not to marinate on the fact as he waits patiently while Harry leads that absolutely delicious looking man towards him. And God, the way he’s tipping back his head only slightly to meet Sirius’s gaze— It’s lewd.

“You’re Harry’s God father, yes?” Is the first thing Professor Lupin says to him, stretching out a hand that’s all long fingers stained by ink, and knobby knuckles that Sirius suddenly has the insane craving to nip at.

Jesus, he needs to get himself the fuck together.

“Ahem, yes, yes. I’m that. I’m Sirius I mean— Oh, my name, and erm— I’m also serious that I am his God father, that is a thing.” Sirius rambles, feeling like a complete idiot as he takes hold of Remus’s slender hand into his own, and shakes it with two, awkward pumps— holding onto it for a beat too long.

Sirius repeats, fuck James Potter.

“Right,” Professor Lupin says with something akin to amused. “Well he’s only got his maths to finish tonight, and a bit more reading for history.”

“Oh, good. I’ll definitely help with that. I’m great with numbers.”

“Wonderful,” Professor Lupin nods at him before peering down at Harry and grinning widely. “You did great today, just keep up with your novel for Professor Meadows and you’re splendid. Yeah?”

“Thank you Professor Lupin,” Harry preens, chest puffed out not unlike how James had used to do back in their school days every time they won a footie match.

“Nice meeting you Mr— ah?”

“Black!” Sirius quickly offers, straightening up immediately like a rose bud stretching towards the sun. “Sirius Black.”

The corner of Professor Lupin’s mouth twitches up, and Sirius is struck with the searing need to see the full force of his smile directed towards him— and also to snog it right off. “Remus Lupin, just to make things even.”

And fuck.

Sirius swears— hand on his chest and face to God— that it was a flirtatious inflection that Professor Lupin— Remus— used right then, but before he can even have the chance to toy around with the development, a mother in yoga pants and Starbucks strolls in and Remus walks over to greet her hello, and before Sirius knows it, Harry’s tugging on his hand and dragging him out the room.

Damn it.

.-

Despite his total and complete fail of a first meeting with Harry’s sickeningly attractive professor, the rest of the night turns out to go as perfectly as planned. Otherwise known as them stuffing themselves with greasy pizza, and heaps of ice cream, and staying up an hour past Harry’s typical bed time to play Far Cry instead. And if Sirius contemplates asking him more about this elusive Remus Lupin, he bites down the urge and concentrates on sticking his spoon onto his nose before Harry could beat him in their match.

It’s totally fine.

That is until it’s six o’clock in the ruddy morning and he’s woken up by the loud knocking of his front door, only to be met by the grossly chipper faces of Lily and James— that sort of glow is only a thing that happens after a good shag, and Sirius knows that for fact.

“We brought pasties,” Lily tells him as she sashays indoors, red main of hair billowing in the late autumnal breeze and her voice ringing out like she’s some sort of radio show host.

“How was last night?” James asks him as he toes off his boots and follows Lily to the kitchen.

“Fine,” Sirius gripes, still pissy from James’s cruel joke. “Haz is always great.”

“Mmm, I hope Remus didn’t give you any trouble picking him up, you’re on the paperwork and everything but it’s the first time he ever met you and all.” Lily says, faux lightly as she picks out the plates and turns on the electric kettle.

“You knew!” Sirius accuses emphatically, pointing a heated finger her way and then directing it towards James.

“Knew that he is exactly your type?”

“And that you’d look like a tosser talking to him for the first time,” Lily tacks on, giggling.

“Fuck you, and fuck your weird, married telepathy!”

“Nah, not telepathy mate,” James assures, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re just incredibly predictable.”

“We’d have to be thick not to know that you’d be a total idiot around him— You’re the worst whenever you have to talk to pretty people who you actually want to do more than just screw.”

Sirius feels himself go scarlet. “That is an attack on my person, Evans!”

“Yes, dear. I know.” Lily croons, patting him on the cheek like a doting grandmother. “But does it help that I think you should totally go for it.”

“Lily! He’s our son’s teacher!”

“Only for this year,” Lily shrugs, sitting on a stool that lines the island. “Besides, I really like Remus. We have the same cycling class and he taught me how to make my face into an emoji like I’m a Kardashian.”

“You guys talk about’m like he’s the second coming of Christ,” James harrumphs, doling out their mugs with a scowl.

“He’s just so pretty,” Sirius sighs, beyond dejected. “Did you see that little birthmark on his cheek that looks like a butterfly! And Jesus, his eyes are like a third of his face!”

“Don’t forget how well he fills out those trousers for such a skinny bloke,” Lily adds, mixing the honey into the tea that James had just poured her.

“I alas did not get a chance to give his ass the appraisal it warrants,” Sirius bemoans.

“I very much do not like the idea that my best friend and wife are thirsting over the same bloke.” James sniffs.

“Jealous, lover,” Lily leers, laughing at how James wrinkles his nose at them and kisses his cheek in reassurance. But Sirius doesn’t pay them any of his attention, is too distracted by painting the picture of Remus in his mind’s eye, and how he really does need a second look if he loves himself at all.

“He’s like those caramel lollypops from when we were kids,” he tells them unceremoniously. “But instead of that tart middle, he’s just sweetness through the center.”

“You want to lick him, huh?” Lily asks, smirking at him with a lecherous air.

“I want to lick him until he goes mad and begs me to just flip’m over and—“

“Enough!” James quickly cuts in with a smack of the hand against the countertop. “This man is Harry’s professor, I can’t have these sort of images of him while I go to pick him up after class.”

Sirius jerks forwards, beyond excited. “Then let me pick up Haz from school today, yeah? It’ll give me a chance to speak with Remus!”

“Why do you want to talk to Mr Lupin?”

The three adults turn around at once, met by the image of Harry in the spare uniform he keeps at Sirius’s house— hair sleep rumpled and specs askew.

“Hallo my beautiful boy,” Lily grins, her and James each kissing his cheek and giving his shoulders a squeeze as he sits between them.

“Why do you want to talk to Professor Lupin, Uncle Sirius.” Harry asks again, earnestly as he tares apart his cheese and veggie pasty. “Do you like him?”

“Oh, erm—“ Sirius feels his insides squirm, not sure where to step, afraid that his God son might not appreciate the fact that Sirius’s already planning out a reception party for his impending nuptials with Remus.

“I think it’d be cool if you did.”

And in an instant, Sirius feels his shoulders loosen and his smile go elastic. God he loves this kid. “yeah?”

“Mhmm,” Harry nods, taking a sip of his water to clear his throat. “Ron told me that Professor Lupin use to be married to his Uncle Fabs and then they broke up last year, so I bet he’s sad now. And you’re the best person on the planet and you always have fun! You should make him happy again.”

Sirius’s heart seizes, suddenly needing to be the person to help Remus with anything he could ever need.

“You’re a diamond kiddo, you know that?” Sirius says, standing up to lift his eight year old God son into the air and blowing a raspberry to his cheek. “Shove it to your dad, you’ll be my best man at the wedding, yeah?”

“Imma need to start smoking if he’s gonna be this much of a prat all the time now,” James mutters lowly, making it so Lily crows with laughter.

.-

That afternoon finds Sirius parked back outside Harry’s school, straightening the collar of his jacket and combing a hand through his hair. Though once he steps into the nearly emptied classroom, he’s still slack jawed when Remus looks over his shoulder towards the door and grins at him in such a glimmering sort of way, that it punches Sirius in the fucking solar plexus!

“Mr Black, twice in one week?”

“Hah— Yeah.” Sirius hopes his smile comes out more gentle than a grimace. “It’s not far from my work, actually. So I guess I’ll be around more often.” In fact, the drive is a good twenty minutes from his office, but Sirius doesn’t think that’s really relevant.

“Lucky us.” Remus retorts, looking up and down his frame with a slow, languid sort of gaze that makes Sirius feel filleted right open. “Well I can’t wait to get to know you better.”

“You can know whatever you want,” Sirius practically sputters, wonders if he should try and act cool, especially now that Harry’s wandered over towards them.

“Is that an open offer?” Remus asks, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and lying back leisurely against his desk.

“Yes. Yes, absolutely.”

Remus’s beautiful face goes absolutely incandescent right then. “Good.”

“Good,” Sirius repeats, completely devout.

“Oh, before you go,” Remus says, pointer finger raised to freeze them while his other hand fishes into a drawer of his desk. “It’s not a caramel pop, but at least the Tutsi ones are sweet all the way through.”

Sirius feels his jaw completely drop while Remus gently places the stick of the treat into his open hand, tossing him a quick wink before walking off to chat with a new parent who had wandered in.

“Harry— You said what to your teacher.”

“That you said he looked like a caramel pop,” Harry answers, totally owlish and unconcerned.

Sirius contemplates drowning into the lake, but then decides that this is a game he will not lose against Remus.

“All right, Prongslet. Let’s grab us some chocolate eggs and you can tell me everything you know about your dear Professor.”

“Okay, Uncle Pads,” Harry beams.

.-

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist💜

[harryandmolly]

Change of Pace - Prologue

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language

wc: 2.1k

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

“Don’t you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Kiss me.”

He laughs, cheeks pink. “Well, yeah. I thought that was pretty obvious.”

“Just checking.” Her grin is cheshire.

“Been thinking about kissing you for a while, actually.”

“Maybe you should get on with it then.”

He always wakes up before the kiss. It’s bittersweet. He wants the fantasy, but he also knows no dream can compare to the reality of it.

He won’t tell his therapist about the dream, even though it’s the fifth time he’s had it this month. His therapist doesn’t know about her though, and Shawn doesn’t really feel like talking about her. He doesn’t want to wade through the sharp static of his memories to pick out the relevant information. It’s better left as is; he’s gotten good at compartmentalizing.

He blinks at the ceiling and waits for his alarm to go off. He always wakes up first, but never drags himself away from the warmth of his duvet until Taylor Swift tells him to.

‘If you can see I'm the one who understands you, been here all along so why can't you see, you belong with--’

One by one, the joints in his spine crackle as he sits up and smashes “Stop” on his phone with the pad of his thumb. Taylor quiets, and now all he can hear is the annoyingly chipper twitter of birds outside his window.

His shower is hot, too hot, scalding, but he likes it. He likes the shock to his system first thing in the morning. He likes the burn of reality, the zing of clarity that cuts through any dream-like remnants still hazy in his mind.

Geoff bangs on his door as he’s pulling boxers on, his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

“Wha’?” he calls, grabbing the brush and working on his molars as he opens the door.

“Starbucks trip, dude,” Geoff says, swinging his car keys around his index finger.

Shawn hums, jerks his head towards the bathroom then goes to spit, gargling a mouthful of cool water before emerging once more.

“You think they’d make my latte Irish?” he deadpans as he pulls on some clothes, tight black skinny jeans and a white shirt that says ‘HEAVEN’ across the chest. He thinks it’s funny. He’s definitely not going to heaven, if it’s real.

“Dream again?” Geoff asks as he rests against the doorframe.

“Starting to feel more like a nightmare. Or like. A warning.”

He hears himself. He knows it sounds stupid. But you don’t have a dream like that over and over without developing a sense of impending doom.

Geoff snorts, keeps him grounded with a roll of his eyes. “Yeah like, if you don’t get laid soon your dick might fall off, kind of warning.”

It’s not a sexy dream, but to anyone else Shawn guesses it might sound that way.

He doesn’t want to get into it.

“Stop worrying about my dick and take me to my coffee, driver,” he crows after shoving his wallet into his pocket, pushing Geoff towards the front door.

+++

His blistered fingers tap his phone as he contemplates getting another latte delivered. He doesn’t think coffee is really worth the Postmates delivery fee, but it’s also only 11am and he’s ready to crawl back in bed.

The Cordoba C12 in his lap begs him for a break; he’s been fiddling with it all morning and each time he thinks he’s finished the refurb, he sees another detail that’s just left of perfect.

His work takes time, but the time and care is what makes him the best. And that’s what his clients pay for. The absolute best.

If he’s gonna keep giving this Cordoba the star treatment, he needs more caffeine, but he also needs to get away from the fumes of his shop. He swipes out of the Postmates app and decides to get off his ass.

Sand crunches beneath his Chelsea boots on the sidewalk as he makes his way down the beach to the Starbucks. It’s quiet when he gets there, only a few people tapping away on their laptops as a Top 40s playlist tinkles through the speakers.

Cheri behind the counter knows him, knows a midday visit means he needs a triple shot caffe latte and starts making it before he can even reach the counter.

“I love you,” he rasps when she sets down the coffee in front of him. He hands her a ten and puts his wallet away, because he refuses to ever take change.

She laughs and plucks her tip from the register, slipping it into her back pocket. “No, baby, I love you. No one else tips $4 on a $6 cup of coffee.”

“Guess I’m just a sucker,” he says with a quick wink and a smile.

There’s a girl typing furiously on her laptop at the little table in the window he usually picks, so instead he goes for a walk.

Most people in town don’t wear Chelseas to the beach, but Shawn’s not one of those people who carries around flip flops to change into. Instead, he lets the heels of his boots sink into the gripping sand with each step he takes.

The waves are good today, and Shawn thinks about the board he rarely uses tucked under his bed. He’s not a bad surfer, he can catch a wave or two in the right conditions, but he’s a bit out of practice now because he doesn’t have anyone to surf with anymore. It’s not very fun alone.

He doesn’t think about it.

He sees a surfer in the distance, watches her skim a smaller lick before dropping into the water. After a moment, she resurfaces on her board and paddles her way to the shore.

He’s not quite close enough, but Shawn doesn’t think he recognizes the surfer. He doesn’t recognize her board, anyway, and he’s pretty familiar with the local surfers in the area.

She’s a wave chaser, he figures, someone who travels the coast in search of the best beaches and surfing communities. Avila Beach gets their fair share of them.

Shawn takes a sip of his disappearing coffee and squints at the surfer over the lid of his cup. She emerges from the water, board under arm, and heads for a towel and a beach bag further up the shore. He’ll have to walk around her, eventually.

He watches her dry her hair with a towel she pulls from her bag, and he wonders if she’s done with this part of the beach for the day. Where will she try next? He figures she’ll hate LA if she hasn’t already been. Too crowded, too touristy.

He’s only half paying attention to her as he gets closer, can see her knelt down and fumbling through her bag but not really processing it, too busy thinking of how dirty tourists leave beaches. Avila Beach gets plenty tourists, but it’s nothing compared to the shit you see in LA or San Diego.

Eventually the surfer stands, emphasizing the movement with a flick of her hair that catches his attention, like she’s trying to fling away excess sand. It’s when her hair settles around her shoulders that he really sees her, and his heart stops.

So much for a quiet walk on the beach.

He has no thoughts, no feelings, only panic. Panic that stings the back of his eyes and burns his throat and carries him from the beach to the sidewalk as quickly as possible.

Please don’t see me, please don’t see me, is all he can think as he makes a beeline for his shop, his anxious heart rattling against his ribcage. He makes it to the storefront incident free, but even then his body won’t let him relax.

He almost calls his therapist, but he’d have way too much explaining to do.

He paces in his office and calls his mum instead, lies and says he almost got into an accident, so he’s kind of shaken up. She coos the way mothers do, says she’s glad that he’s okay and reminds him to be careful, and that’s that, really.

He feels better. His mum’s voice always helps.

He has no way to investigate if Maya Lu is really in Avila. There was no such thing as Instagram or Snapchat when they knew each other, and her Facebook hasn’t been active for years. (He hates that he knows that.)

The only thing he can do is tell himself it’s not her. It’s not her. It can’t be her. She’s in New York. Or Vancouver. Or Paris. Or whatever. Wherever she is, it’s not where he is.

Plenty of beautiful, tan, raven haired women like to surf. The woman he saw on the beach is just another one of them. And obviously, his mind filled in her face with Maya’s because of his dream.

That stupid fucking dream. Her face is already haunting him while he sleeps. It only makes sense his mind would start playing tricks on him when he’s awake as well.

So it wasn’t Maya and he doesn’t want it to have been Maya, really, he doesn’t, but he spends the rest of his day looking at the remains of her Myspace anyway.

There’s nothing new, and much of the old is missing, too. Pictures from college, from parties, from the one time they went to Mardi Gras is all gone. Purged when she applied to business internships, probably.

(Pictures of him purged when she left, like remembering him wasn’t even worth it.)

The Córdoba taunts him from his workbench with each click of his trackpad, but he’ll get to it in the morning. John Mayer has plenty other guitars to keep him occupied. Well. It’s not really John Mayer’s guitar, but Shawn likes to pretend.

He pretends a lot these days.

+++

Maya’s eyes close, stinging with sunblock runoff and saltwater that she barely notices. She sits up and breathes, just like her very expensive yoga instructor taught her. She curls her fingers through the water on either side of her surfboard like she’s stroking it — she’s showing it she missed it. It’s an apology, an act of contrition, a show of affection. She’s been missing a lot of things lately. That’s why she’s here. Moving to Avila was a sexy secret daydream of hers since right around her 26th birthday, which coincided with her promotion from assistant portfolio manager to portfolio manager. 80 hour weeks were paying off and bringing her... more 80 hour weeks. So when the nights were long and all she had to show for herself was an enormous park-facing apartment that was totally devoid of personality, she would dream of Avila. She dreamt of a cottage on the beach where the view was the real draw. It would have space for a little makeshift art studio — some easels, maybe a pottery wheel. She’d drive an orange Wrangler with a rack for her surfboard that she’d wax herself and ride every morning. Maybe along with all of that would come someone to share it with. That part of the dream was always fuzzier — the man her imagination gave her was an amalgamation of the few men she’s dated over the years (some more clearly represented than others, to Maya’s annoyance). It’s not that she didn’t want to think about Shawn. She wanted to consider Shawn every once in a while when he popped into her mind and think, oh yes, that was a nice time in my life. She wants to maturely gloss over him like the plastic coverings on the photo albums her mom keeps of her past. What Maya doesn’t want is for it to still fucking hurt. She doesn’t want to think of him as the one that got away. She doesn’t want to believe her best chance at partnership and love and passion has passed her by with a margin of 10 years. That’s an ugly thought and there are no ugly thoughts allowed in the sea. It’s one of Maya’s rules. Baggage is for land, not sea. Maya has not been on this surfboard since she spontaneously ran out of the office during a long lunch break and got on a flight during the worst week of her professional life. It was the first time she came back to Avila after that summer with Shawn. It was when the dream started. Maya’s well-trained fingers sense the change in current tempo. She flattens herself on her board and paddles out, feeling her arms burn in protest from disuse. It feels so fucking good. She hunts the wave down, chasing it like she chased the Avila dream. She made it, she’s here. So it’s time to ride the wave.

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Taglist: @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @desire-to-live

[brujeria-histeria]

The Surprise

hacy fic for @theballetslippertheblackhoodie prompt: Harry finds out he’s going to be a father ......again. 

Harry has had many bad days but this had to be one of the worst, maybe the the worst day of his second life. It had actually started last night though and the usually upbeat whitelighter didn’t let last night’s fumble try to ruin his day today, but oh no fate insisted his day be ruined. 

First, last night his date with his Girlfriend, Macy was cancelled. She was running late from a science conference on the future of bioengineering and space and had grabbed something to eat at the conference center’s cafe. Then when she finally got home they at least tried to fit in some intimacy and Macy was too tired, again, to keep going, he let her fall asleep on his chest then slid out of bed and went to the bathroom for a cold shower. 

Macy hadn’t been wanting to get intimate with him, sexually, for the past two weeks except once for one round of love making. When he gently asked her if everything was ok and if had done anything wrong she denied it and kissed him and told him how sweet he was. He was beginning to question if she wasn’t that into him anymore, if she only got with him on a whim and a year and 3 months into their relationship maybe her affection for him sizzled out. He shook his head under the cold water and tried not to let those thoughts intrude again. He’d do anything for Macy to be happy, but it hurt him to think it might mean to let her go if it would make her happy again. 

Then today he had gone to work as usual, and was checking his twitter and was of course doing numbers with the academia side of twitter but spied a suspicious activity of tweets in his mentions. A faceless twitter troll had taken to attacking his person, calling him and women in general all sorts of unsavory names and slurs, while he blocked and reported the troll instead of engaging them, it made his blood boil when the troll especially said very tasteless and racist things about his Macy, when he tweeted an article done on her recently. You could insult him, but never insult women and never ever insult the woman he loves. He stormed to his office and set down his things with his research text making a slam. If his day couldn’t get any worse in walked in Professor Crollins, the head of the political science department to bother him. She was an older woman, in comparison to his physical 37 and her actual age of 53, and she apparently was very into Harry’s “vibe” as Maggie put it after she busted out laughing when he told her of the predicament. The situation of Crollin’s infatuation had began a few weeks ago when a benefactor and tenured professor of the school wanted both department heads to work together to form a joint class for next semester’s class options. 

“Hello, Professor Greenwood. I came by to drop off another rubric for a possible project for next semester class. I can’t wait to teach it with you, I’m sure it’ll be an enriching experience for everyone involved.” she smiled. 

Harry internally shuddered, it wasn’t well known outside his charges that he was in a committed relationship with the resident head of the science lab, Dr. Macy Vaughn. And even though it wasn’t public he had told Prof Crollins that he was not available to go out for drinks, ever, the last time she asked him to grab a drink with her. 

“Actually Prof. Crollins I’m not going to be teaching that class, my TA Melanie Vera will be taking it. I offered her the position yesterday and the benefactor interviewed her.” He stated. Prof. Collins straightened and fixed him with a look. 

“What is it with you and those Vera Girls, and the other one that’s their sister. You’re around them an awful lot, in fact don’t you live with them? I thought you had your own place?” she accused. 

“Um, we’re family, of sorts.” he fidgeted. He tried to tone down his public appearances with the girls he could excuse Mel because of her work in the women’s studies department, but not with poor Maggie who got some weird looks when he escorted her around arm in arm to discuss demon and witch things. They started using the excuse that he was their “Uncle” of sorts from their dad’s side, except Macy who just would call him a close friend. 

“Hmph, well if that’s how you want it.” she walked off in a huff, and Harry exhaled, now he was annoyed and upset by a twitter troll and a woman who couldn’t understand the word no. 

After that his day was just full of little stupid things that just added on to his annoyance. His favorite tie got ruined when someone tripped into him with their Starbucks drink and even though he orbed home to change shirts the tie was completely stained. He got into a heated discussion with one of his headstrong students who he hated to refer to them as, but it was true, a pain in his arse. The student even annoyed Mel with how bold and one track minded they were. His lunch went poorly too as he couldn’t even leave his office because he was swamped with papers, his tea supply had ran out, which he cursed himself for not realizing it, and he’d forgotten his lunch. He had to eat some rubbish tasting crisp from the vending machine. Macy had barely texted him back all day. Now he was feeling really shitty....

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

Macy was thinking of a way to tell Harry the big news, she was pregnant, and 6 weeks along. She had tested herself 2 or so weeks ago, and a test she did at the lab confirmed she was pregnant, with a baby, by Harry. She had been nervous for the past couple of weeks since finding out, unsure of how to tell Harry, but she decided to do it tonight in a casual way because she could feel Harry getting more upset with himself as the days passed, knowing Harry he probably was beating himself up about whatever he thought he did wrong, which he did nothing wrong. 

The night their baby to be was conceived was a night Macy remembered and she knew exactly what day it was. Mother’s Day, she was sad as hell that day along with her sisters and after they all celebrated it together, in honor of Marisol(and Mama Roz) she sat in her room crying because while she braved it, it was a reminder that she didn’t really know her mother as well as her sisters. She released the pain that caused her to lose her mind to the Source 2 years ago but she still felt a human pain inside. Harry had found her and she had him take her surface pain away by replacing it with pleasure and comforted her with kisses and passion. 

She actually had left work early and made her way out on a task of shopping at multiple stores. She picked up soft wool yarn & a guide on how to knit for beginners, color swatches, some premium tea(for Harry), a toddler’s sectioned plate(it was so cute she couldn’t resist snagging the last one), and a prenatal yoga book. She of course knew it was too early to be buying some things, she had hear fears about her own baby’s health but she decided to focus on positive things. Like her adding another member to the Vera-Vaughn-Greenwood family. She was so engrossed in shopping she didn’t noticed Harry had texted her a few times. When she made it back home, she texted Harry that she was off work a little early and she’d be at home if he wanted to see her. He texted back ‘Yes, Please.’

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

Harry dragged himself to his feet when he was finally done with a pile of papers, and orbed himself to the Vera Manor. 

“Macy?” he called out. 

“I’m in the living room Harry, could you make some tea? I bought some premium stuff from that high end food shoppe today.” she called back. 

“Sure, my love.” he sighed, he really wanted some tea to be honest. Harry walked to the kitchen and found a plate with children’s characters on it, from that Sesame Street show, he thought maybe at first it was a childhood plate of one of the girls, but it looked brand new, it had dividers in it, maybe they wanted it for meal prepping? 

“Macy, why is there a plate in here with elmo on it, is this one of Maggie’s new meal prep things?” he asked confused. 

“Its toddler’s plate silly, for toddlers to eat out of.” she replied. 

Hm, whatever, he learned to stop questioning the girls quirky antics further long ago. He inhaled the fresh tea and it almost made his rubbish day disappear. Once he got into the living room to cuddle it would be better. He made his tea tray up, and grabbed some small bite sized cookies he found, pink and blue sugar cookies. 

“Macy, I’ve been wanting to see you all day darling.” He gazed at her with love. “Erm, what are you doing?” 

“Hm?” she looked up. Macy was currently sitting on the couch surrounded by a big pile of jumbo sized yellow and white wool yarn. “Oh I’m going to learn how to knit, and make a small blanket.” she answered. “Maybe some little shoes or a scarf afterwards.” 

“Macy, a knitted pair of shoes aren’t practical unless your a baby, which those are more like socks. Socks are more practical.” 

“I also got some color swatches, I wonder which one is a little more gender neutral, maybe this pastel mint green or pastel yellow?” she asked. 

“Either one seems fine, dear.” he said preparing their tea.”What for?”

She hummed with a grin, and he sat down next to her and shot back up to see the rectangular object he just sat on. “What is this?” 

“Oh I picked up a new book for exercise.”

“Oh” he responded, pouring a cup of tea for her before reading the title. 

“Prenatal Yoga for First Time Mothers.” he read aloud. “I’ve heard it’s actually quite good for women in pregnancy to take up specialized Yoga, in fact I was discussing the other day-” Harry paused for a minute, blinked, and turned his head slowly to Macy who was stirring some sugar in her tea. “Macy dear.... why did you buy a book of yoga for pregnant women?” 

Macy sipped her tea, and looked at him with mischief in her eyes.

The fatigue of not wanting sex, the toddler’s plate, the yarn and knitting baby shoes, the book, the color swatches in colors suitable for a baby... bloody hell the pink and blue cookies... she’d even had been touching her belly a lot lately.... was Macy? Could she be?

“Are you?” his eyes began to gleam with tears threatening to burst in pure joy. 

“You’re going to be a Father, again, Harry Greenwood. I’m 6 weeks pregnant!” she said setting down her tea cup, to clasp his hands. 

“You are pregnant... you’re pregnant. I’m going to be a Father...” he stood up and scooped Macy up twirling her around, away from the yarn as to not trip. “I’M GOING TO BE A FATHER! OH, Macy, my love, I love you.” He kissed her all over her face. She laughed, and some tears of joy streamed down her face as well. They laughed and kissed for what seemed like ages.

“You wanna go celebrate?” she nuzzled her nose to his and nodded upstairs. He responded by kissing her. 

Perhaps this was the happiest he’s been in a long time. This was one of the best days of his life.

[consulting-celiac-in-the-tardis]

21 Easy (and Cozy) Self Care Ideas to Practice this Winter

New blog post! Now that winter is making days shorter, colder and darker, it's more important than ever to make self care part of your regular routine. And I'm not talking about the Instagram #selfcare that requires fancy bath bombs or expensive lotions. I'm talking about 21 easy ways that you can get cozy and relaxed this winter, whether you're a college student like me, a busy mother of two or a full-time worker with a demanding job schedule.

Some of these self care ideas may seem obvious, but others may surprise you - and many of them are scientifically-backed ways to tackle stress. So regardless of how busy you may be this holiday season, check out these 21 ways you can add more self care into your holly, jolly life.

1. Make yourself a warm, welcoming drink.

On cold winter days, it probably feels natural to reach for something cozy to warm you up. If you're really looking for help relaxing, though, fill your mug with tea. Research has found that drinking tea can help lower people's stress levels. Plus, it can be pretty dang delicious! (If you have celiac disease, just make sure it's gluten free).

2. Watch a sappy holiday-inspired show or movie.

Sometimes, we don't need an award-winning movie or TV show to enjoy ourselves. At least a few times this winter, embrace your silly or sentimental side by watching a bad Hallmark movie or bingeing your favorite holiday baking show. (And if you eat chocolate while doing it, that's obviously worth bonus points).

3. Go thrifting for cute and comfy winter clothes.

Updating your wardrobe for winter doesn't have to hurt your wallet. Instead, make looking for comfy hats, mittens or scarfs a fun adventure by hitting up your local second-hand store.

4. Be your own masseuse.

Massage has been shown to reduce people's physical tension and mental stress - and if you have a chronic illness or chronic pain like me, a good massage is always a good idea! You don't need to hire a high-end masseuse to reap some of these benefits, either. Give yourself a massage instead by rubbing your own muscles while lotioning up after your shower or using a tennis ball or foam roller to break up any knots and tension. Pair this massage with a relaxing bubble bath and you have the makings of a perfect self-date night.

5. Set aside extra time to read a book, just for fun.

I know that winter can be a busy time with friends and family, but don't forget to set aside some alone time in your schedule. Add a good book into the equation, and your quiet night in will be extra enjoyable.

6. Bake yourself something festive!

Besides getting to eat a delicious pumpkin or apple inspired treat, you'll feel nice and cozy when your kitchen is warm from the oven and smelling like the holidays. (And if you need some ideas for gluten free pumpkin desserts or baked goods, try out this recent round up of mine!).

7. Walk it out (outdoors or at a local gym).

Depending on the weather where you live, going for a walk outside might not be an option. Even if you have to go for a walk inside, though, your brain will still thank you. Research has found that exercise can drastically improve people's mental health, and even just walking will lower how often people have "bad days."

8. Take up a new, indoor hobby.

And if being outdoors is realllly not an option, starting a new hobby that takes place indoors is ideal. Start putting together puzzles, learning how to cross-stitch...or even practicing rock-climbing, like I did last year! Who knows - you may end up finding a hobby that you love doing year-round.

9. Try out hot yoga.

Because there's no better escape for winter weather than a relaxing, mantra-and-stretch filled session of hot yoga.

10. Light one of your favorite candles.

More research still needs to be done on the benefits of aromatherapy, but science seems to suggest that certain scents can help us chilllll out. Find a scent that you enjoy, like lavender or peppermint, and experiment with burning different candles and seeing which smells work best for you!

11. Purge your social media feeds.

You've heard of spring cleaning, but winter is another great time to set yourself up for a fresh start in the New Year. If you find yourself spending more time than ever on social media since it's too cold or dreary to go outside, pay attention to how each account makes you feel and ditch the ones that aren't doing you any favors.

12. Get crafty and let out your inner child.

Create a wreath to hang on your door, use colorful pens and papers to create homemade cards or just doodle in a notebook. These kinds of creative activities have been linked to improved mood and creativity the next day...plus, you might end up with some very cute gifts to give this Christmas. Win-win!

13. Pamper yourself with a face mask.

I've only started using face masks this last year, and the hype is worth it. My favorite is a simple mix of honey with cinnamon that I apply on "problem areas" for around 10-15 minutes before washing it off, but there are tons of safe (and even delicious!) face mask recipes you can find online. No fancy or expensive ingredients or products required. Plus, dry winter skin will definitely thank you for the extra TLC.

14. Dust off your crockpot and experiment with a new yummy recipe.

I know I've certainly been lax in using my crockpot lately, and it can be hard to feel motivated to start cooking dinner first thing in the morning. But your future self will definitely thank you for the little bit of prep you do earlier, and winter is the perfect time to whip up something warm and gooey. May I suggest my crockpot stacked enchiladas or vegan mac and cheese?

15. Throw a pajama party.

Whether you have a solo party or invite friends, spend a whole, blissful day hanging out in your PJs.

16. Do something nice for someone else. 

Acts of kindness have actually been scientifically shown to improve people's physical and mental health, so passing it forward this winter is actually a win-win. Donate to a local toy-drive, send a care package to a solider or pay for the next person's coffee in Starbucks. Little acts can have a big impact.

17. Start a gratitude practice.

If you're the journaling type, you can start writing what you're grateful for every day in a notebook. Otherwise, sticky notes or just thinking about two things you're grateful for each morning or night will still give you a positivity boost!

18. Set aside time to play your favorite "pointless" game.

Whether it's Sudoku, Words With Friends or a video game that you used to play for hours every day in high school, give yourself permission to just sit back and play for a little while. I know that during most of the year, I'm a major multi-tasker and anytime I do get to play a game, it's because I'm traveling or waiting to start another chore. So chillin' (pun intended) with my gamer self during winter is one of my favorite ways to relax.

19. Declutter at least one part of your house.

Along with purging your social media feeds, on days when cold weather keeps you in the house, you might try purging cluttered corners as well. Decluttering can not only improve concentration, but it can also improve your mood, lower your stress levels and give you a better night's sleep. And if you play your latest Netflix binge, favorite podcast or an epic holiday playlist in the background, you can make decluttering feel a lot more fun too.

20. Stretch yo' body.

At least for me, finding the motivation for a hard workout feels a lot harder when it's cold, dark and dreary outside. So on days when you feel like you're in a funk but don't feel up for a full workout, do some gentle stretches (even in the comfort of your own bed!) instead. It will loosen up your muscles, slash your stress and might even help you be more productive at work.

21. Choose a mantra for the upcoming year.

Obviously, you shouldn't spend all winter pining for spring...but it can't hurt to spend a little time reflecting on what you want from the upcoming months. In 2018, my word or mantra of the year was "discomfort." In 2019, it was "open." And while I haven't decided exactly what word I want to keep in mind during the start of a new decade, I think something similar to "change" will end up winning. What do you want to get out of this Spring? You still have some cold weeks to help you figure out your answer!

The Bottom Line of Self Care During Winter

As the days get colder and our social schedules get busier, it's easy to let self care fall to the bottom of our to-do list. I know from personal experience, though, that you can't run on empty...and when you better yourself through self care, you're also empowering yourself to be a better friend, family member, and personal overall! So this winter, give yourself the gift of self care rituals...and if you need even more ideas, feel free to check out my previous roundups: How to Create Your Own Self Care Retreat in 5 Easy Steps; 15 Self Care Activities You Can Do Without Leaving Bed; and 21 Self Care Activities You Can Do in 15 Minutes or Less! How are you taking care of yourself this winter? Give me more of your own self care ideas in the comments below! via Blogger https://ift.tt/2OKlqR3

[sweetxvertigo]

2018 was an interesting year. 

I started the year the way I do almost every year now, at a Games Done Quick event. Always my favorite time of the year, because I get to hang out with my Twitch friends that I only see twice a year. A few weeks after that I got to go to the Royal Rumble in Philly which was awesome. RR was always my favorite of the Big 4 WWE pay-per-views. 

In February I started to get a bit more serious about my weight and started doing a set of yoga things for about 12 weeks. I didn’t see much of a result from it which is unfortunate but it was motivation to start going to the gym to see actual results. Unfortunately myself and my friends that were going kinda fell off the grind in the middle of the summer but hopefully that’ll pick back up soon. I played a show on my birthday and two of my closer friends from Twitch drove up to catch the show and spend my birthday with me. We got poutine after the show and then hung out for a bit. Easily one of the best birthdays in recent memory. 

In April I started getting my teeth fixed. For anyone who didn’t know before this, I needed a TON of dental work. I got a bunch of broken teeth out and got crowns on my front top teeth. Sometime this year I’m going to be getting implants for the ones that were too broken to fix. My teeth were a huge source of my self esteem issues for years and getting even just the front ones fixed has been incredible for my esteem. I smile with my teeth now, I laugh and don’t worry about covering up my mouth. I can eat foods without worrying about them being too tough and breaking a tooth. 

This next part is probably gonna end up being a lot of word vomit so I apologize in advance. Skip down about 3 paragraphs if you don’t want to read it.

In the later part of April I started talking to a girl. I'd known who she was for a while, we used to follow each other on tumblr years ago. We talked for a few days and she asked if I wanted to get coffee with her when she got home from school. I was so unbelievably nervous. I’d never been on a date before that, and I was caught so offguard by the fact that SHE asked ME. We kept talking for a while before she got home and we eventually met up at a Starbucks nearby near the end of May. If you thought I was nervous before, the time I spent leading up to her walking in the door of that starbucks was the most nervous I think I’ve ever been. Once she got there and we started talking though it was great. We had a lot in common and she was easily one of the funniest people I’ve met. We talked for an hour and it was such a fun and nice time. Before we left she told me we should do that again sometime. I was so relieved and shocked that I didn’t scare her off. We went and saw Deadpool the week after which was really nice. Afterwards she drove me home and we talked a lot on the way back. I was very honest about a lot of things and she wasn’t scared away. About a week later she asked me to get dinner at one of her favorite restaurants and it was a lot of fun again. She drove me home again and before getting out of her car I asked if I could kiss her. She said yes and the way she so excitedly pressed her lips into mine is something I still remember so vividly. We saw eachother for another month or so. She would send me good morning texts every day and apologize if she didn’t, which was already way more than I ever expected to get. She was such a source of positive energy and I needed that.

As time went on I kinda let my anxiety get the best of me and I think that really affected how things were going. I knew she was bad at texting and stuff and here I was anxiously texting her too much. Overthinking every little thing like I do, because if I actually manage to find something good, I have to ruin it somehow. The last time we hung out she had to leave early because she got sick from the food we ate. After that things kind of fizzled out. She told me that she was going back to school soon and that things were going too hectic before she went back so she wasn’t sure when she’d have time to see me again. I ended up seeing her once more before she left when we ran into eachother at Red Robin. It was nice to see her, she hugged me before leaving. I feel bad because I sent her multiple big texts after that which I know didn’t help anything but me being the clingy sumbitch I am I thought that some sort of closure would help. And it kind of did. 

I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t on my mind from time to time still. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about texting her, knowing she was home for winter break. I think the reason I’m having such a hard time getting over her is because she’s the only one who has ever really given me that much of a chance. Every other thing I’ve been in ended so soon after and I felt like I was worth it for the first time in my life. We talked about that a few times after everything kinda went downhill and she would tell me that I am worth it, but it was basically just bad timing. I want to try and stop thinking about her as much. If our paths cross again and the timing is right, I wouldn’t be opposed to trying again, but I’m not going to hold my breath and I can’t let “what ifs” keep me from trying to meet new people. It was honestly such a good learning experience though and I’m so thankful that I met her. 

The rest of the summer had a lot of fun things in it as well. I got to go to Minneapolis again for Summer Games Done Quick in late June, then again in August for one of my closest friend’s wedding. I got to see some of my favorite bands, Coheed and The Menzingers. I played shows, I wrote music, I got closer with friends. The fall/winter weren’t kind to me mentally. I’ve had a few mild anxiety attacks. I did see Coheed and The Menzingers a second time each in October/November. My band started recording a new EP a few weeks ago which is sounding amazing so far. I sold 60-something shirts of a design I created. It’s been a long time since I was motivated to make something like that and it really paid off. 

2018 had a lot of good parts, and a lot of bad parts, but that’s no surprise. I want 2019 to be a year of change and growth. I want to find myself being more confident, going on more dates, meeting more people, writing more music, getting my shit more together. I want to reach out and get help for my mental illnesses. I want to become a better me. I want to feel like I’m worth it. 

I apologize if you actually read all of this. I had a lot of feelings to get out. 

[artificialqueens]

gonna make em scream some day, gonna make it big 1/3 (shalaska) - rosetintedworld

AN: this was originally on ao3 (under the same name!) but ive decided to put it on here also because i love feedback and attention. some sugar mama sharon and sugar baby alaska tinder realness. 

It wasn’t something she ever saw herself doing. Or even thought about doing until Violet mentioned it as a joke while scrolling through her Tinder and Alaska got a text from her manager saying she was booked for significantly fewer hours than before. She’d used dating apps before, yes, she was a Pisces. Alaska was a gentle lover. She was passionate and caring because love was fulfilling and completing. The second half of the circle that was her life. She’d been on Tinder and Bumble and any other “lesbian” dating app that had caught her eye. She’d even been on some dates, some successful, some not. None of them led to the romantic fantasy she dreamed of though, given her settings were to girls her age who most of the times were experimenting in their college days and didn’t want anything more than to drink and fuck and not talk again. Alaska was 21. She was a junior in college, she could go to bars and order booze herself, she could pay her bills (barely) in her run down apartment, and if she wanted to change up her online dating profile a little to target a slightly different audience, she damn well could.

So, that’s how her Tinder was back up and running, bio set to Alaska, 21, my names yours, whats alaska? performance major at pittsburgh u, starbucks barista extraordinaire, pisces (but im more of a snake than a fish), and yes i am naturally a platinum blonde and preferences set to woman ages 30-50. Her manager was left on delivered but her landlord was texted and asked about rent being a few days late. She sent a silent prayer to anyone who was listening before settling into bed on her stomach and opening the aforementioned app.

The glow of her iPhone screen illuminated her face in the now dark room. Pittsburgh was busy outside, which was typical for a Thursday night when you lived in the middle of the city. Not what some would say was the good middle of the city, but middle of the city nonetheless. Middle of the city enough that Alaska was living paycheck to paycheck trying to make rent while her building simultaneously was falling apart. What was good though, was the handful of woman Alaska was willing to swipe right on. Katya, 35, former Russian gymnast and now a hot blonde yoga instructor.  Bianca, 43, a seamstress with dimples for days. Raja, 45, a makeup artist who happened to be drop dead gorgeous too, which wasn’t quite fair in Alaska’s books.

Sharon, 42, writer of indie horror films. Busty, blonde with hints of silver, permanent bedroom eyes and velvet lips. Her Tinder pictures were her with a raggedy looking cat, her with her head thrown back in laughter and a bottle Pabst, her in a silk robe with tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose and a glass of champagne in her hand. Alaska hovered on the profile for a moment. She tried to take in the tattoos and the dimple in her chin. The high cheekbones and her sultry glare and the way her clothes hung to her curves. Her thumbs hovered and she sucked in a deep breath before super liking and clicking her phone shut. From under her pillow, her phone buzzed but she ignored it and pulled her blanket up to her chin.

—

The first thing Alaska does after she wakes up is check her phone and have a minor heart attack over the messages on her screen. Well, that’s a lie. The first thing she does is de-tangle her hair from the elastic it was in, push herself up from her mattress on the floor and stretch until she can hear her back crack, make herself a coffee, and then almost spill the scalding liquid on herself when she clicks her phone open.

Sharon: Well, aren’t you a sweet little thing?

Sharon: What are you up to doll?

The hot horror babe double her age had super-liked her back and messaged her first.

Alaska: oh shit sorry, i fell asleep last night !

Sharon responds in nearly a minute and they fall into easy conversation. Alaska mentions she’s up to nothing, really, as she’s not booked for work and there was still a good two weeks before she had to start classes again. The other woman mentions just writing and sketching, working on concepts but other than that doing “fuck all”. The conversation turns shallow, as online dating conversations usually do, and Sharon mentions how Alaska’s gorgeous, how her smile could kill and how her hips are mesmerizing. She asks for a picture and Alaska doesn’t know why she’s blushing all the way up her chest. Or why she spends 5 minutes trying to fix herself up to send a photo to impress a woman she doesn’t know.

—

It was only two nights later when Alaska had agreed to meet Sharon for dinner.

She had scoured her closet for something to wear on a date. Going to bars and clubs, sure. She had clothes for that. Clothes for a date with a woman 21 years her senior who showered her in compliments, was extremely blunt, and had a charmingly crude sense of humour? Yeah, can’t say she’s had to dress for that before. But there’s always a first time for everything. She settles eventually on a sparkly black bralette that dips in slightly to show her cleavage and a black pencil skirt. The length of the pencil skirt cancels out the sexuality of the bralette and the way the skirt hugs her hips, obviously. For good measure, she pairs it with a floral blue kimono and what she hopes are her best pair of black fuck me heels.

The restaurant Sharon had picked out was a couple of blocks away. It was some fancy vegetarian place that Alaska had never heard of, but from a quick Google search she concluded that it was definitely out of her price range and somewhere she could never imagine herself stepping into. It’d be like a bull in a china shop, out of the ordinary and a very bad idea. She wasn’tfancy. Sure, one day, when she was a performer making millions maybe she would’ve returned to the city and ate at some fancy vegetarian restaurant. But now, a simple Starbucks barista who had a mattress in the corner of her room and wallpaper made of sketches and drawings? Nope.

It’s only when she got to the restaurant that she realized she was shaking. Why was she so nervous? She had thanked her Uber driver with a nervous smile and rated five stars, watching as he drove away while wringing her hands together nervously.

The inside was beautiful. All velvet upholstery. There was soft music playing and the walls were lined with paintings. It was classy and chic. And it smelt expensive. There was even a maître d who eyed her as she stood, nearly trembling in her heels like a deer caught in the headlights. It was embarrassing and she thought for a moment of just leaving. She was here to have a good night and hopefully get laid by an extremely hot woman and she was in it to win it but right now she wasn’t feeling like a winner.

“Alaska!” A woman called from a booth in the right corner, almost completely out of view and Alaska dipped away from the maître d with a shy smile and scurried over.

She was more gorgeous in person, somehow. Her blonde hair was clipped back from her face and the dim lighting didn’t reveal much, but Alaska could see the glimpses of silver where stray locks of hair fell around her face. Her cheekbones were high and her face was contoured and hollowed out. Her lips were pouty and plush. They’d be nice to kiss. Probably. Hopefully. Her tortoiseshell glasses were perched on her nose and Alaska could see from behind them where Sharon’s eyeshadow was creasing slightly where it fell into her crows feet. She wanted to brush it away, feel Sharon’s soft looking skin under her fingers.

Strong arms were hugging Alaska before she was able to process what was happening. Sharon was warm around her, rubbing her back and squeezing her waist. Her short sleeved blazer and pencil skirt was clinging to her body, the burnt orange contrasting with the black of Sharon’s bra that was spilling from where the buttons didn’t go quite high enough. Alaska trailed her eyes up the long leather gloves she was wearing and over the tattoo of a phone number just where the gloves ended above her elbow.

“Sit, sit! Hi darling, how are you?” Sharon’s eyes twinkled as she sat back down, pouring out two glasses of wine from the bottle already sitting on the table.

“I’m, uh, really well! Thank you! How about yourself?” Alaska smiled, graciously taking the wine. Maybe the alcohol would soothe her nerves. “Also sorry for running a bit late. Traffic. You know.”

“Don’t even worry about it!” Sharon shrugs and smiles before reaching out and resting her hand over Alaska’s on the table.

Sharon is touchy. Her heel clad foot is hooked around Alaska’s ankle and trailing up and down her calf slowly. Goosebumps raise on Alaska’s skin and she wonders if Sharon can feel them, or if she can sense when her breath catches in her throat and her cheeks flush. She’s always reaching across the table and taking Alaska’s hand in her own, bumping hands when passing a menu over or leaning across to grasp at her arm when Alaska says something funny enough to make Sharon throw her head back in laughter.

They talk and eat and drink. Sharon leans forward to feed Alaska bites of her risotto, claiming that her soup simply can’t be enough and she doesn’t care about the price. The waitress comes and goes with another bottle of wine and Alaska pours herself another glass, stains it with her lipstick and Sharon makes her laugh so hard red wine comes out of her nose much to her embarrassment.

Her eyes are bright and intense. Sharon’s asking Alaska about where she works, what she does. Alaska’s cheeks are pink from the attention but she doesn’t mind, really. Sharon listens when she talks about being a performance major, how she loves plays (especially musicals) and how she writes songs (but they’re mostly parodies, because they’re more fun) and how she really wants to make it big some day. She listens as Alaska talks about her brothers, who are either doctors or in the military and the wine talks about how sometimes she feels a little bit ashamed of herself for not being as successful as them. Sharon is intelligent yet ditzy, listening when it’s important, sniping in with comments and questions when necessary, sometimes distracting herself with a related story from her past or a pop-culture reference Alaska raises her eyebrow at. It’s nice.

Sharon’s gloved hands are on her arm and then in her purse to pay the bill and leave a very generous tip. Alaska’s eyes widen at the price but Sharon is already pulling her away and outside with an arm around her waist. Her grip is strong and steadies Alaska where she’s feeling tipsy and clumsy on her feet, heels clacking on the sidewalk. The flick of a lighter brings her back to her senses and she watches, hypnotized, as Sharon lights a cigarette and breathes deeply. Smoking has never been a turn on her for, really. But the way the smoke leaves Sharon’s soft lips and the way her eyes go hazy is enough for Alaska to press a kiss to her jaw so Sharon will hail a cab for the both of them.

The back of the cab is stuffy and hot. Sharon’s hands are on Alaska’s thighs and in her hair and Alaska’s eyes are dark. She shifts to wrap a hand around the back of Sharon’s neck and pull her in for a kiss. Their lips press together in a rush, teeth clinking. It feels so cliche and wrong, making out in the back of a taxi. Sharon’s hand is resting on her thigh and she’s nipping at Alaska’s lip so softly she has to hold back her moans. It’s dirty and wrong how much Alaska wants Sharon to take her right then and there, so luckily Sharon’s building is only a few blocks away and it’s not long until Sharon’s paying and tipping and pulling Alaska out of the vehicle.

They stumble past the doorman with a nod and Alaska forces herself not to think about how often Sharon must do this, stumble in drunkenly with a girl on her arm late at night. They press into the elevator and Sharon corners her as they go up the twenty-six flights to her apartment, peppering kisses on her skin and tugging at the hems of her clothes.

From the elevator down the hall to Sharon’s apartment is a blur. Inside, it’s all minimal decor and chandeliers and art on the walls. The floor is hardwood and the furniture is neat and tidy. In her drunken haze, Sharon manages to give a quick tour. Quick tour meaning pointing out the different rooms in the large apartment while stripping herself of her gloves and heels and Alaska following suit as Sharon drags her forward by the hand.

The master bedroom, somehow, exceeds Alaska’s expectations. But then again this woman was a mystery wrapped in an enigma and she wasn’t sure what to expect in the first place. The far wall is all window and she can see all the lights from the city flickering. A chandelier in front of the window from an apartment across the ways twinkles and Alaska can feel the wine in her bloodstream. The floors are dark, the walls are cream and the furniture is matte black. It’s elegant and chic. Alaska can feel Sharon’s eyes on her and wants the floor to swallow her whole. Against the wall is a king sized bed and the headboard is tall, the bars thin and simple and Alaska needs to be fucked and grasping onto them right now. There’s art on the walls and vintage movie posters and Alaska can spot an open sketchbook on the nightstand. Her eyes flicker back to the window when she hears a plane fly overhead.

“You like the view?” It’s more of a statement than a question. Alaska nods anyways. She can feel Sharon’s smile and flushes all up her chest.

Sharon presses her body up along Alaska’s back. She can feel the fabric of her dress and the softness of her breasts against her spine. Her hair brushes Alaska’s shoulders when it’s released from the clip and she has the urge to touch it. She wants to feel it through her fingers and sort out the greys from the blonds, hear Sharon sigh when she massages her scalp. Sharon’s warm against her and presses her forward softly until they’re standing in front of the window and Alaska can see people on the sidewalk. She wonders if they know what’s going on stories above them.

There’s a tug on the zipper of Alaska’s skirt then the cool air is hitting her thighs and Sharon’s helping her step out of it. The older woman hums. It’s low and soft and she can feel it against her shoulder when Sharon tucks her chin over it. She presses a kiss to Alaska’s neck and watches goosebumps rise where her lipstick leaves a mark.

Any other hook-ups Sharon would get the other girl to strip. Make her put on a show for her and work for it. Or it’d be fast and there’d be a trail of clothes from the front door to the bedroom. Like some X-rated drunken Hansel and Gretel. At least it served its purpose when Sharon pretended to be asleep and willed the other person to find their way out in the morning. But Alaska was different. Sharon undresses her slowly in attempt to take her all in. Her thighs were milky and soft. There were the slightest of pink stretch marks where her hips had filled out and the older woman took her time tracing them if only to feel Alaska shiver under her. The things she would do to keep the younger girl shivering under her hands. She slid her kimono off, followed by her bralette so she could cup her breasts and squeeze before pulling her underwear down her hips.

Sharon’s still humming. Completely nonchalant. Alaska has to wonder how many girls she takes home. How many of them she strips in front of the window. If she presses the pads of her thumbs into the underside of their breasts and pinches their nipples and hips just to hear them squeak. Sharon’s still fully dressed, save for her glasses, heels, and gloves that were shed earlier. She debated on keeping the gloves on, too. If only to see the way Alaska would shiver and blush when a cool leather finger would run through Alaska’s folds only to come out shiny and wet. Next time.

“Sharon…” Alaska’s voice is whiny and Sharon shushes her, tapping her finger on her lips until Alaska takes it into her mouth.

“What do you want, baby?” Sharon’s calm and collected. The opposite of Alaska, whose heart is beating against her ribcage so hard it may break. She groans in reply.

Sharon pinches at her nipple with on hand, slipping another finger from her other hand in Alaska’s mouth when she gasps in response. She stumbles forward slightly and presses her palms against the glass as Sharon wraps an arm around her waist to keep her steady. There’s people below bustling on the sidewalk and she can see the people in apartments over. Her breath comes out hot and the window fogs where it hits.

“I got you, it’s okay. Such a pretty baby.” Sharon pets her hair, it’s long and soft in her palm, “I bet everyone outside loves the view just as much as you do.”

Alaska’s thighs shake as Sharon removes her fingers from her mouth. They’re slick with spit and Alaska watches the trail of saliva between her lips and Sharon’s fingers, dips her tongue forward to lick it up. Suddenly, Sharon’s fingers press up against her clit and she groans. Her head falls back against Sharon’s shoulder and her fingers curl against the glass searching to find purchase. The window feels like ice against her skin. But it may just be from the way her skin is radiating heat and the sweat is sticking to her. Sharon rubs slow circles and watches how Alaska’s hip shakes. Her left thigh twitches when Sharon trails a single finger back and forth over the nerves and her hips jerk forward when she presses the heel of her hand against it in order to rub against her hole with her fingers.

“Tell me what you want. I just want to make you feel good.” Sharon’s voice is warm and she can feel the pout against her ear. She’s teasing. Her fingers skate past Alaska’s clit again and she presses the tip of a finger inside of her. It slips just past the muscle until the younger girl gasps and then it’s gone.

“Fuck me, please. Please mama. God.” Alaska’s whining high in her throat. Her throat catches on the mama and she flushes from embarrassment, all up her chest to her cheeks. Sharon kisses and smiles against her shoulder.

Alaska nearly cries when Sharon slips a finger inside her. Her pussy is warm and wet and Sharon fucks her slow. The sound echoes in the otherwise silent room and Alaska whimpers. Her centre is pink and swollen and Sharon relishes in the sound, slips another finger in without problem and scissors them just to hear Alaska’s embarrassed cry when she comments on how wet she is. Her fingers work slow and Alaska is squirming enough that Sharon has to wrap her arm back around her waist, pressing her naked form against Sharon’s clothed one to keep her still. Alaska’s trailing her hands backwards. Up into Sharon’s hair and down her side, around to her ass and thighs, then back down to try and intertwine their fingers and press Sharon deeper into her.

“Alaska baby, no. You’ll get there. I’ll take care of you.” Sharon tsked, her tone stern.

Alaska whines and curls her fingers into Sharon’s arm. Sharon digs her fingers deeper and crooks them. Alaska’s bowlegged knees buckle and she reaches out again to steady herself against the window and lean back against Sharon. Her eyes are glued shut and her lips are parted and Sharon works her so sweetly, pumping two fingers and swiping her thumb in soft circles around Alaska’s clit.

“You gonna cum? So beautiful. Cum for me baby girl.” Sharon murmurs. Her eyes are dark and downcast, shaded by her eyelashes.

Alaska finishes with a cry and her legs give out. Her small frame is shaking and Sharon holds her close, shifts them until they’re back onto the bed and Alaska is panting. The city light reflects on the sweat on Alaska’s chest. Her breasts are illuminated and Sharon leans down to nip at a nipple and Alaska gasps from the overstimulation.

Quickly, Sharon sheds her clothing, nearly ripping a button from her dress in the process. She shifts Alaska onto her back and moves to straddle her chest. Alaska’s panting. Her breasts fall when she exhales and Sharon watches how they shake, reaches out to pinch the skin around her nipple. Her thumb trails against Alaska’s lips and she opens her mouth for it, suckling it and groaning around the digit. A whine escapes her when Sharon pulls her thumb away and trails spit across her bottom lip to see how they glisten.

Sharon’s hips move of their own accord, shifting upwards until she’s against Alaska’s mouth. Her tongue laps out immediately. She presses the flat of her tongue against Sharon’s clit and hears her groan closed mouth. She prods more then, circling around the nub until Sharon is circling her hips above her and grinding against her mouth. Alaska moves her hands to Sharon’s thighs, gives them a squeeze and presses her nose against the groomed hairs. Her breath is cut off and she can feel herself flushing from the effort but she can’t find it in her to stop. The older woman is shaking above her and Alaska sucks hard on her clit. Wetness covers the bottom of Alaska’s face and Sharon whimpers before lifting herself off.

“So good. So, so good doll.” Sharon shifts until they’re both under the sheets and presses a kiss to Alaska’s lips, chin, jaw, cheek. She sighs out through her nose and pulls the girl close to her, nudging her knee between the other’s thighs and holding her head to her chest until Alaska’s breathing matches the beating of her heart.

—

When Alaska wakes, the spot in bed beside her is cold and there’s a dull ache deep in her skull. Sunlight filters in through the large window and Alaska has to squint to look around the room. The cream sheets are glowing pale yellow in the light. They’re soft against her skin where she feels sweaty and gross, and it takes a moment for Alaska to remember where she is. The framed poster for a campy 80s slasher films jerks her memory. Sharon.

She pads out of bed slowly, shifting over to the dresser where she finds last night’s clothes folded up neatly along with a pair of shorts and shirt that Sharon must’ve left out. It’s weird, almost domestic. Most hook ups don’t do this. But then again, most hook ups weren’t older goth women who spend over $100 at dinner without a blink of an eye then fuck Alaska in front of their gigantic window up on the 26th floor of a high class apartment. Alaska squeezes back into her pencil skirt and slips her bralette over her head while making her way out to the rest of the apartment.

There’s a note on the island in the kitchen, atop the granite.

I’m so sorry, I had to run before you woke up! You look gorgeous even in your sleep .. Is that weird to say?

Feel free to shower and help yourself to breakfast and coffee.

I would love to see you again, doll. <3

Sharon Needles

There’s a mug with little ghosts on it beside the note and it’s all too weird and too much. Alaska orders an Uber with the last of her phone battery, adds the number scribbled at the bottom of the paper into her contacts, then tucks the note into the back of her phone case. The doorman downstairs gives her a nod of acknowledgement when she eaves the building and as she got into her Uber she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

The rest of the day went by in a haze. Alaska took a cold, cold shower and puttered around her apartment making shitty coffee and a bowl of cereal before going to work. Her afternoon shift was full of fake smiles and frappuccinos and she spilled hot coffee on herself in a distracted haze and cursed, her co-workers giving her concerned glances. It wasn’t her fault. It was purely coincidence how she kept getting distracted whenever she noticed the crows feet on a lady sitting in the corner or the grey-blue eyes of the young girl she was taking an order from.

She texted Sharon when she got home.  

—

The next time they meet up it’s during the day in a nice area downtown. It’s a very Liberal area. Rainbow crosswalk and all. It’s chalked full of vegan restaurants and nice little expensive shops and it’s another area that Alaska would love to be able to walk down on a random afternoon and not feel intimidated, but that’s not quite the case right now.

Alaska’s in a white shirt tucked into a black skater skirt with a flannel, and half her hair is pulled up into two buns. She feels cute. And gay. And she hopes Sharon thinks the same enough to like, hold her hand or something, or finger her in the washroom of some mom-and-pop restaurant. Maybe both. She tries not to think too much about it as her Uber parks just down the road from the diner Sharon told her to meet her at.

The restaurant is small and cute, not to mention far less intimidating from the last place. There’re plants hanging from the ceiling and a large fish tank. It’s earthy and warm. Scanning the room, there’s no sign of Sharon but before she goes and sits down to wait she hears a soft ‘boo!’ from behind her. Alaska flushes at how she jumped in response and Sharon laughs, pulling her into a hug. The booths are made of worn down leather and the floor creaks slightly as they make their way to a seat. She feels far more “in her element” here, yet her chest still feels tight as Sharon sits across from her.

Her hair is soft and curled, but her eyes are dark and blown out and her lips are plump and red. It’s a dramatic look for one o’clock on a Tuesday, but Alaska doesn’t mind. Her black mock neck shirt hugs her body and her pants are tight and match her lips. It’s modern and chic and Alaska feels underdressed. But Sharon’s gaze is smouldering and trails down her body with a smile. It feels oddly familiar. Oddly comforting.

Sharon asks the waiter if they have Pabst in bottles, not on tap, (they do), and Alaska orders a lemonade. The menu is handwritten and cute, with tacky pun names and illustrations. A foot brushes up against Alaska’s and Sharon’s hand is on her arm. She’s humming as she reads, her lips pursed. Her cool eyes are squinted slightly from her lack of glasses and her crows feet crease slightly. It’s endearing, really. Her fingers are tracing the blue veins under the skin and Alaska wonders if she can feel the goosebumps raising, or if she even realizes she’s doing it in the first place. She imagines Sharon can feel the blood pulsing under her skin. A steady rhythm. By the time the waiter comes back to take their order Alaska had barely read the menu and stumbles slightly, ordering a salad. Sharon shoots her a knowing smile, curling her fingers around Alaska’s small wrist.

“So what do you do, exactly?” Sharon raises her eyebrows at the question, letting her thumb rub at Alaska’s arm.

“Well…” She pauses to take a sip of her beer, “To put it simply I work on short films. They’re just independent projects, mostly horror. I’ve always loved the genre and I love creating and I had the money so I said fuck it, got a group together and we’ve been working together since. We have a pretty strong fan base too, fucked up if you ask me.” Sharon laughs, big and booming in the otherwise calm restaurant.

Alaska smiles and asks about her projects. Her eyes light up when she talks and Alaska can see how her cheekbones protrude when she smiles that wide. The older woman talks about horror movies she admires, how growing up the weird goth dyke made her truly admire the villains in films who got revenge on the preps and the jocks. Most other people would be terrified to hear how their date relates to the killers in these films, but with Sharon it makes sense. She throws herself entirely into her work. Throws herself into the scripts and the storyboards and all the inspirations. She’s always hovering around people on set and fucking with lighting and costumes then marathoning films she’s seen before and can probably quote word for word. This woman is intelligent and intense but spooky and stupid and Alaska doesn’t quite know what to make of her.  

They eat, and talk, and Sharon drinks a few more PBR. Alaska steals a fry from Sharon’s plate and dips it in the surprisingly good vegan milkshake Sharon had guilted her into ordering, just because she refused a lemonade refill and that just wasn’t happening in Sharon’s books. The older woman threw another fry at her for Alaska’s amusement. She was like a baby. A cute one, not an annoying crying one. She was one that you just wanted to keep cooing and giggling and happy. They ordered cheesecake to share and Sharon fed it to her across the table, watching as Alaska’s lips pursed around the fork.

When they go to pay, Alaska pulls her wallet out of her purse. Sharon tsks and gives her a warning look to put her wallet away, and Alaska tries to ignore the way heat pools in her stomach.

As they leave, Sharon snakes an arm around Alaska’s waist. It fits there, and Alaska doesn’t mind. Her hand dips into the curve of her small waist and settles on her hip. It’s a warm heaviness and Alaska has to walk a little closer to Sharon due to it.

“Y’know, I didn’t realize I was gay until my senior year of high school maybe.” Alaska looks down at the small ceramic ghost in her hand, thinks that Sharon might like it. Her voice startles Sharon from where she’s standing a few feet away looking at a similar ceramic cat.

“Really? You come across as the loud and proud type. Like head cheerleader that all the bi-curious girls go to behind the bleachers to get their lesbian cherry popped.”

“Okay fair enough. Let me guess, little goth bitch who punched out anyone who tried to cuss you out for being a dyke?” Alaska fires back, putting down the small ghost and patting its head.

“I’ve had my fair share of physical encounters . I’ll admit to that. No shame in punching someone’s teeth in when they disrespect you.” Sharon raises her eyebrows in question to Alaska, “Although it did take half of freshman year before I started fighting back. I don’t eat meat but I’ll use ‘em to nurse a black eye if I have to.”

The older woman laughs but Alaska can’t help but imagine her younger, smaller. 14 year old Sharon nursing her wounds because some asshole thought she was a good target. 14 year old Sharon reapplying black lipstick in an abandoned girls’ washroom. 14 year old Sharon being unapologetically herself despite her entire school seemingly working against her because she was a bit eccentric and queer. 14 year old Sharon going home and watching shitty horror movies as a distraction from the shit she had to deal with. It tugged on Alaska’s heart strings.

From antique shops to run down clubs to vintage boho chic clothing stores, they check them all out. Alaska tries on a dress that looks like it’s made of trash bags and spins, laughing as it floats up around her. Sharon hides behind a shelf in a costume store, popping out with fake teeth and a witch hat on to startle Alaska. Alaska tries on a horse mask at the back of the store, recalling how people in school used to call her horse face . It doesn’t bother her anymore though, and she neighs in the mask before ripping it off and laughing.

“If we ever get into a fight I’ll just buy us animal masks. You can’t be pissed off at someone when you’re a fucking horse and they’re a frog” Sharon shifts through the masks, laughing before pulling on Alaska’s arm back to the front of the store.

The next store they go into is pastel and airy. They sell lingerie and chiffon peignoirs, lace slip dresses and thigh high stockings with matching garters. It’s all out of Alaska’s price range. This isn’t just a store that you go to when going out with friends shopping. She knows this. And she knows Sharon knows this. Sharon walks in like she owns the place, one arm still wrapped around Alaska’s waist like she owns her and the other weaving through fabrics.

“What’s your size, baby?” Sharon presses a kiss to her cheek and Alaska can feel her throat close in.

Her fingers clench into a fist. She’s sweating. Why is she sweating?

“Uh, I’m a 36C. Medium for everything else, I guess.”

Sharon hums and shifts through the isles. The bags on her arm dig into the skin, making it pink and white. Alaska wants to kiss it. Sharon purchased some tacky looking Halloween knick-knacks, and anything Alaska looked at for over ten seconds and seemed interested in. It made her blush when Sharon insisted on buying it. They both drift around the store for a while, brushing off the sleepy looking girl who asked if they needed any help.

Eventually, they end up near the back by the empty changing rooms. Sharon pulls Alaska into one, pulling the pale pink door shut behind her and clicking the lock shut. It’s a roomy area, with a large mirror on the back wall. The two walls are lined with benches and there’s a small circle stool in the corner. Alaska can feel the air heating up. Or maybe it’s just her. Sharon’s hanging things up on the hooks and looking back at Alaska expectantly when minutes pass and she’s still fully dressed.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” Sharon’s voice is soft. Her thighs spill outwards from where she’s sitting on the stool and she crosses her legs, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands.

Alaska sucks in a breath before stripping, gauging her actions based on Sharon’s face. She tries on all the pieces Sharon picked out, ranging from sheer bras and thongs to intricate high wasted panties with matching garters and stockings. She tries on all the robes and slips, lets Sharon run her hands over the silk dawning her thighs. She spins her finger and Alaska turns in each outfit to show how her ass peeks out of the underwear and how her hair runs soft down her back. Sharon’s making soft sounds.

When Alaska gets to the last set, black high waisted fucking crotchless panties with the bra and stockings to match, she feels her face go red hot. It was before, definitely, but this ensemble (if you will) was truly the cherry on top of this fucked up sexually frustrating sundae. She changes slowly, folding the last pieces and putting them back on their hangers on the wall.

“Can you be good for me?” Sharon’s voice comes as a surprise and Alaska nods, spinning around to face the woman.  “Sit down pumpkin. Spread your legs.”

Alaska’s head was spinning. She lowered herself onto the bench slowly and pulled at her knees to spread her legs. Sharon’s gaze was red hot and Alaska squirmed.

“You’re so wet.” Alaska could hear Sharon laugh and she twitched, moving her legs back together slightly. “No baby, you’re being so good. I wanna see you.”

Alaska’s lungs were collapsing. Her insides were burning and she felt so dirty and flustered and they were in a damn changing room . Sharon was fully dressed, legs crossed and lighting a cigarette even though it was against the rules because she just didn’t care. Smoke plumed upwards and she took a long drag, ashing her cigarette against the edge of the stool and turning back to where Alaska was squirming, the air conditioned air hitting her cunt.

“Can you touch yourself for me? I want you to fuck yourself with one finger baby, don’t want you to make too much of a mess.”

Sharon’s voice was so soft yet stern and Alaska wanted to cry. She grazed her index finger over her clit and jerked before tracing around her whole. She was wet. Just from trying on the lingerie and modelling for Sharon. Just being around Sharon. Sharon who had such a domineering energy. Sharon with her hand on the small of her back pressing her forward. Sharon feeding her cheesecake even when she thought she was full. Alaska pressed one finger in and gasped, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid the embarrassment of making eye contact with the other woman.

“Nice and slow, or else the whole store will hear how wet you are right now. Or would you like that? If someone walked back right now and could hear how wet you are, how you’re trying to hold back all your pretty little noises as you put on a show for me.” Sharon to try and relieve the pressure between her own thighs, “Touch your clit for me hun, with your other hand. You’re so good. So pretty”

Alaska gasped with the intensity of it all. Her thumb on her clit and her middle finger pressing up inside of her, shooting stars behind her eyelids. She could feel Sharon watching her, how her eyes were raking up and down her body as she thrust her hips into her own hands. The bench underneath her was probably wet but at this point she couldn’t bring herself to care. The dozy girl working up front could walk in on them, unlock the door from the outside and ask what was taking them so long and Alaska wouldn’t be able to find it in herself to care as long as Sharon wanted her to keep going.

“Sharon, I can’t, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me baby.” Alaska’s hips shook and she clenched her jaw to try and keep her noises in as she thrust, panting as she came down from her high.

Sharon stood then and sucked Alaska’s wet fingers into her mouth. They left with a pop! and Sharon smiled, letting Alaska change in silence before purchasing everything she picked out and pulling Alaska into an Uber back to her apartment building.

—

School starts up again. Alaska’s in her final year of university. Soon, she’ll have her Bachelor’s Degree in Performing Arts. She’ll be able to move out to LA like she wanted and be successful. She can star in films and put out an album and make it big. She can make her parents proud along with her medical and military brother because she can be successful too! They all thought she wouldn’t make anything of herself. Sure, maybe she’d move out to LA like she’d always dreamed of, but make it big? Nah. Her mom was convinced she was just going to become some drug addicted deviant, but hey, isn’t that the superstar lifestyle anyways?

Alaska’s plans may have changed drastically. As the weeks turned into months, she spent less and less time at her own run down apartment. It wasn’t that she moved in with Sharon, per se, it was just that over time she had ended up moving out of her apartment. Not to mention Sharon had seen one text from her landlord saying that her rent was far overdo and got so worried, telling Alaska to not worry about it because she had it covered. (Which was embarrassing on Alaska’s part, considering any time not spent in a lecture hall was probably spent working, but inflation was a bitch, y’know?). So it’s not like it was some big ordeal when two and a half months into whatever they had, Alaska was staying there most of the time. She just needed a place to stay until she could find somewhere she could actually afford, and Sharon was willing to give her a helping hand! It also helped that Sharon had a tongue that made her see God.

The move in was gradual. Alaska had a healthy collection of clothes and lingerie at Sharon’s apartment, just from previous dates where Sharon insisted she buy everything for Alaska because it just looked so cute on her and she had her own bills to pay, so Sharon would buy. Eventually, a toothbrush showed up in the holder beside Sharon’s. And Alaska’s fancy purple shampoo she splurged on to keep her hair platinum. And a collection of socks and pajamas and other clothes that Alaska would just happen to leave there but never return to her apartment. Of course, since so much of her wardrobe and electronics and chargers and, well, everything, somehow ended up at Sharon’s flat, Alaska spent more and more time there. It was just convenient, that was all.

Alaska’s life was good. Different from where she thought she would be at this point in her life, but good. Violet was hounding her about the “friend” she was staying with, and about how she seemed to have that “post-sex glow” (as she liked to call it) 24-fucking-7, but Violet was a bitch and too nosy for her own good.

She spent her afternoons in the living room of the apartment, practicing lines from a production that was worth quite a hefty amount of her grade. Cerrone was her only spectator. He didn’t throw rotten tomatoes or boo her off of the coffee table stage though, so she takes what she can get. Sometimes Sharon would come home early and watch her, give her pointers and then tell her to stop repeating the same damn lines for the 50th time and put her mouth to good use. It was a good break. Sharon brought up the idea a few times, putting Alaska in some of her short films. It’d be fun! The gorgeous ditzy blonde in a gore-y horror short film? Instant blockbuster! People love cliche shit like that. Plus, Sharon would love to have Alaska on set with her all day.

It was nice, truly. Sharon took them out for dinner or made fancy vegetarian meals. She’d wake Alaska up with her head between her thighs, leaving Alaska to shudder awake in a cool sweat and groaning. There’d be small notes with hearts on them when Sharon would disappear before Alaska got up. Sharon would have an Uber waiting outside Alaska’s Starbuckslocation when she was done work, and sometimes Sharon would even pop in herself to visit even though Alaska knows she’d rather support local businesses than the industry coffee shop she worked at. Sharon bought her fancy clothes and shoes and lingerie just to see Alaska blush and squirm. Alaska would get all quiet and call Sharon mommy and curl up on the couch beside her, pressing kisses to her neck to distract her from the movie she was watching. Or, she’d get bratty and call her mama , call Sharon on set when she was in the apartment alone touching herself. Life was good.

—

Alaska more or less moving in only proved to show how needy she was. She was worse than a pet, but Sharon only had Cerrone to compare her to so maybe it wasn’t the fairest comparison. They both bit Sharon, though. Alaska would text Sharon while she was on set, something along the lines of noodles i miss you :( when are you going to be hoooome? sharonnnn i need you. mama please with an image attached of Alaska leaning up against the pillows wearing one of Sharon’s old shirts, with the tip of one thumb in her mouth and two fingers from her other hand knuckle deep in her cunt. Sharon would have to call it a day early and rush home, finger fuck Alaska into the couch cushions until she saw stars and called Sharon mommy despite how embarrassed she got after.

Sharon loved it, how open Alaska was becoming with her. She stopped hiding her phone calls with her brother, instead she would saunter around the kitchen and sit herself upon Sharon’s lap while she listened to Cory talk about the girl he met at the gym. Sharon would tickle her thigh, slip a finger into her panties just to feel how wet she already was and circle her clit until Alaska hung up the phone. Alaska would come back from her lectures and talk about her professors and how her auditions went. She’d write her essays on the leather couch while Sharon painted her toenails baby pink, ate her out while they dried and let Alaska drop her notes and pen onto the hardwood. Sharon liked how Alaska was becoming less shy, how she would pout when she didn’t get her way and call Sharon mama in public just to be a brat and start a scene. Alaska would press kisses to her cheek unprompted, would stop shying away when Sharon payed their dinner bill and bought her fancy lingerie and shoes, would let Sharon give her glasses of wine all day and press on her bladder while fingering her until she cried.

Today was no different. Alaska knew Sharon was out talking to some of her “creative partners” about an idea she had, an idea that she had been sketching and writing for hours after Alaska had fallen asleep on the couch beside her, toes tucked between Sharon’s thighs. She knew Sharon was having some sort of creative breakthrough and was busy. But Alaska was in the apartment alone, and Sharon had left before she woke up. So now she was just lonely and sad and her underwear shifted coldly against her.

lasky <3: noodles when will you be home?

noodles <333: I don’t know baby .. The girl I’m at lunch with is a really talented costume and prop designer. Even if she is a bit stand-offish.

lasky <3: but i neeeeeed you :(

Alaska sent a photo. She was in a sheer pink robe Sharon had bought for her. It was flowy and elegant and trailed behind Alaska on the floor when she walked. It made her feel like an old housewife. She wanted a spiral staircase, wanted to stand at the top of it with a glass of champagne in her hand. Underneath it she wore nothing. She was pouty and annoyed and leaning back on the couch pillows, lips parted and pinching a nipple between two fingers.

noodles <333: I’ll be home in an hour .. Picking up some things. Hope you know how spoiled you are. Brat.

lasky <3: :) :) :) <3

When Sharon gets home, her heart nearly beats out of her chest. She’s had her fair number of romances. Mostly with woman her own age, sometimes younger. Some of them even made it past the six month mark in their relationship. There was something about Alaska though that had Sharon’s head spinning. It was like her entire world had shifted by this girl and was spinning backwards on its axis. Backwards and upside-down. And double time. Whatever. Alaska was curled up on the couch, nude except for the robe, with Cerrone in her lap. She was humming softly to herself and her toes were curled into the couch cushions where her legs were folded underneath her. The natural light made her hair and skin glow and it was so soft and right. Long term didn’t usually work with Sharon. The only long term relationships she had were with cocaine and whiskey and fucking Cerrone the cat, who she didn’t even want in the first place. So why did coming back to her apartment daily to Alaska make it feel more like a home than ever before?

“You’re such a brat, you know that, right?” At the sound of Sharon’s voice Cerrone hops off of Alaska, allowing her to get up to greet Sharon.

“Lies, mama. You’re full of lies.” Alaska laughs and presses a kiss to the dimple in Sharon’s chin. “What’d you get me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know. Go lie down, pumpkin.” Sharon kisses the side of her hair and gives her ass a tap before Alaska nods and heads to the bedroom.

Alaska’s long and full on the bed. Her hips and breasts filled out more after being with Sharon. Sharon took her out for lunch and dinner, fed her cheesecake and other expensive desserts. She always made sure her baby was cared for. Alaska’s hips were soft and propped up with a long pillow, and her breasts were full and heavy against her chest as she breathed deeply, waiting for Sharon.

The rabbit vibrator Sharon comes into the room with is black. It’s not overly long, but the girth makes up for it. Alaska knows Sharon will have to stretch her, start with two fingers just so Alaska can feel the burn then stuff her with three.

“Mommy please…” Alaska draws it out, flutters her eyelashes.

She’s pouty and wet and Sharon kneels beside her on the bed, pulls one of Alaska’s legs up and out to spread her open.

“So wet already baby? Greedy girl.” Alaska screws her eyes shut at the words. “Open your eyes for me sweetheart. Watch mama.”

Sharon slips two fingers inside of the younger girl and Alaska cries, twisting her hips. Her fingers are thick and strong and they fuck Alaska almost mechanically, avoiding her g-spot but scissoring to stretch her open. It burns slightly and Alaska gasps, heat curling in her stomach. She can hear Sharon’s fingers moving in and out of her, can hear when a third one enters. Alaska tries to clench her thighs together but with Sharon between them she’s stuck spread open. She wants to move and squirm, clamp around Sharon’s hand, but Sharon’s got her hip pinned down and is kneeling above Alaska with so much dominance she’s stuck in position with nowhere else to go.

When Alaska’s stretched and dripping, Sharon presses the vibrator inside until it’s snug against both her g-spot and clit. Alaska’s whining high and nasally. Her eyes are dark and her fingers are tugging at the sheets and she’s watching Sharon desperately. It clicks on and she gasps and cries, her hip twitching at the sudden stimulation.

“I should buy you another one of these. A small one that slips into your panties.” Alaska whines and moves her thumb to her mouth, partly to have something to bite and partly to have something to stifle her pathetic cries. “Could turn it on while you’re out picking up dry cleaning. Or while you’re out with mommy’s credit card. Bet you’d love how everyone would watch you as you whined, unable to stop it.”

Alaska gasped as Sharon started moving the vibrator, slowly pressing it in and out of her slightly. It pressed so tightly against where she was the most sensitive and she cried out, thrusting her hips up into the pressure. Heat was curling in her stomach and she could feel her peak building. Her breasts were shaking above her in time with her panting.

“It’s pathetic, really,” Sharon stopped the vibrator, leaving it still and full in Alaska, “how desperate you are for me. Texting me while I’m out, expecting me to drop everything and come get you off like the greedy little slut you are.”

The twitch of Alaska’s thigh and how her eyes almost roll back remind Sharon of just how much she loves it. Being humiliated like that. She loves when Sharon makes fun of how wet she is, how open and soft she is and how she fucks herself on Sharon’s single finger wanting more, how turned on she gets when Sharon buys her expensive lingerie only to rip it off of her later because money isn’t an issue.

She wonders if Alaska could get off on it alone. Just Sharon’s fingers pinching her nipples, fingering her slowly and avoiding the areas she needed the attention so badly. Sharon would comment on how swollen she was, how it was cute that she thrust up and squirmed as if Sharon was actually going to give her what she wanted. She’d bite on Alaska’s nipple, laughing as she flicked the sensitive bud while leaning over the younger girl, still fully clothed. Sharon thinks she could do it. She’d cum untouched and almost instantly recoil, heat exploding in her lower stomach and her cheeks flushing. Sharon would laugh and watch Alaska’s cunt clench and shake before pressing a kiss to her pubic mound.

But for now Alaska was spread and shaking in front of her, thrusting to try and get the toy to touch her and push her over the edge.

“No, no, no, no mama please. That’s not fair.” Alaska’s voice is whiny and pouty, drawing every syllable out, and Sharon can hear her puffing out air through her nose. Tears gather in the corner of Alaska’s eyes.

“Nothing’s ever fair, baby. And you’re gonna take what I give so maybe I’ll let you cum.” Sharon gives Alaska’s thigh a pat once she’s come down from the edge, then turns the vibrator on low.

This time around Alaska yells out brokenly, hips chasing the feeling so hard Sharon has to pin her down with both hands. Her eyes are screwed shut and Sharon can see where tears start leaking from them. Alaska’s mumbling something incoherent and thrashing her head back and forth, digging her fingertips into the pillow under her head. The cycle repeats itself a few more times, bringing Alaska up to the edge and then ripping it from her. She’s become unable to form any words other than please, no, and mommy and it’s like some sick power move on Sharon’s part. How Alaska’s whole world right now revolves around Sharon, and whether or not Sharon’s going to let her cum.

When Sharon turns the vibrator up instead of off and presses it tight up against Alaska, the younger girl cries and pushes off the bed, thighs trying to close around the toy. Her whines are high pitched and she’s gasping. The wet sounds her pussy is making is obscene and Sharon watches her twitch and clench, all wet and shiny.

Sharon pets Alaska’s hair as she comes down, slips the toy out of her and puts it on the nightstand. She kisses around Alaska’s face and tells her she’s beautiful, that she did so good, mommy’s so proud. The bed dips when she leaves for only a second. She gets a glass of water and a cloth to wipe Alaska off, and grabs her sketchbook from where it sits in her purse. She fingers herself hard as Alaska comes back to her senses and licks around her nipple, trailing her airy hands across Sharon’s body.

Softly, Sharon kisses Alaska’s forehead when she’s sure she’s asleep, and pulls out her sketchbook.

tags - alaska thunderfuck, sharon needles, shalaska, smut, lesbian au, sugar mama au, mommy kink

It wasn’t something she ever saw herself doing. Or even thought about doing until Violet mentioned it as a joke while scrolling through her Tinder and Alaska got a text from her manager saying she was booked for significantly fewer hours than before. She’d used dating apps before, yes, she was a Pisces. Alaska was a gentle lover. She was passionate and caring because love was fulfilling and completing. The second half of the circle that was her life. She’d been on Tinder and Bumble and any other “lesbian” dating app that had caught her eye. She’d even been on some dates, some successful, some not. None of them led to the romantic fantasy she dreamed of though, given her settings were to girls her age who most of the times were experimenting in their college days and didn’t want anything more than to drink and fuck and not talk again. Alaska was 21. She was a junior in college, she could go to bars and order booze herself, she could pay her bills (barely) in her run down apartment, and if she wanted to change up her online dating profile a little to target a slightly different audience, she damn well could.

So, that’s how her Tinder was back up and running, bio set to Alaska, 21, my names yours, whats alaska? performance major at pittsburgh u, starbucks barista extraordinaire, pisces (but im more of a snake than a fish), and yes i am naturally a platinum blonde and preferences set to woman ages 30-50. Her manager was left on delivered but her landlord was texted and asked about rent being a few days late. She sent a silent prayer to anyone who was listening before settling into bed on her stomach and opening the aforementioned app.

The glow of her iPhone screen illuminated her face in the now dark room. Pittsburgh was busy outside, which was typical for a Thursday night when you lived in the middle of the city. Not what some would say was the good middle of the city, but middle of the city nonetheless. Middle of the city enough that Alaska was living paycheck to paycheck trying to make rent while her building simultaneously was falling apart. What was good though, was the handful of woman Alaska was willing to swipe right on. Katya, 35, former Russian gymnast and now a hot blonde yoga instructor.  Bianca, 43, a seamstress with dimples for days. Raja, 45, a makeup artist who happened to be drop dead gorgeous too, which wasn’t quite fair in Alaska’s books.

Sharon, 42, writer of indie horror films. Busty, blonde with hints of silver, permanent bedroom eyes and velvet lips. Her Tinder pictures were her with a raggedy looking cat, her with her head thrown back in laughter and a bottle Pabst, her in a silk robe with tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose and a glass of champagne in her hand. Alaska hovered on the profile for a moment. She tried to take in the tattoos and the dimple in her chin. The high cheekbones and her sultry glare and the way her clothes hung to her curves. Her thumbs hovered and she sucked in a deep breath before super liking and clicking her phone shut. From under her pillow, her phone buzzed but she ignored it and pulled her blanket up to her chin.

—

The first thing Alaska does after she wakes up is check her phone and have a minor heart attack over the messages on her screen. Well, that’s a lie. The first thing she does is de-tangle her hair from the elastic it was in, push herself up from her mattress on the floor and stretch until she can hear her back crack, make herself a coffee, and then almost spill the scalding liquid on herself when she clicks her phone open.

Sharon: Well, aren’t you a sweet little thing?

Sharon: What are you up to doll?

The hot horror babe double her age had super-liked her back and messaged her first.

Alaska: oh shit sorry, i fell asleep last night !

Sharon responds in nearly a minute and they fall into easy conversation. Alaska mentions she’s up to nothing, really, as she’s not booked for work and there was still a good two weeks before she had to start classes again. The other woman mentions just writing and sketching, working on concepts but other than that doing “fuck all”. The conversation turns shallow, as online dating conversations usually do, and Sharon mentions how Alaska’s gorgeous, how her smile could kill and how her hips are mesmerizing. She asks for a picture and Alaska doesn’t know why she’s blushing all the way up her chest. Or why she spends 5 minutes trying to fix herself up to send a photo to impress a woman she doesn’t know.

—

It was only two nights later when Alaska had agreed to meet Sharon for dinner.

She had scoured her closet for something to wear on a date. Going to bars and clubs, sure. She had clothes for that. Clothes for a date with a woman 21 years her senior who showered her in compliments, was extremely blunt, and had a charmingly crude sense of humour? Yeah, can’t say she’s had to dress for that before. But there’s always a first time for everything. She settles eventually on a sparkly black bralette that dips in slightly to show her cleavage and a black pencil skirt. The length of the pencil skirt cancels out the sexuality of the bralette and the way the skirt hugs her hips, obviously. For good measure, she pairs it with a floral blue kimono and what she hopes are her best pair of black fuck me heels.

The restaurant Sharon had picked out was a couple of blocks away. It was some fancy vegetarian place that Alaska had never heard of, but from a quick Google search she concluded that it was definitely out of her price range and somewhere she could never imagine herself stepping into. It’d be like a bull in a china shop, out of the ordinary and a very bad idea. She wasn’t fancy. Sure, one day, when she was a performer making millions maybe she would’ve returned to the city and ate at some fancy vegetarian restaurant. But now, a simple Starbucks barista who had a mattress in the corner of her room and wallpaper made of sketches and drawings? Nope.

It’s only when she got to the restaurant that she realized she was shaking. Why was she so nervous? She had thanked her Uber driver with a nervous smile and rated five stars, watching as he drove away while wringing her hands together nervously.

The inside was beautiful. All velvet upholstery. There was soft music playing and the walls were lined with paintings. It was classy and chic. And it smelt expensive. There was even a maître d who eyed her as she stood, nearly trembling in her heels like a deer caught in the headlights. It was embarrassing and she thought for a moment of just leaving. She was here to have a good night and hopefully get laid by an extremely hot woman and she was in it to win it but right now she wasn’t feeling like a winner.

“Alaska!” A woman called from a booth in the right corner, almost completely out of view and Alaska dipped away from the maître d with a shy smile and scurried over.

She was more gorgeous in person, somehow. Her blonde hair was clipped back from her face and the dim lighting didn’t reveal much, but Alaska could see the glimpses of silver where stray locks of hair fell around her face. Her cheekbones were high and her face was contoured and hollowed out. Her lips were pouty and plush. They’d be nice to kiss. Probably. Hopefully. Her tortoiseshell glasses were perched on her nose and Alaska could see from behind them where Sharon’s eyeshadow was creasing slightly where it fell into her crows feet. She wanted to brush it away, feel Sharon’s soft looking skin under her fingers.

Strong arms were hugging Alaska before she was able to process what was happening. Sharon was warm around her, rubbing her back and squeezing her waist. Her short sleeved blazer and pencil skirt was clinging to her body, the burnt orange contrasting with the black of Sharon’s bra that was spilling from where the buttons didn’t go quite high enough. Alaska trailed her eyes up the long leather gloves she was wearing and over the tattoo of a phone number just where the gloves ended above her elbow.

“Sit, sit! Hi darling, how are you?” Sharon’s eyes twinkled as she sat back down, pouring out two glasses of wine from the bottle already sitting on the table.

“I’m, uh, really well! Thank you! How about yourself?” Alaska smiled, graciously taking the wine. Maybe the alcohol would soothe her nerves. “Also sorry for running a bit late. Traffic. You know.”

“Don’t even worry about it!” Sharon shrugs and smiles before reaching out and resting her hand over Alaska’s on the table.

Sharon is touchy. Her heel clad foot is hooked around Alaska’s ankle and trailing up and down her calf slowly. Goosebumps raise on Alaska’s skin and she wonders if Sharon can feel them, or if she can sense when her breath catches in her throat and her cheeks flush. She’s always reaching across the table and taking Alaska’s hand in her own, bumping hands when passing a menu over or leaning across to grasp at her arm when Alaska says something funny enough to make Sharon throw her head back in laughter.

They talk and eat and drink. Sharon leans forward to feed Alaska bites of her risotto, claiming that her soup simply can’t be enough and she doesn’t care about the price. The waitress comes and goes with another bottle of wine and Alaska pours herself another glass, stains it with her lipstick and Sharon makes her laugh so hard red wine comes out of her nose much to her embarrassment.

Her eyes are bright and intense. Sharon’s asking Alaska about where she works, what she does. Alaska’s cheeks are pink from the attention but she doesn’t mind, really. Sharon listens when she talks about being a performance major, how she loves plays (especially musicals) and how she writes songs (but they’re mostly parodies, because they’re more fun) and how she really wants to make it big some day. She listens as Alaska talks about her brothers, who are either doctors or in the military and the wine talks about how sometimes she feels a little bit ashamed of herself for not being as successful as them. Sharon is intelligent yet ditzy, listening when it’s important, sniping in with comments and questions when necessary, sometimes distracting herself with a related story from her past or a pop-culture reference Alaska raises her eyebrow at. It’s nice.

Sharon’s gloved hands are on her arm and then in her purse to pay the bill and leave a very generous tip. Alaska’s eyes widen at the price but Sharon is already pulling her away and outside with an arm around her waist. Her grip is strong and steadies Alaska where she’s feeling tipsy and clumsy on her feet, heels clacking on the sidewalk. The flick of a lighter brings her back to her senses and she watches, hypnotized, as Sharon lights a cigarette and breathes deeply. Smoking has never been a turn on her for, really. But the way the smoke leaves Sharon’s soft lips and the way her eyes go hazy is enough for Alaska to press a kiss to her jaw so Sharon will hail a cab for the both of them.

The back of the cab is stuffy and hot. Sharon’s hands are on Alaska’s thighs and in her hair and Alaska’s eyes are dark. She shifts to wrap a hand around the back of Sharon’s neck and pull her in for a kiss. Their lips press together in a rush, teeth clinking. It feels so cliche and wrong, making out in the back of a taxi. Sharon’s hand is resting on her thigh and she’s nipping at Alaska’s lip so softly she has to hold back her moans. It’s dirty and wrong how much Alaska wants Sharon to take her right then and there, so luckily Sharon’s building is only a few blocks away and it’s not long until Sharon’s paying and tipping and pulling Alaska out of the vehicle.

They stumble past the doorman with a nod and Alaska forces herself not to think about how often Sharon must do this, stumble in drunkenly with a girl on her arm late at night. They press into the elevator and Sharon corners her as they go up the twenty-six flights to her apartment, peppering kisses on her skin and tugging at the hems of her clothes.

From the elevator down the hall to Sharon’s apartment is a blur. Inside, it’s all minimal decor and chandeliers and art on the walls. The floor is hardwood and the furniture is neat and tidy. In her drunken haze, Sharon manages to give a quick tour. Quick tour meaning pointing out the different rooms in the large apartment while stripping herself of her gloves and heels and Alaska following suit as Sharon drags her forward by the hand.

The master bedroom, somehow, exceeds Alaska’s expectations. But then again this woman was a mystery wrapped in an enigma and she wasn’t sure what to expect in the first place. The far wall is all window and she can see all the lights from the city flickering. A chandelier in front of the window from an apartment across the ways twinkles and Alaska can feel the wine in her bloodstream. The floors are dark, the walls are cream and the furniture is matte black. It’s elegant and chic. Alaska can feel Sharon’s eyes on her and wants the floor to swallow her whole. Against the wall is a king sized bed and the headboard is tall, the bars thin and simple and Alaska needs to be fucked and grasping onto them right now. There’s art on the walls and vintage movie posters and Alaska can spot an open sketchbook on the nightstand. Her eyes flicker back to the window when she hears a plane fly overhead.

“You like the view?” It’s more of a statement than a question. Alaska nods anyways. She can feel Sharon’s smile and flushes all up her chest.

Sharon presses her body up along Alaska’s back. She can feel the fabric of her dress and the softness of her breasts against her spine. Her hair brushes Alaska’s shoulders when it’s released from the clip and she has the urge to touch it. She wants to feel it through her fingers and sort out the greys from the blonds, hear Sharon sigh when she massages her scalp. Sharon’s warm against her and presses her forward softly until they’re standing in front of the window and Alaska can see people on the sidewalk. She wonders if they know what’s going on stories above them.

There’s a tug on the zipper of Alaska’s skirt then the cool air is hitting her thighs and Sharon’s helping her step out of it. The older woman hums. It’s low and soft and she can feel it against her shoulder when Sharon tucks her chin over it. She presses a kiss to Alaska’s neck and watches goosebumps rise where her lipstick leaves a mark.

Any other hook-ups Sharon would get the other girl to strip. Make her put on a show for her and work for it. Or it’d be fast and there’d be a trail of clothes from the front door to the bedroom. Like some X-rated drunken Hansel and Gretel. At least it served its purpose when Sharon pretended to be asleep and willed the other person to find their way out in the morning. But Alaska was different. Sharon undresses her slowly in attempt to take her all in. Her thighs were milky and soft. There were the slightest of pink stretch marks where her hips had filled out and the older woman took her time tracing them if only to feel Alaska shiver under her. The things she would do to keep the younger girl shivering under her hands. She slid her kimono off, followed by her bralette so she could cup her breasts and squeeze before pulling her underwear down her hips.

Sharon’s still humming. Completely nonchalant. Alaska has to wonder how many girls she takes home. How many of them she strips in front of the window. If she presses the pads of her thumbs into the underside of their breasts and pinches their nipples and hips just to hear them squeak. Sharon’s still fully dressed, save for her glasses, heels, and gloves that were shed earlier. She debated on keeping the gloves on, too. If only to see the way Alaska would shiver and blush when a cool leather finger would run through Alaska’s folds only to come out shiny and wet. Next time.

“Sharon…” Alaska’s voice is whiny and Sharon shushes her, tapping her finger on her lips until Alaska takes it into her mouth.

“What do you want, baby?” Sharon’s calm and collected. The opposite of Alaska, whose heart is beating against her ribcage so hard it may break. She groans in reply.

Sharon pinches at her nipple with on hand, slipping another finger from her other hand in Alaska’s mouth when she gasps in response. She stumbles forward slightly and presses her palms against the glass as Sharon wraps an arm around her waist to keep her steady. There’s people below bustling on the sidewalk and she can see the people in apartments over. Her breath comes out hot and the window fogs where it hits.

“I got you, it’s okay. Such a pretty baby.” Sharon pets her hair, it’s long and soft in her palm, “I bet everyone outside loves the view just as much as you do.”

Alaska’s thighs shake as Sharon removes her fingers from her mouth. They’re slick with spit and Alaska watches the trail of saliva between her lips and Sharon’s fingers, dips her tongue forward to lick it up. Suddenly, Sharon’s fingers press up against her clit and she groans. Her head falls back against Sharon’s shoulder and her fingers curl against the glass searching to find purchase. The window feels like ice against her skin. But it may just be from the way her skin is radiating heat and the sweat is sticking to her. Sharon rubs slow circles and watches how Alaska’s hip shakes. Her left thigh twitches when Sharon trails a single finger back and forth over the nerves and her hips jerk forward when she presses the heel of her hand against it in order to rub against her hole with her fingers.

“Tell me what you want. I just want to make you feel good.” Sharon’s voice is warm and she can feel the pout against her ear. She’s teasing. Her fingers skate past Alaska’s clit again and she presses the tip of a finger inside of her. It slips just past the muscle until the younger girl gasps and then it’s gone.

“Fuck me, please. Please mama. God.” Alaska’s whining high in her throat. Her throat catches on the mama and she flushes from embarrassment, all up her chest to her cheeks. Sharon kisses and smiles against her shoulder.

Alaska nearly cries when Sharon slips a finger inside her. Her pussy is warm and wet and Sharon fucks her slow. The sound echoes in the otherwise silent room and Alaska whimpers. Her centre is pink and swollen and Sharon relishes in the sound, slips another finger in without problem and scissors them just to hear Alaska’s embarrassed cry when she comments on how wet she is. Her fingers work slow and Alaska is squirming enough that Sharon has to wrap her arm back around her waist, pressing her naked form against Sharon’s clothed one to keep her still. Alaska’s trailing her hands backwards. Up into Sharon’s hair and down her side, around to her ass and thighs, then back down to try and intertwine their fingers and press Sharon deeper into her.

“Alaska baby, no. You’ll get there. I’ll take care of you.” Sharon tsked, her tone stern.

Alaska whines and curls her fingers into Sharon’s arm. Sharon digs her fingers deeper and crooks them. Alaska’s bowlegged knees buckle and she reaches out again to steady herself against the window and lean back against Sharon. Her eyes are glued shut and her lips are parted and Sharon works her so sweetly, pumping two fingers and swiping her thumb in soft circles around Alaska’s clit.

“You gonna cum? So beautiful. Cum for me baby girl.” Sharon murmurs. Her eyes are dark and downcast, shaded by her eyelashes.

Alaska finishes with a cry and her legs give out. Her small frame is shaking and Sharon holds her close, shifts them until they’re back onto the bed and Alaska is panting. The city light reflects on the sweat on Alaska’s chest. Her breasts are illuminated and Sharon leans down to nip at a nipple and Alaska gasps from the overstimulation.

Quickly, Sharon sheds her clothing, nearly ripping a button from her dress in the process. She shifts Alaska onto her back and moves to straddle her chest. Alaska’s panting. Her breasts fall when she exhales and Sharon watches how they shake, reaches out to pinch the skin around her nipple. Her thumb trails against Alaska’s lips and she opens her mouth for it, suckling it and groaning around the digit. A whine escapes her when Sharon pulls her thumb away and trails spit across her bottom lip to see how they glisten.

Sharon’s hips move of their own accord, shifting upwards until she’s against Alaska’s mouth. Her tongue laps out immediately. She presses the flat of her tongue against Sharon’s clit and hears her groan closed mouth. She prods more then, circling around the nub until Sharon is circling her hips above her and grinding against her mouth. Alaska moves her hands to Sharon’s thighs, gives them a squeeze and presses her nose against the groomed hairs. Her breath is cut off and she can feel herself flushing from the effort but she can’t find it in her to stop. The older woman is shaking above her and Alaska sucks hard on her clit. Wetness covers the bottom of Alaska’s face and Sharon whimpers before lifting herself off.

“So good. So, so good doll.” Sharon shifts until they’re both under the sheets and presses a kiss to Alaska’s lips, chin, jaw, cheek. She sighs out through her nose and pulls the girl close to her, nudging her knee between the other’s thighs and holding her head to her chest until Alaska’s breathing matches the beating of her heart.

—

When Alaska wakes, the spot in bed beside her is cold and there’s a dull ache deep in her skull. Sunlight filters in through the large window and Alaska has to squint to look around the room. The cream sheets are glowing pale yellow in the light. They’re soft against her skin where she feels sweaty and gross, and it takes a moment for Alaska to remember where she is. The framed poster for a campy 80s slasher films jerks her memory. Sharon.

She pads out of bed slowly, shifting over to the dresser where she finds last night’s clothes folded up neatly along with a pair of shorts and shirt that Sharon must’ve left out. It’s weird, almost domestic. Most hook ups don’t do this. But then again, most hook ups weren’t older goth women who spend over $100 at dinner without a blink of an eye then fuck Alaska in front of their gigantic window up on the 26th floor of a high class apartment. Alaska squeezes back into her pencil skirt and slips her bralette over her head while making her way out to the rest of the apartment.

There’s a note on the island in the kitchen, atop the granite.

I’m so sorry, I had to run before you woke up! You look gorgeous even in your sleep .. Is that weird to say?

Feel free to shower and help yourself to breakfast and coffee.

I would love to see you again, doll. <3

Sharon Needles

There’s a mug with little ghosts on it beside the note and it’s all too weird and too much. Alaska orders an Uber with the last of her phone battery, adds the number scribbled at the bottom of the paper into her contacts, then tucks the note into the back of her phone case. The doorman downstairs gives her a nod of acknowledgement when she eaves the building and as she got into her Uber she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

The rest of the day went by in a haze. Alaska took a cold, cold shower and puttered around her apartment making shitty coffee and a bowl of cereal before going to work. Her afternoon shift was full of fake smiles and frappuccinos and she spilled hot coffee on herself in a distracted haze and cursed, her co-workers giving her concerned glances. It wasn’t her fault. It was purely coincidence how she kept getting distracted whenever she noticed the crows feet on a lady sitting in the corner or the grey-blue eyes of the young girl she was taking an order from.

She texted Sharon when she got home.  

—

The next time they meet up it’s during the day in a nice area downtown. It’s a very Liberal area. Rainbow crosswalk and all. It’s chalked full of vegan restaurants and nice little expensive shops and it’s another area that Alaska would love to be able to walk down on a random afternoon and not feel intimidated, but that’s not quite the case right now.

Alaska’s in a white shirt tucked into a black skater skirt with a flannel, and half her hair is pulled up into two buns. She feels cute. And gay. And she hopes Sharon thinks the same enough to like, hold her hand or something, or finger her in the washroom of some mom-and-pop restaurant. Maybe both. She tries not to think too much about it as her Uber parks just down the road from the diner Sharon told her to meet her at.

The restaurant is small and cute, not to mention far less intimidating from the last place. There’re plants hanging from the ceiling and a large fish tank. It’s earthy and warm. Scanning the room, there’s no sign of Sharon but before she goes and sits down to wait she hears a soft ‘boo!’ from behind her. Alaska flushes at how she jumped in response and Sharon laughs, pulling her into a hug. The booths are made of worn down leather and the floor creaks slightly as they make their way to a seat. She feels far more “in her element” here, yet her chest still feels tight as Sharon sits across from her.

Her hair is soft and curled, but her eyes are dark and blown out and her lips are plump and red. It’s a dramatic look for one o’clock on a Tuesday, but Alaska doesn’t mind. Her black mock neck shirt hugs her body and her pants are tight and match her lips. It’s modern and chic and Alaska feels underdressed. But Sharon’s gaze is smouldering and trails down her body with a smile. It feels oddly familiar. Oddly comforting.

Sharon asks the waiter if they have Pabst in bottles, not on tap, (they do), and Alaska orders a lemonade. The menu is handwritten and cute, with tacky pun names and illustrations. A foot brushes up against Alaska’s and Sharon’s hand is on her arm. She’s humming as she reads, her lips pursed. Her cool eyes are squinted slightly from her lack of glasses and her crows feet crease slightly. It’s endearing, really. Her fingers are tracing the blue veins under the skin and Alaska wonders if she can feel the goosebumps raising, or if she even realizes she’s doing it in the first place. She imagines Sharon can feel the blood pulsing under her skin. A steady rhythm. By the time the waiter comes back to take their order Alaska had barely read the menu and stumbles slightly, ordering a salad. Sharon shoots her a knowing smile, curling her fingers around Alaska’s small wrist.

“So what do you do, exactly?” Sharon raises her eyebrows at the question, letting her thumb rub at Alaska’s arm.

“Well…” She pauses to take a sip of her beer, “To put it simply I work on short films. They’re just independent projects, mostly horror. I’ve always loved the genre and I love creating and I had the money so I said fuck it, got a group together and we’ve been working together since. We have a pretty strong fan base too, fucked up if you ask me.” Sharon laughs, big and booming in the otherwise calm restaurant.

Alaska smiles and asks about her projects. Her eyes light up when she talks and Alaska can see how her cheekbones protrude when she smiles that wide. The older woman talks about horror movies she admires, how growing up the weird goth dyke made her truly admire the villains in films who got revenge on the preps and the jocks. Most other people would be terrified to hear how their date relates to the killers in these films, but with Sharon it makes sense. She throws herself entirely into her work. Throws herself into the scripts and the storyboards and all the inspirations. She’s always hovering around people on set and fucking with lighting and costumes then marathoning films she’s seen before and can probably quote word for word. This woman is intelligent and intense but spooky and stupid and Alaska doesn’t quite know what to make of her.  

They eat, and talk, and Sharon drinks a few more PBR. Alaska steals a fry from Sharon’s plate and dips it in the surprisingly good vegan milkshake Sharon had guilted her into ordering, just because she refused a lemonade refill and that just wasn’t happening in Sharon’s books. The older woman threw another fry at her for Alaska’s amusement. She was like a baby. A cute one, not an annoying crying one. She was one that you just wanted to keep cooing and giggling and happy. They ordered cheesecake to share and Sharon fed it to her across the table, watching as Alaska’s lips pursed around the fork.

When they go to pay, Alaska pulls her wallet out of her purse. Sharon tsks and gives her a warning look to put her wallet away, and Alaska tries to ignore the way heat pools in her stomach.

As they leave, Sharon snakes an arm around Alaska’s waist. It fits there, and Alaska doesn’t mind. Her hand dips into the curve of her small waist and settles on her hip. It’s a warm heaviness and Alaska has to walk a little closer to Sharon due to it.

“Y’know, I didn’t realize I was gay until my senior year of high school maybe.” Alaska looks down at the small ceramic ghost in her hand, thinks that Sharon might like it. Her voice startles Sharon from where she’s standing a few feet away looking at a similar ceramic cat.

“Really? You come across as the loud and proud type. Like head cheerleader that all the bi-curious girls go to behind the bleachers to get their lesbian cherry popped.”

“Okay fair enough. Let me guess, little goth bitch who punched out anyone who tried to cuss you out for being a dyke?” Alaska fires back, putting down the small ghost and patting its head.

“I’ve had my fair share of physical encounters . I’ll admit to that. No shame in punching someone’s teeth in when they disrespect you.” Sharon raises her eyebrows in question to Alaska, “Although it did take half of freshman year before I started fighting back. I don’t eat meat but I’ll use ‘em to nurse a black eye if I have to.”

The older woman laughs but Alaska can’t help but imagine her younger, smaller. 14 year old Sharon nursing her wounds because some asshole thought she was a good target. 14 year old Sharon reapplying black lipstick in an abandoned girls’ washroom. 14 year old Sharon being unapologetically herself despite her entire school seemingly working against her because she was a bit eccentric and queer. 14 year old Sharon going home and watching shitty horror movies as a distraction from the shit she had to deal with. It tugged on Alaska’s heart strings.

From antique shops to run down clubs to vintage boho chic clothing stores, they check them all out. Alaska tries on a dress that looks like it’s made of trash bags and spins, laughing as it floats up around her. Sharon hides behind a shelf in a costume store, popping out with fake teeth and a witch hat on to startle Alaska. Alaska tries on a horse mask at the back of the store, recalling how people in school used to call her horse face . It doesn’t bother her anymore though, and she neighs in the mask before ripping it off and laughing.

“If we ever get into a fight I’ll just buy us animal masks. You can’t be pissed off at someone when you’re a fucking horse and they’re a frog” Sharon shifts through the masks, laughing before pulling on Alaska’s arm back to the front of the store.

The next store they go into is pastel and airy. They sell lingerie and chiffon peignoirs, lace slip dresses and thigh high stockings with matching garters. It’s all out of Alaska’s price range. This isn’t just a store that you go to when going out with friends shopping. She knows this. And she knows Sharon knows this. Sharon walks in like she owns the place, one arm still wrapped around Alaska’s waist like she owns her and the other weaving through fabrics.

“What’s your size, baby?” Sharon presses a kiss to her cheek and Alaska can feel her throat close in.

Her fingers clench into a fist. She’s sweating. Why is she sweating?

“Uh, I’m a 36C. Medium for everything else, I guess.”

Sharon hums and shifts through the isles. The bags on her arm dig into the skin, making it pink and white. Alaska wants to kiss it. Sharon purchased some tacky looking Halloween knick-knacks, and anything Alaska looked at for over ten seconds and seemed interested in. It made her blush when Sharon insisted on buying it. They both drift around the store for a while, brushing off the sleepy looking girl who asked if they needed any help.

Eventually, they end up near the back by the empty changing rooms. Sharon pulls Alaska into one, pulling the pale pink door shut behind her and clicking the lock shut. It’s a roomy area, with a large mirror on the back wall. The two walls are lined with benches and there’s a small circle stool in the corner. Alaska can feel the air heating up. Or maybe it’s just her. Sharon’s hanging things up on the hooks and looking back at Alaska expectantly when minutes pass and she’s still fully dressed.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” Sharon’s voice is soft. Her thighs spill outwards from where she’s sitting on the stool and she crosses her legs, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands.

Alaska sucks in a breath before stripping, gauging her actions based on Sharon’s face. She tries on all the pieces Sharon picked out, ranging from sheer bras and thongs to intricate high wasted panties with matching garters and stockings. She tries on all the robes and slips, lets Sharon run her hands over the silk dawning her thighs. She spins her finger and Alaska turns in each outfit to show how her ass peeks out of the underwear and how her hair runs soft down her back. Sharon’s making soft sounds.

When Alaska gets to the last set, black high waisted fucking crotchless panties with the bra and stockings to match, she feels her face go red hot. It was before, definitely, but this ensemble (if you will) was truly the cherry on top of this fucked up sexually frustrating sundae. She changes slowly, folding the last pieces and putting them back on their hangers on the wall.

“Can you be good for me?” Sharon’s voice comes as a surprise and Alaska nods, spinning around to face the woman.  “Sit down pumpkin. Spread your legs.”

Alaska’s head was spinning. She lowered herself onto the bench slowly and pulled at her knees to spread her legs. Sharon’s gaze was red hot and Alaska squirmed.

“You’re so wet.” Alaska could hear Sharon laugh and she twitched, moving her legs back together slightly. “No baby, you’re being so good. I wanna see you.”

Alaska’s lungs were collapsing. Her insides were burning and she felt so dirty and flustered and they were in a damn changing room . Sharon was fully dressed, legs crossed and lighting a cigarette even though it was against the rules because she just didn’t care. Smoke plumed upwards and she took a long drag, ashing her cigarette against the edge of the stool and turning back to where Alaska was squirming, the air conditioned air hitting her cunt.

“Can you touch yourself for me? I want you to fuck yourself with one finger baby, don’t want you to make too much of a mess.”

Sharon’s voice was so soft yet stern and Alaska wanted to cry. She grazed her index finger over her clit and jerked before tracing around her whole. She was wet. Just from trying on the lingerie and modelling for Sharon. Just being around Sharon. Sharon who had such a domineering energy. Sharon with her hand on the small of her back pressing her forward. Sharon feeding her cheesecake even when she thought she was full. Alaska pressed one finger in and gasped, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid the embarrassment of making eye contact with the other woman.

“Nice and slow, or else the whole store will hear how wet you are right now. Or would you like that? If someone walked back right now and could hear how wet you are, how you’re trying to hold back all your pretty little noises as you put on a show for me.” Sharon to try and relieve the pressure between her own thighs, “Touch your clit for me hun, with your other hand. You’re so good. So pretty”

Alaska gasped with the intensity of it all. Her thumb on her clit and her middle finger pressing up inside of her, shooting stars behind her eyelids. She could feel Sharon watching her, how her eyes were raking up and down her body as she thrust her hips into her own hands. The bench underneath her was probably wet but at this point she couldn’t bring herself to care. The dozy girl working up front could walk in on them, unlock the door from the outside and ask what was taking them so long and Alaska wouldn’t be able to find it in herself to care as long as Sharon wanted her to keep going.

“Sharon, I can’t, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me baby.” Alaska’s hips shook and she clenched her jaw to try and keep her noises in as she thrust, panting as she came down from her high.

Sharon stood then and sucked Alaska’s wet fingers into her mouth. They left with a pop! and Sharon smiled, letting Alaska change in silence before purchasing everything she picked out and pulling Alaska into an Uber back to her apartment building.

—

School starts up again. Alaska’s in her final year of university. Soon, she’ll have her Bachelor’s Degree in Performing Arts. She’ll be able to move out to LA like she wanted and be successful. She can star in films and put out an album and make it big. She can make her parents proud along with her medical and military brother because she can be successful too! They all thought she wouldn’t make anything of herself. Sure, maybe she’d move out to LA like she’d always dreamed of, but make it big? Nah. Her mom was convinced she was just going to become some drug addicted deviant, but hey, isn’t that the superstar lifestyle anyways?

Alaska’s plans may have changed drastically. As the weeks turned into months, she spent less and less time at her own run down apartment. It wasn’t that she moved in with Sharon, per se, it was just that over time she had ended up moving out of her apartment. Not to mention Sharon had seen one text from her landlord saying that her rent was far overdo and got so worried, telling Alaska to not worry about it because she had it covered. (Which was embarrassing on Alaska’s part, considering any time not spent in a lecture hall was probably spent working, but inflation was a bitch, y’know?). So it’s not like it was some big ordeal when two and a half months into whatever they had, Alaska was staying there most of the time. She just needed a place to stay until she could find somewhere she could actually afford, and Sharon was willing to give her a helping hand! It also helped that Sharon had a tongue that made her see God.

The move in was gradual. Alaska had a healthy collection of clothes and lingerie at Sharon’s apartment, just from previous dates where Sharon insisted she buy everything for Alaska because it just looked so cute on her and she had her own bills to pay, so Sharon would buy. Eventually, a toothbrush showed up in the holder beside Sharon’s. And Alaska’s fancy purple shampoo she splurged on to keep her hair platinum. And a collection of socks and pajamas and other clothes that Alaska would just happen to leave there but never return to her apartment. Of course, since so much of her wardrobe and electronics and chargers and, well, everything, somehow ended up at Sharon’s flat, Alaska spent more and more time there. It was just convenient, that was all.

Alaska’s life was good. Different from where she thought she would be at this point in her life, but good. Violet was hounding her about the “friend” she was staying with, and about how she seemed to have that “post-sex glow” (as she liked to call it) 24-fucking-7, but Violet was a bitch and too nosy for her own good.

She spent her afternoons in the living room of the apartment, practicing lines from a production that was worth quite a hefty amount of her grade. Cerrone was her only spectator. He didn’t throw rotten tomatoes or boo her off of the coffee table stage though, so she takes what she can get. Sometimes Sharon would come home early and watch her, give her pointers and then tell her to stop repeating the same damn lines for the 50th time and put her mouth to good use. It was a good break. Sharon brought up the idea a few times, putting Alaska in some of her short films. It’d be fun! The gorgeous ditzy blonde in a gore-y horror short film? Instant blockbuster! People love cliche shit like that. Plus, Sharon would love to have Alaska on set with her all day.

It was nice, truly. Sharon took them out for dinner or made fancy vegetarian meals. She’d wake Alaska up with her head between her thighs, leaving Alaska to shudder awake in a cool sweat and groaning. There’d be small notes with hearts on them when Sharon would disappear before Alaska got up. Sharon would have an Uber waiting outside Alaska’s Starbucks location when she was done work, and sometimes Sharon would even pop in herself to visit even though Alaska knows she’d rather support local businesses than the industry coffee shop she worked at. Sharon bought her fancy clothes and shoes and lingerie just to see Alaska blush and squirm. Alaska would get all quiet and call Sharon mommy and curl up on the couch beside her, pressing kisses to her neck to distract her from the movie she was watching. Or, she’d get bratty and call her mama , call Sharon on set when she was in the apartment alone touching herself. Life was good.

—

Alaska more or less moving in only proved to show how needy she was. She was worse than a pet, but Sharon only had Cerrone to compare her to so maybe it wasn’t the fairest comparison. They both bit Sharon, though. Alaska would text Sharon while she was on set, something along the lines of noodles i miss you :( when are you going to be hoooome? sharonnnn i need you. mama please with an image attached of Alaska leaning up against the pillows wearing one of Sharon’s old shirts, with the tip of one thumb in her mouth and two fingers from her other hand knuckle deep in her cunt. Sharon would have to call it a day early and rush home, finger fuck Alaska into the couch cushions until she saw stars and called Sharon mommy despite how embarrassed she got after.

Sharon loved it, how open Alaska was becoming with her. She stopped hiding her phone calls with her brother, instead she would saunter around the kitchen and sit herself upon Sharon’s lap while she listened to Cory talk about the girl he met at the gym. Sharon would tickle her thigh, slip a finger into her panties just to feel how wet she already was and circle her clit until Alaska hung up the phone. Alaska would come back from her lectures and talk about her professors and how her auditions went. She’d write her essays on the leather couch while Sharon painted her toenails baby pink, ate her out while they dried and let Alaska drop her notes and pen onto the hardwood. Sharon liked how Alaska was becoming less shy, how she would pout when she didn’t get her way and call Sharon mama in public just to be a brat and start a scene. Alaska would press kisses to her cheek unprompted, would stop shying away when Sharon payed their dinner bill and bought her fancy lingerie and shoes, would let Sharon give her glasses of wine all day and press on her bladder while fingering her until she cried.

Today was no different. Alaska knew Sharon was out talking to some of her “creative partners” about an idea she had, an idea that she had been sketching and writing for hours after Alaska had fallen asleep on the couch beside her, toes tucked between Sharon’s thighs. She knew Sharon was having some sort of creative breakthrough and was busy. But Alaska was in the apartment alone, and Sharon had left before she woke up. So now she was just lonely and sad and her underwear shifted coldly against her.

lasky <3: noodles when will you be home?

noodles <333: I don’t know baby .. The girl I’m at lunch with is a really talented costume and prop designer. Even if she is a bit stand-offish.

lasky <3: but i neeeeeed you :(

Alaska sent a photo. She was in a sheer pink robe Sharon had bought for her. It was flowy and elegant and trailed behind Alaska on the floor when she walked. It made her feel like an old housewife. She wanted a spiral staircase, wanted to stand at the top of it with a glass of champagne in her hand. Underneath it she wore nothing. She was pouty and annoyed and leaning back on the couch pillows, lips parted and pinching a nipple between two fingers.

noodles <333: I’ll be home in an hour .. Picking up some things. Hope you know how spoiled you are. Brat.

lasky <3: :) :) :) <3

When Sharon gets home, her heart nearly beats out of her chest. She’s had her fair number of romances. Mostly with woman her own age, sometimes younger. Some of them even made it past the six month mark in their relationship. There was something about Alaska though that had Sharon’s head spinning. It was like her entire world had shifted by this girl and was spinning backwards on its axis. Backwards and upside-down. And double time. Whatever. Alaska was curled up on the couch, nude except for the robe, with Cerrone in her lap. She was humming softly to herself and her toes were curled into the couch cushions where her legs were folded underneath her. The natural light made her hair and skin glow and it was so soft and right. Long term didn’t usually work with Sharon. The only long term relationships she had were with cocaine and whiskey and fucking Cerrone the cat, who she didn’t even want in the first place. So why did coming back to her apartment daily to Alaska make it feel more like a home than ever before?

“You’re such a brat, you know that, right?” At the sound of Sharon’s voice Cerrone hops off of Alaska, allowing her to get up to greet Sharon.

“Lies, mama. You’re full of lies.” Alaska laughs and presses a kiss to the dimple in Sharon’s chin. “What’d you get me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know. Go lie down, pumpkin.” Sharon kisses the side of her hair and gives her ass a tap before Alaska nods and heads to the bedroom.

Alaska’s long and full on the bed. Her hips and breasts filled out more after being with Sharon. Sharon took her out for lunch and dinner, fed her cheesecake and other expensive desserts. She always made sure her baby was cared for. Alaska’s hips were soft and propped up with a long pillow, and her breasts were full and heavy against her chest as she breathed deeply, waiting for Sharon.

The rabbit vibrator Sharon comes into the room with is black. It’s not overly long, but the girth makes up for it. Alaska knows Sharon will have to stretch her, start with two fingers just so Alaska can feel the burn then stuff her with three.

“Mommy please…” Alaska draws it out, flutters her eyelashes.

She’s pouty and wet and Sharon kneels beside her on the bed, pulls one of Alaska’s legs up and out to spread her open.

“So wet already baby? Greedy girl.” Alaska screws her eyes shut at the words. “Open your eyes for me sweetheart. Watch mama.”

Sharon slips two fingers inside of the younger girl and Alaska cries, twisting her hips. Her fingers are thick and strong and they fuck Alaska almost mechanically, avoiding her g-spot but scissoring to stretch her open. It burns slightly and Alaska gasps, heat curling in her stomach. She can hear Sharon’s fingers moving in and out of her, can hear when a third one enters. Alaska tries to clench her thighs together but with Sharon between them she’s stuck spread open. She wants to move and squirm, clamp around Sharon’s hand, but Sharon’s got her hip pinned down and is kneeling above Alaska with so much dominance she’s stuck in position with nowhere else to go.

When Alaska’s stretched and dripping, Sharon presses the vibrator inside until it’s snug against both her g-spot and clit. Alaska’s whining high and nasally. Her eyes are dark and her fingers are tugging at the sheets and she’s watching Sharon desperately. It clicks on and she gasps and cries, her hip twitching at the sudden stimulation.

“I should buy you another one of these. A small one that slips into your panties.” Alaska whines and moves her thumb to her mouth, partly to have something to bite and partly to have something to stifle her pathetic cries. “Could turn it on while you’re out picking up dry cleaning. Or while you’re out with mommy’s credit card. Bet you’d love how everyone would watch you as you whined, unable to stop it.”

Alaska gasped as Sharon started moving the vibrator, slowly pressing it in and out of her slightly. It pressed so tightly against where she was the most sensitive and she cried out, thrusting her hips up into the pressure. Heat was curling in her stomach and she could feel her peak building. Her breasts were shaking above her in time with her panting.

“It’s pathetic, really,” Sharon stopped the vibrator, leaving it still and full in Alaska, “how desperate you are for me. Texting me while I’m out, expecting me to drop everything and come get you off like the greedy little slut you are.”

The twitch of Alaska’s thigh and how her eyes almost roll back remind Sharon of just how much she loves it. Being humiliated like that. She loves when Sharon makes fun of how wet she is, how open and soft she is and how she fucks herself on Sharon’s single finger wanting more, how turned on she gets when Sharon buys her expensive lingerie only to rip it off of her later because money isn’t an issue.

She wonders if Alaska could get off on it alone. Just Sharon’s fingers pinching her nipples, fingering her slowly and avoiding the areas she needed the attention so badly. Sharon would comment on how swollen she was, how it was cute that she thrust up and squirmed as if Sharon was actually going to give her what she wanted. She’d bite on Alaska’s nipple, laughing as she flicked the sensitive bud while leaning over the younger girl, still fully clothed. Sharon thinks she could do it. She’d cum untouched and almost instantly recoil, heat exploding in her lower stomach and her cheeks flushing. Sharon would laugh and watch Alaska’s cunt clench and shake before pressing a kiss to her pubic mound.

But for now Alaska was spread and shaking in front of her, thrusting to try and get the toy to touch her and push her over the edge.

“No, no, no, no mama please. That’s not fair.” Alaska’s voice is whiny and pouty, drawing every syllable out, and Sharon can hear her puffing out air through her nose. Tears gather in the corner of Alaska’s eyes.

“Nothing’s ever fair, baby. And you’re gonna take what I give so maybe I’ll let you cum.” Sharon gives Alaska’s thigh a pat once she’s come down from the edge, then turns the vibrator on low.

This time around Alaska yells out brokenly, hips chasing the feeling so hard Sharon has to pin her down with both hands. Her eyes are screwed shut and Sharon can see where tears start leaking from them. Alaska’s mumbling something incoherent and thrashing her head back and forth, digging her fingertips into the pillow under her head. The cycle repeats itself a few more times, bringing Alaska up to the edge and then ripping it from her. She’s become unable to form any words other than please, no, and mommy and it’s like some sick power move on Sharon’s part. How Alaska’s whole world right now revolves around Sharon, and whether or not Sharon’s going to let her cum.

When Sharon turns the vibrator up instead of off and presses it tight up against Alaska, the younger girl cries and pushes off the bed, thighs trying to close around the toy. Her whines are high pitched and she’s gasping. The wet sounds her pussy is making is obscene and Sharon watches her twitch and clench, all wet and shiny.

Sharon pets Alaska’s hair as she comes down, slips the toy out of her and puts it on the nightstand. She kisses around Alaska’s face and tells her she’s beautiful, that she did so good, mommy’s so proud. The bed dips when she leaves for only a second. She gets a glass of water and a cloth to wipe Alaska off, and grabs her sketchbook from where it sits in her purse. She fingers herself hard as Alaska comes back to her senses and licks around her nipple, trailing her airy hands across Sharon’s body.

Softly, Sharon kisses Alaska’s forehead when she’s sure she’s asleep, and pulls out her sketchbook.

[decrou]

The incredible journey of Berwyn’s JP Weber; Why we lost Wayne Sporting Goods; Real estate rumblings in Radnor; Shipley grad’s ‘Wild Life’; Claytor Noone Plastic Surgery; Anti-aging medicine; Personalized test prep & more

JP and Lindsey Weber in 2013 and JP today.

JP Weber clearly remembers the day he died.

“I can’t go back there,” he thought on June 3, 2016. “I’m never going in there again.”

An elite loan originator for PNC Bank, Weber quit his job that late spring morning and walked, blindly, off a cliff. The old JP –  people-pleasing, Percocet-popping, life-of-the-party JP – long crumbling, collapsed completely. And ever-so-slowly, canvas by canvas, rose up and pieced himself back together.

Pinstripe-suited Joseph Paul Weber was buried that Friday morning. Ponytailed, self-actualized artist @JohnHamster was born.

What some call a complete mental breakdown, JP calls The Undoing.

“I have a feeling that I’m at the beginning of a wave of people who are going to be going through this,” he says, calling out a world where there’s “too much distance from the soul.”

There will come a reckoning, he warns.

JP Weber’s undoing had been building for years.

The social binge drinking. “I would drink a case of beer. It was how I survived,” Weber recalls. “Everyone … thought I was awesome and fun. But people I had to live with thought I was an asshole.”

The impinged vertebrae in his neck, triggered by work stress and an exacting boss.

The addiction to opiates, prescribed for neck pain in increasing dosages for five years. “I numbed my way through the pain.”

The growing distance from his wife, Lindsey Meyer, his Conestoga High School Class of ’94 sweetheart, and daughters, Emma, now 14, Lucy, 11, and Jane, 8. “I was repeating the same hurts to my children that I had,” Weber says. His own father, a partner at a Big Eight accounting firm, was “never home.” Lindsey recalls “trying to stay afloat with three kids and a husband who wasn’t home …It felt stressful around here but I wasn’t fully aware.”

The dawning realization that his job was a colossal mismatch. “JP’s in banking? Really?” friends would ask. But the couple didn’t blink. He was GREAT at loan origination, after all, in the President’s Club, tops in his group. “I never made a cold call,” JP recalls. “I just would help others and it would come back.” And his parents approved. “It was the first time I was getting nods from my dad that I was doing something right.”

The common thread? “I found myself through others. I didn’t find myself through me.”

In the years before he cratered, JP had begun to make changes.

He quit drinking.

He took up hot yoga, turning “225 pounds of muscle into 170 pounds of lean,” a 48 Regular into a 42 Long. (Although now he finds himself in “a mushy place in the middle.”) What started as a way to avoid neck surgery became a way of life. Until it closed, Lindsey and JP would take shifts at Bikram Yoga in Berwyn. “Yoga changed our home. It bonded us.”

But Percocet remained a problem. In May of 2015 he turned down a job offer with a $200,000 signing bonus because he knew he’d have to get off painkillers to function in a more demanding role. “I would have just fallen down the same spiral. At PNC, things were easy because of who I was and what I did.”

Six months later, after repeated attempts to quit the pills (“I couldn’t take that first damn step”), an addiction specialist at Bryn Mawr Rehab wrote “scrips for the most Valium I could shove in my face” to get him through withdrawal. In five days, he was off Percocet forever. “I went cold turkey and haven’t had one since.”

But his job at PNC remained unrelenting. A boss forced him to go on business trips when he was unwell and to sign a confession for something he says he didn’t do, i.e. failing to protect his customers’ data. To escape mounting unease, the Starbucks in Gateway became his other home.

On June 3, engulfed by angst, he cratered.

In the dark days that followed, JP would sit in front of a mirror for hours, obsessively picking at his face. Who am I? And what the f#&@ is going on?

He went on disability for mental illness. “Not that I was suicidal, but I could see how this invalidation leads to suicide. I could see how easy it is to stay on Oxy.”

On his fourth try, JP clicked with therapist Ushi Tandon, who helped him deconstruct, then reassemble his unexamined life.

Glimmers of daylight dawned.

Dormant creativity, squelched by his family in childhood, rose again, insistent.

He began flushing out his feelings on canvas. Toys, rulers, tools, whatever was handy, became his brushes. Shaky at first, his hands turned sure.

His creations were florescent, riotous, intricate explosions. What was stuck became unplugged. A life put on hold gushed forth.

Paintings piled up in his garage and basement.

“At first, I was embarrassed,” his wife admits. “I wasn’t sure what this was all about. Why wasn’t JP in a suit? What’s going on around here?”

But then, she started sharing his artwork with friends. The response was overwhelming. Even JP’s father, although he professed not to understand it, acknowledged “there was something there.”

JP’s disability ran out and he was officially fired from PNC Bank on his 44th birthday in August of 2019. His art would have to pay the bills.

Word of his talent started percolating through the Main Line and beyond.

His paintings hung at La Cabra Brewing, then at StudioFlora in Berwyn and are now on display at Christopher’s in Wayne and Malvern and at Aneu in Rosemont.

JP Weber’s paintings on the walls at Christopher’s in Wayne.

A collector of “outsider art,” StudioFlora owner Chrissy Piombino, in particular, was blown away by the paintings she saw in JP’s garage. At Piombino’s urging and with help from Ardmore fiber artist Holly Guertin (Ernie and Irene), his patterned pieces now appear on textiles, zip pouches, linens, some of which are carried at StudioFlora.

The Chicago nonprofit, , named JP its January artist of the month. People around the country have until Jan. 23 to buy his uplifting YAB stickers.

Razimus jewelry in upstate New York is using JP’s fabric designs in their , one of which will promote Christy Turlington’s Every Mother Counts initiative.

His burgeoning @JohnHamster Instagram shows a parade of commercial and residential spaces enlivened by his stunning canvases.

Next on his vision board? Taking his talents on the road to outsider art shows around the country. He also hopes to speak publicly about overcoming mental-health challenges.

“The old me died in an instant,” he says.

In a blaze of glorious color, JP has returned, triumphant.

***Take a quick trip inside the head of JP Weber in this short clip from our fab video partner, OnUp Media.***

Game over for Wayne Sporting Goods

Wayne Sporting Goods, a family-owned landmark for more than 60 years, sold off its team sports business to a national player and is closing its retail store.

“BSN Sports came to us and made us a fair offer,” owner Roger Galczenski tells SAVVY. “They’re really nice people.”

Although Wayne Sporting Goods has been upgrading operations since the late 90s, sales have been sliding. “No one wants to buy anything unless it’s on sale,” Galczenski laments. “We had three consecutive years of profits going down. We had no reason to think 2020 would be any better.”

Unlike most Wayne businesses, Galczenski owns the three-story, 12,000 sq. ft. building that has housed WSG for 60 years. He tells us he doesn’t want to be a landlord and hopes to sell the building.

His father, Alvin, started WSG in the former Floyd’s Bowling Alley in Rosemont in 1955, then moved to the Farnan’s Jewelry building on N. Wayne Ave. for a few years.

Now 73, Roger Galczenski says he’s ready to retire.

“I’ve been coming in every day for 50-some years. The other morning when I woke up it was raining and dark and I thought I’d like to lay in bed. I think I’ll get used to retirement. We’ll see.”

Galczenski’s son, Steve, and his support team will join BSN, servicing current WSG teams from Malvern Prep, Shipley and Eastern University and beyond.

Meanwhile, a 30-percent-off clearance sale began last week. Glaczenski says discounts will deepen until he shuts off the lights for good, likely by the end of February.

Dodo Hamilton’s Wayne estate slated for development

Rough outlines of the former land holdings (in red) of the late Dodo Hamilton that Haverford Properties proposes to develop in Strafford. A civic leader and Campbell’s Soup heiress, she developed the upscale lifestyle center next to her estate, Eagle Village Shops.

Plans are afoot to build multiple homes on the former estate of the late heiress/philanthropist Dodo Hamilton behind Eagle Village Shops in Strafford.

There was some early talk – wishful thinking, perhaps – that the land, which includes a manor home, greenhouses and multiple specimen plantings, would become an offshoot of the PA Horticultural Society. An avid gardener, Hamilton’s entries were perennial winners at the Philadelphia Flower Show, staged by the society.

But sources tell us valuable specimen plantings have been removed and the land, roughly eight acres of primo real estate, is now in the hands of Haverford Properties, where Dodo’s grandson, Sam Hamilton, is a principal.

Seeking neighbors input, the developer shared preliminary ideas with Radnor Commissioner Jack Larkin.

According to Larkin, one plan would put 40 single-family homes on two lots. An alternative plan calls for 41 townhomes on the main property and nine singles on a narrow stretch of land to the east. (Townhomes are not a permitted use under current zoning and would require special approval from the township.)

Hamilton’s home, yard and greenhouses, rimmed in red, would become either townhomes or single-family homes. Single homes would be built along the narrow parcel to the east outlined in orange and on the other side of Strafford Ave.

Concerned about potential traffic and flooding, neighbors crafted a wish list for the property this week, shared with SAVVY. Among its requests:

A detailed stormwater management plan and a commitment from the developer and/or township to put aside money to address any resulting stormwater issues.

A commitment to maintain the same number of mature trees on the property.

Seven single homes instead of nine on the east lot.

Sidewalks from the development to the train station and traffic-calming measures.

“I get the sense that the developer is invested and wants to work with people and not put a blight on the neighborhood,” Larkin tells SAVVY.

Larkin will host a town hall about the proposed development Thursday, Jan. 30 at 7 p.m. at the Radnor Township Municipal Building.

Philly Bloke bolts to Wayne

Eric DeBella in Philly Bloke’s new studio in Wayne.

After nine years in Paoli, Philly Bloke just moved to a new home in Wayne.

And may we say, his new digs are smashing. With a clubby lounge, TVs and a central bar with complimentary cold brew on draft and cold IPAs in the fridge, you might just hang out awhile after your haircut.

And that would be A-OK with owner Eric DeBella, who chose Wayne for its walkable, community feel and more central location.

“We’re all about building relationships,” DeBella says. “We hope clients will stop by whether they’re getting a haircut or not.”

Philly Bloke offers men’s and boy’s cuts (discounts for father-son tandems), beard grooming, and color blending and just launched its own haircare line.

What’s hot in men’s hair? Longer hair and, yes, beards. About 90 percent of his clients have them, DeBella says.

Double the size of Paoli, the new Bloke is a stylish redo of the former Renewal Studio on West Ave. next to Cornerstone Bistro and across from the Great American Pub. (Because he likes to “feed the people who feed me,” DeBella asked longtime customer Brad Giresi to design the buildout and the wife of another Paoli client, Gina Whalen, to help with interiors.)

So what’s a Philly Bloke anyway? A gent who strives to better himself and make a difference in the lives of others, DeBella says. Someone who “feels good about his identity.” In other words, a bloke who’s woke.

, 15 West Avenue, Wayne, 610-644-3984, is open Tues. – Sat. Appointments strongly recommended. Men’s cuts from $33. 

A ‘Wild Life’ – on the Main Line and far beyond

Author Keena Roberts, Shipley ’02, with her proud father, Robert Seyfarth of Devon, at last Sunday’s book signing at Main Point Books in Wayne. Her mother, Dorothy Cheney, a Penn biology professor and primatologist, passed in 2018. Keena and her wife took their fathers’ shared first name when they got married. (, Grand Central Publishing, $28).

When renowned Penn psychologist Robert Seyfarth enrolled his daughters at Shipley, he warned the school that his girls would be part-timers. They’d spend some of the year in Bryn Mawr, but most of it with their parents in a remote camp in Botswana studying the social life of baboons – nature’s classroom, as it were.

No problem, Shipley said. Just make sure they “keep up with math and make them write every day,” Seyfarth recalls.

Terrific advice, it turns out.

Because Seyfarth’s older daughter, Keena, Shipley Class of 2002, just published her first book, Wild Life: Dispatches from a Childhood of Baboons and Button-Downs, a memoir that the author says came from “piles of journals in a closet.”

No daily journal writing from age 8 to 18, no Wild Life.

And what a shame that would be.

We’d never hear about Keena’s extraordinary youth, wherein struggling to survive as “the weird kid” in a Main Line prep school could be tougher than fending off hungry hippos in the bush.

We’d never meet fearless, swashbuckling Keena, who felt at home among circling lions but like an alien on the Shipley field-hockey team.

A first-time author whose day job is health-policy research, it took Keena seven years and four rewrites to get the story right, she says.

She’s already working on book two: a fantasy novel. “It’s Watership Down but with baboons,” the Harvard/Hopkins grad tells SAVVY.

Count on another wild ride.

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Planning to have work done? Best pick the perfect plastic surgeon

Dr. Brannon Claytor with some of his team in his offices near Bryn Mawr Hospital, visible from the window: (from left) registered nurse Melissa Lees, licensed aesthetician Jessica Sager, and certified medical assistant Stephanie Mattis. Claytor performs 75 percent of his operations in his in-office OR, which meets hospital standards for a clean, safe surgical environment.

You only get one face, after all.

You want skilled hands, a cutting-edge mind and a caring heart.

Tall order, right?

Not for Dr. Brannon Claytor, Chief of Plastic Surgery for Main Line Health.

Precise and patient, he explains every step on the “Aesthetic Ladder” and helps you choose which is best for you: from the first rung of non-invasive treatments, to higher rungs involving more aggressive procedures with minimal-to-some downtime, through the top rung, surgery.

“The first thing I tell patients is that this needs to be customized,” Claytor tells SAVVY. “This isn’t Ford Motor Co. pumping out the same product for each person.”

To look simply refreshed and rejuvenated, Claytor says microneedling, injections, lasers and/or peels – all offered in his office – might be all you need.

If you want to take it up a notch without scars, you might be a candidate for a Silhouette InstaLift or an Ellevate neck lift.

A 29-year-old patient before and after Claytor performed the new, no-scar, minimally invasive neck lift, Ellevate, along with SmartLipo and liposuction. Done under local anesthesia with ”absolutely zero pain,” the patient calls the result “amazing …I completely trust him as a physician and artist.” She says Claytor never rushed her during the consult and follow-up appointment, explaining options. “You won’t get a one-size-fits-all experience with him.”

But if your aim is to look ten years younger, you’re probably headed for a full facelift, Claytor says.

Most surgical patients come in complaining about their lower eyelids, jowls or neck, he says. “No one comes in and says their cheek has fallen.”

But that’s just what’s happening. Osteoporosis shrinks facial bones, he explains, and “skin is falling off its scaffolding … If the neck is bad, the cheeks usually need to be addressed. Everything fell as a unit.” A facelift rebalances everything.

Claytor performs short-scar facelifts with minimal downtime for the middle and lower face, traditional SMAS facelifts, and more advanced deep-plane facelifts. Some surgeons shy away from deep-plane lifts for fear they’ll inadvertently injure tiny facial nerves. But Claytor completed a nerve fellowship during his plastic surgery training and has “a deep comfort level with nerves.”

(Above)A 67-year-old woman before and three months after Claytor performed a deep-plane, full facelift. (Below) A 62-year-old Claytor patient before and two months after a deep-plane facelift.

Indeed, Claytor has long pioneered the latest and greatest.

He recently appeared on “The Innovators,” a web-based docuseries about plastic surgery, discussing advances in breast reconstruction.

He was the first local surgeon to perform the Ellevate non-surgical neck lift.

He’s completed (or soon will complete) clinical trials of microneedling for facial rejuvenation; the topical collagen Excellagen to shorten downtime after deep chemical peels or laser treatments; and Alastin to improve skin after liposuction.

“When I can, I like to be part of the evidence side of medicine,” Claytor says.

For good or ill, the internet and social media, he says, are “massive equalizers” in which everyone gets a platform. “People in our own community who are not plastic surgeons are performing these procedures in their offices.” They took weekend courses and don’t have nine years of specialized training and board certification, he says. “Today, if you’re not telling people what you do, they’ll find someone who will.”

Also setting Claytor apart: his in-office surgical suite, fully inspected and nationally accredited and where about 75 percent of patients choose to have facelifts and other procedures under local anesthesia. Not only do they save on operating room and anesthesia fees but, God forbid, if something were to happen, Bryn Mawr Hospital’s ER is right across the street. “I think I’m the only plastic surgeon I know who has a full-blown operating room in his office.”

And then there’s Claytor’s refreshing personal touch. He gives patients his cell phone number and calls everyone the night before surgery. “Inevitably, they have a question, which they were too shy to call and ask me about.”

The night of surgery, he calls the patient to check on recovery. “If there is a concern, I will have them come right to the office. I’ve seen patients at 11 o’clock at night!”

Claytor’s easygoing personality puts people at ease, crucial in a field as personal as plastics. He’s confident and self-assured, yes. But arrogant? Never.

“I go out of my way to create a peer relationship with the patient,” he says. “I want people to be as comfortable as they can be. It makes the whole experience so much more productive and positive.”

Twenty years in practice and his endgame hasn’t changed: a natural look. You, but better.

“I want people to say to my patients: ‘You look fabulous. Did you get a new haircut?’”

Everyone will notice, but no one will know.

Claytor Noone Plastic Surgery, 135 S. Bryn Mawr Ave., Suite 300, Bryn Mawr, 610-527-4833,  Photos and news @ClaytorNoonPlasticSurgery on and and at .

Gingy’s moving out of Malvern

Boutique owner Jean Tremblay with her mother and daughter, Betsy, at Gingy’s 10th anniversary celebration in Malvern. Gingy’s also has locations in Stone Harbor and Newport, RI.

After 12 years in Malvern, the last five on a sunny King Street corner, Gingy’s Boutique is moving to Wayne. 2 East King was sold last summer and the building’s new owner raised her rent “significantly,” Gingy’s proprietor Jean Tremblay tells SAVVY.

After searching up and down the Pike, she settled on another sunlit corner, 168 E. Lancaster Ave., the former home of Argus Printing in downtown Wayne.

The spot reminds her of 2 East King, Tremblay says. Plus, it had room for a design studio for clothing line.

Doors should open by mid-March. In the meantime, there’s a huge moving sale in progress at Gingy’s Malvern store, which closes for good Jan. 25. (***Mention this article in SAVVY for an extra 10-percent off!***)

“At first, the circumstances that caused me to move devastated me.” Tremblay says. “But I am thinking things happen for a reason and I’m looking to the future.”

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Rosemont physician’s switch to anti-aging holistic medicine started with her own diagnosis

By Dawn Warden

Flipping from doctor to patient can be a pivotal experience as Dr. Seema Bonney discovered after she was diagnosed with pulmonary thrombosis in her early 30s.

Looking back, it’s quite possible that her switch from Emergency Medicine physician to founder of the and a long list of certifications and achievements might not have occurred if she’d received better care.

Being on the other side of diagnosis and treatment not only altered the way Bonney engaged with patients, it enabled her to test out knowledge gained through emergency room interactions. In many cases, Bonney was able to attribute panicked patients’ medical flare-ups to underlying chronic conditions, nutrition deficits, sleeping patterns, lifestyle and more.

“So many people come into the ER presenting with symptoms that reveal an undiagnosed chronic condition,” Bonney says. “These trips could have been avoided if the patient had insights into his or her personal health profile.”

In Bonney’s case, doctors showed little interest in identifying possible causes.

“I was repeatedly told, ‘You’re lucky to be alive’ and ‘There’s no clear cause,’” Bonney explains. “It was important to ‘fix’ me, but they also needed to help me understand the sudden onset and how to predict future occurrences or escalations. My philosophy has always been: Life is meant to be enjoyed to its fullest … hard to accomplish when burdened by physical or medical issues. Prevention is crucial, and its absence during my treatment completely altered my perspective and my career path.”

Today, Bonney is one of the region’s leading advocates for holistic and functional medical therapies with a thriving practice in Rosemont. Working in partnership with patients, she creates opportunities for self-advocacy and helps patients strategize ways to live as health-fully as possible for as long as possible.

“I went into Emergency Medicine because I wanted to save lives. Now, I am doing it in a different way. And, the good news is: It’s never too late, or too early, to develop healthy habits.”

, 484-222-0369, specializes in functional, integrative and aesthetic medicine and services, including medical weight loss, hormone and IV therapies, treatments for adrenal fatigue/thyroid/autoimmune issues and skin rejuvenation. Named #1 for Integrative Medicine in Main Line Today in 2019.  

Takeaways from a T/E para-educator’s wild time in Thailand

Zatuchni spent a month at observing and feeding rescued and retired elephants in central Thailand and returns with a message for tourists.

A teacher’s aide at Valley Forge Middle School just spent a month in Thailand – not lollygagging on a beach but sweating through 98-degree heat and 100-percent humidity.

“I loved every moment of it,” says Julie Zatuchni of her stay at Boon Lott’s Elephant Sanctuary. Even when she hoisted dung, walked through spider webs, and slept with chirping geckos in her room.

Zatuchni cared for and befriended the elephants but hardly touched them.

“If touching is allowed at an elephant sanctuary, you don’t want to go there,” Zatuchni says. Sanctuary tourism is huge in Thailand and Myanmar, where posters of women in bikinis on every tuktuk and taxi lure folks to swim and bathe with elephants.

But sitting on elephants pushes on their organs and hurts their spines, she says. Plus, elephants used in tourism are kept on short chains. “They can’t move. They can’t scratch themselves or cool themselves off with mud or water.” Trainers hit them with bull hooks. Females are often force-bred and their babies are sold off.

“A lot of places say they’re ethically treating animals, but they’re not,” Zatuchni says. “It’s a horrible, sad existence.”

BLES was founded by a British woman, Katherine Connor, who fell in love with a baby elephant, “Boon Lott,” while backpacking through Thailand at age 21 and discovered her life’s calling. Connor rescues and nurses back to health elephants abused in the logging and tourist trades.

Now in its 13th year, BLES is a safe, forever home for 11 elephants who wander freely on 750 acres where they happily chomp on, literally, tons of fruits, grasses, leaves and seeds.

Valley Forge Middle School para-educator Julie Zatuchni shoveling elephant dung and gathering food in Sukhothai, Thailand in October.

Ask Zatuchni, who’s volunteered with Main Line Animal Rescue, Global March for Elephants and Rhinos, Sheldrick Wildlife Trust, and co-created a Facebook page, why she loves elephants, then take a seat. She’ll be a while.

They have amazing memories, she’ll tell you. They’re devoted caretakers of their young, zealously protect the herd, and even mourn their dead. “They have personalities just like we do … You look into their eyes and see their souls,” Zatuchni says.

In central Thailand, Boon Lott’s Elephant Sanctuary welcomes donations, guests and volunteers.

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Better scores, better schools with Crimson Review Test Prep

By Ryan Richards

On the lobby wall of Crimson Review’s spacious and sunlit tutoring center in Wayne is a large crimson owl, symbol of wisdom.

Smart choice.

Because Crimson Review’s instructors are the sages of Main Line test prep – for SATs and ACTs, National Merit Scholarship qualifying exams (PSATs) and private-school admissions tests (SSATs, ISEEs and HSPTs).

Founded in 1986 by Harvard grad and Wayne resident William H. Wood, Crimson Review offers year-round one-on-one instruction, small-group classes, as well as an intensive SAT , which guarantees to raise qualified students’ scores 250 points or to the 98th+ percentile.

Rates for all options are affordable and tutors are top-notch.

Each has deep understanding of each test and prepares students through comprehensive instruction and practice testing, according to Crimson Review Director Craig Miller.

Crimson Review Director Craig Miller at the test-prep company’s Wayne location.

Crimson instructors graduated from top-tier colleges and are required to have scored in the top of the range on their own standardized tests. They work patiently with students of all academic abilities. “We really want to be a positive environment,” says Miller. Instructors also share proven strategies to ease test anxiety.

With two convenient locations – in Wayne and Malvern – Crimson Review’s small class sizes allow tutors to “get to know every student who comes through our doors,” says Miller. Being independently owned (vs. a corporate franchise), “We have the advantage of customizing and being much more personal.”

Crimson Review also continuously refines its curriculum based on current best practices. As a result, scores improve enough to open up an entirely different set of options, turning dream schools into realistic options.

“My son, Luke, was well prepared and had no fears about his ability to tackle the test, based on his experience with his [Crimson Review] tutor,” reports Exton mom Alicia Snyder.

It’s all about practice, adds veteran instructor Jason Cohen. “We have our students systemically go through each question type, learning both content knowledge and test-taking strategies … The more students can practice with actual practice tests from real exams, the better.”

, 347 E. Conestoga Rd. Wayne and 967 E. Swedesford Rd., Malvern, 610-688-6441, info@crimsonreview.com, offers tutoring and classes in test prep and essay writing. Group & referral discounts available. Register for by 2/8 for $300 off. Visit . Follow on , Instagram and Twitter.

Magnolia Cottage in Malvern: charming goods, painted furniture and craft classes

The western Main Line has a new experiential retailer, Magnolia Cottage, now open in the former Sprouts consignment shop on W. Lancaster Ave.

Owner is Malvern’s Kathy Snow, a nurse who couldn’t find part-time work after raising her kids. “I took my hobby – painting furniture – and thought, ‘Let’s give it a shot.’”

Owner Kathy Snow plays around with a scarf at her new home goods/social crafting shop. Photos by Carla Zambelli.

Magnolia Cottage sells cute but not kitschy gifts, many from local women artisans, and vintage furniture painted by Snow. (Or pick a wooden piece off the floor and have her paint it to your liking). A craft room will house classes in stenciling, furniture painting and more.

Magnolia Cottage, 288 Lancaster Ave., Malvern, 484-320-8022, is open Tuesday – Saturday, noon to 5, Sundays, noon to 3. Pottery demo with Caitlyn Davis, Saturday, Jan. 18. Young Rembrandt art class for preschoolers to age 12, Sunday, Jan. 19.

New homes heading to Radnor as two colleges sell land

Star shows rough area that Eastern College has tentatively agreed to sell to Concordia Group.

Eastern University and Valley Forge Military are shrinking their footprints in Radnor.

The Concordia Group is under agreement to buy 19. 5 acres at Eastern University, SAVVY has learned. The DC-based developer hopes to put “no more than 20-21  homes” on the parcel but won’t submit plans until it gets feedback from neighbors, according to Concordia’s Devin Tuohey.

Concordia would bulldoze a parking lot and 14 circa-1970 homes that Valley Forge Military Academy currently leases for faculty, Tuohey tells us. The tract is along Radnor St. Rd. between Eagle Rd. and Walnut Ave.

Eager to be a good neighbor, Tuohey says he’ll share architectural drawings with the North Wayne Protective Association before he asks Radnor Township for zoning relief and begins the long approval process.

And Tom Bentley is back building on the Main Line. He paid Valley Forge Military Academy and College $1.65 million for a five-acre parcel along Radnor Rd. and Upper Gulph Rd., according to the . He plans to build scaled-down (by Bentley standards), single-family homes on the lot. Infrastructure improvements are already underway.

Two boutiques bow out of Bryn Mawr

Louella Boutique has left Bryn Mawr. Owner Maria Delany tells SAVVY that she’s decided to focus on her stores in Wayne, Malvern and especially Avalon, which has been “such a hit” since it opened last May.

A retail recruiter helped bring Louella to Bryn Mawr in the spring of 2017, Delany says.  In retrospect, “Bryn Mawr was too close to our Wayne store, which is bigger and has a broader selection.” A smoke shop has taken over the lease.

Meanwhile, Knit Wit, down to one seasonal store in Margate, plans to pop up again on the Main Line. The Bryn Mawr Knit Wit closed in December. Owner Ann Gitter, 72, told the Inquirer that “rents are bad everywhere … that’s why independents are closing.” Retail is “a brutal business,” she said, and she’s ready for a breather but plans popups on the Main Line and in Philly.

Southern Charmer dazzles at ELLIE Main Line

Kristen Kearns with Southern Charm TV star Craig Conover at ELLIE Main Line in December.

Reality TV hottie Craig Conover wasn’t due to show until 1 p.m. or so, but some Main Line ladies weren’t taking any chances. They started lining up – some on lawn chairs –outside ELLIE in Eagle Village Shops at 10:30 that sunny Sunday morning, three days before Christmas. Gift wrapping and baking could wait.

The draw, of course, was a close encounter with Conover. A quick chat, a hug and a pic. The lure? His “Sewing Down South” pillows – along with lite bites, bubbly, discounts on ELLIE fashions and assorted swag.

So yeah, there was pillow talk.

This and That

Here’s a timely tale: After its sign was stolen, its Iranian tiles vandalized and multiple ugly phone threats – “Go back to where you came from” and similar, Tehrani Bros. decided enough was enough. The oriental rug merchant, in business for 43 years, has changed its name to Bryn Mawr Oriental Rugs, reports . In its heyday, the three brothers had four stores, including one in Wayne, and sold to celebs like Julius Irving, M. Night Shyamalan and Patti LaBelle.

Should Devereux Advanced Behavioral Health be in the business of sheltering unaccompanied minor children in Devon? That’s the Backed by some Latino groups, a group of highly-organized neighbors says no way. Others, including some local church leaders, say yes. The Easttown Zoning Hearing Board picks up this hot potato on Jan. 23 at Beaumont Elementary at 7 p.m. Will the board approve the shelter as a “non-conforming use” on Devereux land that’s zoned residential? Some neighbors had hoped Devereux would sell to a home builder instead.

That was quick. Less than a year and half after it opened, Café Lift has closed in Narberth. Sales were strong but the “bruncherie” concept wasn’t doing enough business to support the pricey liquor license, owner Michael Pasquarello .

­­­­After a much longer run (19 years), Tango pulled out of the Bryn Mawr train station for good on Dec. 26.

Seeing red – and wearing it in a show of solidarity, Monday night. At issue: a proposal to juggle school start times. Parents are signing petitions and on Monday carried signs reading “All kids need sleep.” Lower Merion is talking about moving elementary school start times from 9 a.m. to 7:45.

Picketers plan to march on Lancaster Ave. Monday, Martin Luther King Day, to protest plans to put billboards in Bryn Mawr, the day before . Basically, it’s Catalyst Outdoor Advertising vs. every town on the Main Line. Catalyst has proven relentless – scaling back the size of its proposed billboards after zoning boards and courts have ruled against them.

One of the eight most expensive streets in golf is on the Main Line. Shocking, we know. listed Cambridge Road in Ardmore Number 7. Average home price on Cambridge is $2.25 million. But being able to simply walk onto one of Merion Golf’s stellar courses? Priceless.

Helmets off to Wayne native and St. Joe’s Prep/Penn standout Kevin Stefanski, 37, who just became the NFL’s third youngest head coach. Stefanski signed a five-year deal to lead the Cleveland Browns. Proud papa Ed Stefanski played for the 76ers and served as GM from 2007 to 2011.

Rosemont College announced its new president Tuesday. And, guess what, it’s a guy – a first for the nearly 100-year-old Catholic college. Cleary University President Jayson Boyers, 48, a Catholic, will take the reins in July, when current President Sharon Latchaw Hirsh retires.

When the good Lord closes a taco door, he opens a taco window. Owner illness sadly ended Pipeline Taco’s run in Wayne. But right up the street, no-frills taqueria El Limon is set to open in the old Avenue Eatz space at 128 W. Lancaster.

Malvern businesswoman Marian Moskowitz was elected chair and Josh Maxwell will be co-chair of the Chester County Board of Commissioners. The two newbies were sworn in along with veteran commissioner Michelle Kichline of Berwyn on Jan. 2. And may we say, we appreciate the bi-partisanship that Chesco Commissioners have been showing the last few years. Refreshing.

So what if New Year’s Eve has come and gone. Break out the bubbly anyway. Then, break in that new bike. Because the Chester Valley Trail will soon connect to the Schuylkill River Trail. Yup, 34 miles of glorious asphalt stretching from Exton to Philly. Montco Commissioners voted to allocate $10 million of its 2020 budget to trail work in and around Philly. Federal, state and local grants are kicking in another $8 million. Yipppeeeeee.

Glad New Year’s tidings from the Devon Horse Show and Country Fair, which says it’s celebrating its “four top accomplishments of 2019”:

It paid off its $2 million mortgage and enters 2020 debt-free.

It added a few successful events: a Kentucky Oaks Party for Young Friends, Devon After Hours for select patrons on its busiest night, and the return of the Fall Classic, which sported a record number of entries.

It renewed its $2 million pledge to Bryn Mawr Hospital and presented the hospital with a $375,000 check to support expansion of its behavioral health unit.

It spent $385K on infrastructure improvements and increased prize money by $40K.

Unlike other Main Line townships where leadership is nearly 100% blue, Easttown is edging toward … purple. The Easttown Democratic Committee just put out a detailed statement, reporting that 53% of Easttown voters are either Democrats or Indies but membership on the township’s boards and commissions skews Republican (79%). The report also notes that the township’s civic servants are a tad in the tooth (average age 61) and mostly male (67%) and therefore don’t “reflect the township’s diversity.” Notable exceptions: The Planning Commission is split 50/50. And two Dems were just sworn in as supervisors so the split there is 60 red/40 blue.

Got stressed-out teens? (Who doesn’t?) Learn how to help them survive and thrive at a free, non-denominational talk by Penn psychiatrist Anthony Rostain and therapist B. Janet Hibbs, local authors of The Stressed Years of Their Lives on Sunday, Jan. 26 at Wayne Presbyterian Church at 6 p.m. RSVP here.

Another January thaw this weekend? In temperature, no. In spirit, yes. Three Berwyn Village spots are staging a Tiki Crawl Saturday, Jan. 18 to benefit Berwyn Fire Co. (And if you’ve been reading SAVVY, you know our first responders really need the help.) The fun starts at 5 p.m. at the Berwyn Tavern, moves to La Cabra Brewing at 7 and 30 Main at 9. Park once, indulge thrice. La Cabra tells us it’s smoking a suckling pig and giving away half-pints of liquid courage to karaoke participants. Aloha.

Want to publicize your special event? Your SAVVY Calendar is here! Choose a free basic listing or an enhanced listing with image and extra info for a small service fee. No charge for current SAVVY advertisers

  Contact kathy@savvyml.com for deets.

Hope you’ll show some love to our early-winter advertisers, all high-quality LOCAL businesses. We couldn’t keep you savvy without: , in Wayne, , of Ardmore and West Chester, in Bryn Mawr, in Wayne and Malvern, in Rosemont,  Wayne Early Learning Center, , , , in Paoli, in Berwyn, Your Organizing Consultants, Day Spa by Zsuzsanna in Wayne, and in Wayne and Haverford, Paper & Design of Berwyn, Realtor , , of Real Estate Professionals, in Berwyn, , in Bryn Mawr, Rustic Brush in Berwyn, , , in Wayne and Berwyn, .

And finally, we got such a kick out of playing Santa Claus in December. Congrats to the winners and heartfelt thanks to the 12 elves who donated prizes to SAVVY’s 12 Days of Giving: BSWANKY handbags, Kramer Drive, HomeCooked, Peachtree Catering, Rebecca Adler Art, Restore Cryosauna, Rose-colored Glasses Photography, SamSara Gear, Strafford Chiropractic & Healing Center, Philly Bloke, Argyle Floral & Gifts and Village Wellness.

One of our 12 lucky winners, single mom Amy Shumonski, shown here with her son, picks up $150 worth of tasty prizes from HomeCooked owner Claire Guarino in Paoli.

The post The incredible journey of Berwyn’s JP Weber; Why we lost Wayne Sporting Goods; Real estate rumblings in Radnor; Shipley grad’s ‘Wild Life’; Claytor Noone Plastic Surgery; Anti-aging medicine; Personalized test prep & more appeared first on SAVVY MAINLINE.

This content was originally published here.

[proseofpresence]

Mountain Pose: I’m Practicing Alone

I’m practicing aloneness.  If the physicians ahead of me in the Starbucks line, with their buff arms and tight bums, merely practice medicine after 20 years of grueling training, I can practice changing 20 years of dating preoccupation: I love myself.  I am happy with my company.  As I wait for my tall almond milk latte, I imagine being surrounded in white light and focus on beauty: the pungency of oily beans, the hiss of frothing milk, the gratitude for monks who first pressed beans with water.  I try not to look to see if the tall, dark haired doctor- whom I imagine is as bold as his Sumatra roast- is married. Though he’s the embodiment of beauty and checks out my legs as I stride by, I love myself.  I am happy with my company.

I practice on my mat in a yoga class of married, ectomorphic women in designer stretch pants. Just as a I begin to count my breaths from here to nirvana, chatter rambles between my ears about the petite blond next to me wearing a traceable two karat, breathing heavily during Downward Dog: Does she make those sounds during sex? How did she get a man to commit?   I forgive myself by polishing judgment from the diamond in my mind.  I love myself.  I am happy with my company.

Over organic salads, craft drinks, and beach outings, my married girlfriends dish trite, collective advice, which annoys me enough to induce listening.

“Stop looking.  Joe and I met when I was just happy being by myself.  Just love yourself.  When the time’s right, he’ll show up.  Get off online dating.  Let him find you.  Let go.”

Easy to say when you’re spooned nightly by a slightly rotund, balding, legal devotee.  

Ironically, none of my friends know how to love themselves, as evidenced by their addictive habits, childhood anecdotes rife with trauma, and palpable grief for Netflix characters.  

“If we truly loved ourselves, we wouldn’t desire partnership at all,” I tell them.  

Yet, like the time my college dormmates challenged me to down an entire bottle of Boone’s malt liquor and take photos in my padded pushup with strangers (what happened to that disposable camera?), I give in to peer pressure: this non-doing is another form of doing I have yet to try, so I give it a go.  Desiring to not desire is still desire, my superconscious says, while I consciously roll my eyes at myself, only to hug and rock my singledom from side to side in Knees-To-Chest.  I love myself.  I am happy with my company.    

The only people who don’t give me advice are my parents who, after 43 years of marriage, attest to the power of sensuality.  They met at a high school dance in the late 60s.  As he places Abbey Road on the turntable and sips on chianti, Dad insists, “Mom got fresh and tried to hold my hand on the dance floor.”  

Mom vehemently denies this and rolls her eyes, as she makes him a plate of cheese, olives, and Italian bread, assuring me that, “Your father pursued and wooed and never let me put my hand in my pocket for anything.”  

I smile duteously for the thirtieth time, secretly wondering how I was conceived from such a fairytale, and why I’m relegated to swiping left on Randall, who posts self-aggrandizing shirtless photos in bed and trophies an illegally caught grouper above his head.  Perhaps it’s college karma fifteen years late.  

Staring out the glass sliders to see Dad hosing Mom’s orchids and birds of paradise, I realize no one’s touched my hand in five months. No one’s asked me to dance since last year, when I went out with the red bearded foreman (what was his name again?) who swiped right on me and, subsequently, on my left breast on the dance floor.  A few dances and drinks in, our make out session was unexpectedly interrupted by his ex, a high barfly.  

“You’re so pretty,” she slurred and close talked as her jaw pounded in fast rhythms, “why are you with him?”  

Something in the way she moves attracts me like no other lover, something in the way she woos me...  

Sadness upsurges unexpectedly in my chest.  To avoid crying, I hold a pitted olive between my fingers, stare at its roundness, pop it in my mouth, and revel in its firmness.    I love myself.  I am happy with my company.

At 38, attending a six-week English graduate program on a remote Vermont mountain requires a balance between downsizing and realism.  I’m too old to capsize my mid-maintenance lifestyle into one suitcase, and I’m too lazy to drive from Florida.  Hence, the purchase of an auto train ticket.  I only allow myself two variations of the essentials to fit into three plastic crates and a large garment bag.  I’m sure 19th Century waggoneers seeking squatters’ rights set similar parameters, considering they never knew when a barn dance would occur. This reasonable rule, of course, does not pertain to t-shirts, jewelry, vitamin supplements, or coffee pods.  These items are a form of self-care and facilitate self-love, I tell myself, while trying to puzzle together high heels with a NutriBullet and facial steamer. I love myself.  I am happy with my company.

We introduce ourselves- the “singletons” as the smiling attendant calls us- while the dinner car speeds past hidden inlets and mobile homes of the southern Carolinas.  The two Baby Boomers, about ten years apart in age, are pulled backward by the train, a reversal that would cause me to lose my braised chicken dinner.  John, the older, smaller statured gentleman, sits across from me; and Kent, whose left eye bulges with blood post ocular surgery, sits across from Lin, a disheveled, yawning anesthesiology resident who mumbles as she speaks.  I worry, as she talks the most excitedly and clearly all meal about “having a person’s autonomic functions in [her] hands,” that she might pass out in the middle of the procedure or our dinner.  After Kent starts talking about his drug experimentation in the 60s, which interests Lin because she “aced pharmacology,” I engage John in the hopes that Kent stops obsequiously staring at my breasts.  

With a slight smile, John tells me he’s a Snow Bird returning to upstate New York for the summer until his upcoming trip to Norway, Sweden, and Finland.   Grateful that he’s well-traveled- to divert me from making eye contact with Kent, who’s tried to get my attention a few times- we chat about our favorite places.

“Bora Bora is all it’s cracked up to be,” he says staring out the window in a moment of fond reminiscence.  “I took a cruise to islands in the area with an elite line: only fifty people on the ship.   I got to know everyone.  Good for a single guy.  The food was fabulous.  Not anything like this menu, which hasn’t changed in the eight years I’ve been taking the train.  Pharmaceutical sales- though I was technically a drug dealer- was good to me.”  

I like that he speaks in complete thoughts with a bit of oversharing: he doesn’t make this a working dinner for me. By the time melting ice cream and surprisingly decent coffee rattle in front of us, we’ve effortlessly shared stories about South Africa, southern Italy, and Bavaria.  

“I used to travel with someone,” he admits in growing comfort, “but, it’s actually better being on my own.  I like golfing and history, two subjects most women don’t prefer.  The older I get, the more set in my ways I become.  There are certain things I need to travel with.   Sometimes I like it to just be quiet.   I like my company. I never really hit it off with someone for more than two weeks.  Marriage, it seems, just wasn’t in the cards.”  

For a second, I wish the train was moving us into another timeline, one where we meet in the middle of our loveless histories, two singletons of a similar age looking out windows in search of the other.  Just before the silence goes on for too long, grief wells in my eyes as I think of a man I miss, of a similar name somewhere in Africa, who tinkered around my house for two weeks fixing things and me, who wasn’t in my cards.   I love myself.  I am happy with my company.

“You are just like the shrink on Billions.  I just love her.  So smart and sexy,” Kent interjects, pulling me into the present, as the attendant clangs dirty plates away, and he slurps his remaining chardonnay. “If you want to chat later, I have one of those privacy cots in car 5325.”

“No thank you,” I assert as an unexpected confidence rises in my throat.   “I am happy with my company.”  

All I can think about is his bulging eye and how Paul Giamatti would likely never drink chardonnay.  All I can do is imagine him surrounded in white light and thank him, by touching my heart, for focusing on my beauty.  

I’m living aloneness in my single dorm room, while taking black and whites of deserted churches and barns, in writing at the lone coffee shop, while searching for a meal that isn’t pub grub, in suffering no cell service, while spending $50 on two bags of groceries, in doing laundry from a coin operated machine, while profusely sweating no air conditioning, in missing Dad play dress-up with my nieces, while seeing photos of Mom cradling her new puppy, in lamenting the closest yoga studio is an hour away, while listening to low-maintenance strangers during communal dinners, in reading Titus Andronicus’ bloody demise, while running past Robert Frost’s diverging wood, in letting go of the fantasy of meeting my husband amid fireflies, while breathing out the fear that this is all there is and will ever be.  I love myself.  I am happy with my company.

#modernlove #30sdating #vermont #yoga #selflove #proseofpresence #poetryofpresence

[jessicakehoe]

A Day in the Life of Samantha Michelle, a Toronto-born DJ Who’s Opened For Mark Ronson

“About five years ago I plugged in my iPod at a party. Next thing I knew I was DJing, and next thing I knew I was playing Glastonbury at a secret garden party.”

Samantha Michelle’s life has taken her all over the place, figuratively and literally—studying religion and foreign policy at NYU, acting in plays and learning about European cultural history at Oxford, running a vintage shop in Toronto (where she grew up), writing and directing her own short films, and most recently, DJing at high-profile gigs and developing a female-focused film festival in New York.

“Opening for Mark Ronson for the Wall Street Journal at their Cannes Lions closing party was amazing,” she says of her favourite recent gigs, when I meet her over tea at a Toronto cafe. “I DJ’d at Drag on Queen here in Toronto—I got to open for a bunch of drag queens, which was really fun. I also work a lot with the Morrison Hotel Gallery in New York. I did a CBGB tribute show for them and Debby Harry turned up. I was like, do I play Blondie in front of Blondie? I think I should!”

Aside from DJing gigs, she has directed two short films (her most recent, In the Campfire Light, will be premiering at the Ojai Film Festival in California in November) and is part of the creative team behind Female Voices Rock, a female-focused film festival that will hold its inaugural edition in New York in October. Here, a behind-the-scenes peek at a day in her very busy calendar.

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L O V E O N E A N O T H E R ✌️ #tbt spinning in pink for this little lady legend @carrieberkk @winky_lux @brandsway #dj #ladydj #event #soho #party #nyc #newyorkcity #nycdj #winxylux #ladypower #femaledj #girlpower

A post shared by Samantha Michelle 🇨🇦 (@samanthamichelle.x) on Apr 4, 2019 at 11:49am PDT

8am Every day is so different, which is one of the things that I love about it, but on average I get up around 8am. I live in New York now, but I’m probably only there about half the time. (I travel a lot and also come to Toronto around once a month, which is great because it’s where I’m from and I get to see my family and friends.) So I get up around 8 and usually go and get a coffee or a tea—I used to be a smoker but I quit smoking six months ago so I still need to go through the morning rhythm of the walk to just get fresh air, see what it feels like outside. I try to avoid Starbucks as much as I can; it’s nice to go to independent places. There’s a great place called Newsbar near me, in Greenwich Village, which I love. Then I get home and open my laptop.

9am I normally do about an hour or so of emails, phone calls, text messages, just catching up on stuff. As creative director of the film festival, I’m managing our partnerships, so I’ve been doing a lot of outreach to different women’s organizations through people in my network and the film world who care or can help spread the word. I’m also in post-production on my film which again is all really working from home—phone calls, emails with different people and the team. I like working from home because I’m on the road so much. I’d say most days I’ve not had a shower or put on any makeup until maybe 2, 3, 4 in the afternoon.

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IN THE CAMPFIRE LIGHT Written & Directed by yours truly 🔥 All the love to my #campfirefamily @anthonyjamesfaure @carolinalaradp @mr.early_wrap @cateedelaloye @mariianatrevii @chris_britton @astarcast @baruchsantana @joelcranephoto @chewchomp @ipiyushthakur @glaseryaniv @russ_coslr_lynn @chris_britton @emilydipaola @hanzbasil @nicotinaq @origiladymakeup @iamsarahrich @chrissiecapo @allisonwinn @antonycleme511 @diegocordero183 @torstenjohnson @madds293 & CO. Poster by @marcellemurdockart Special thnx to this lady @marie_nyquist #inthecampfirelightfilm #film #shortfilm #indiefilm #movieposter #movies #nycfilm #nyfilm #mondaymotivation #dreamteam #collaboration #writer #director #filmmaker #team #family #femalefilmmaker #womeninfilm #love #gratitude #adventure #postproduction #comingsoon 🎥

A post shared by Samantha Michelle 🇨🇦 (@samanthamichelle.x) on Apr 8, 2019 at 8:54am PDT

11am I typically work on playlists in the mornings. It gets me too excited—if I try to do it in bed at night I won’t sleep. I get really jazzed about it, so it’s something I’ll normally do in the mornings before I work out.

Noon After that I usually will go to the gym, or do a yoga class or do Pilates or something. If I don’t feel like working out I will go for a long walk and call my dad and he’ll be walking the dog in Toronto, and I’ll be going in circles around Washington Square Park.

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In my next life I think I’d like to come back as a teddy bear 🐻 #allthingsfluff #sundayfunday #newyorkcity #nyc ♥️ 📷: @chris_britton

A post shared by Samantha Michelle 🇨🇦 (@samanthamichelle.x) on Feb 18, 2019 at 11:49am PST

2pm Then normally I’ll eat. I’m not a very good cook, but I’m a total creature of habit when it comes to food, so I’ll go and pick up an omelet from Grey Dog. I live really close to an independent equivalent of Whole Foods and they have big salads and stuff. Sometimes if it’s a slower-paced day and I have time to make a salad at home I will, but usually I’m just picking something up.

3pm In the afternoon I’ll usually have a couple of meetings. I tend to try and make my meetings in the afternoon as much as I can so I have an uninterrupted morning at home. For the film festival, I’m also working on amazing sponsorships so there’s a lot of back and forth emails, meetings and conversations with different write-ins and partners and people who want to join the coalition, and just managing all of those relationships.

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Thank you so much to the legend that is Jeff Samutt @sammutjeff for having me back on @sxmcanadatalks #canadatalks @siriusxm #siriusxm 🙏such good fun chatting all things dj’g, soul music, the history of rock and roll, and of course – singing the praises of my campfire gang! #inthecampfirelight 🎥♥️ #radio #interview #canada #homesweethome 🇨🇦 #toronto #dj #music #soulmusic #rockandroll #actress #filmmaker #film #nyc #shortfilm #dreamteam #femalefilmmaker #lovetothecrew

A post shared by Samantha Michelle 🇨🇦 (@samanthamichelle.x) on Jan 16, 2019 at 1:27pm PST

6pm If I’m not DJing I usually see friends and I like to do stuff like go to the movies, go to the theatre, or go for dinner. My friends and I really like this place called Fish on Bleecker Street in the West Village. They do a really great wine and oysters special. I love ordering in too. Because I’m out so much, there’s something so nice about getting breakfast delivered to you at 11 o’clock at night (I often eat dinner quite late). I love the movies, I take myself to the movies all the time if I just feel like getting out. I love going to the theatre, that’s one of my favourite things. I recently saw this fantastic play called What the Constitution Means To Me which is a one-woman show about how the constitution has failed to serve and support women. It’s phenomenal.

8pm If I’m DJing, I’m pretty low maintenance when it comes to getting ready. If I spend more than five minutes on my makeup, I’ll just keep on putting on more eye-shadow or more blush or whatever, and then the next thing I know I’m like, uh, what happened to my face. And I hate looking like I’ve been too made up; it feels really un-me.

In terms of what I’m wearing, I’ll never make a decision until it’s five minutes before I leave the house. Comfort is really important, so I don’t wear shoes I can’t walk in or clothes that are too tight. I never want to feel like I want something to be over, just so I can be comfortable again. I love super tall shoes but I won’t wear high-heels that are flat under the toe, because I just feel like I’m going to fall over. So wedges were life-changing for me. I think my style’s quite ’60s and ’70s-influenced, so I like big tall wedges, silky flowy things, colourful things. I like things that are a bit androgynous, like a pantsuit. I have tiny boobs, so I take absolute advantage of it and wear crochet tops and dresses strategically pinned together with safety pins.

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honey I’m home.. 🇨🇦🎧🖤 big love & gratitude to @natashankpr @rollingstone for having me spin tunes at the #producersball @tiff_net last night! #rollingstone #party #ithouse #nkprtiff19 #tiff #tiff19 #toronto #canada #filmfestival #dj #aboutlastnight

A post shared by Samantha Michelle 🇨🇦 (@samanthamichelle.x) on Sep 7, 2019 at 8:43am PDT

9pm I make a really conscientious effort to make sure that at least one night a week I just have no plans and hangout with myself and do whatever I feel like with myself, usually it means sitting on my sofa eating vegan ice cream and watching TV. I wander into a different space creatively in the evenings because I’m not getting people texting and emailing me. So this is the time to write, and work on scripts, and read and just dream things up in my head.

The post A Day in the Life of Samantha Michelle, a Toronto-born DJ Who’s Opened For Mark Ronson appeared first on FASHION Magazine.

A Day in the Life of Samantha Michelle, a Toronto-born DJ Who’s Opened For Mark Ronson published first on https://borboletabags.tumblr.com/

[howtoimprovementalhealth-blog]

WHAT’S YOUR MENTAL FITNESS SCORE?

My friend Audrey works out five days a week. On the sixth day, she does Bikram Yoga in sweltering heat. Then on the seventh day, she “rests” by doing an 8-mile walk.

Know someone like that?

Yes, we all know that one person who exhausts us, just by telling us their workout routine. As a nation, we spend over $26 billion annually, on fitness. That’s great; we’re looking hotter, wearing muscle shirts and lifting our body weight on our pinkies. In fact, in our online health bootcamps, the fitness section ends up being very popular!

However, let’s talk about mental fitness for a change. Suicides of stars such as the iconic Anthony Bourdain or beloved designer, Kate Spade are shining a much-needed spotlight on our mental health crisis which is costing us of $200 billion and affects about 60 million Americans. Yup, 1 in 4 Americans suffers from some mental illness every year. It’s very likely that this number excludes the underreported teen mental health crisis.

So what is going on?

Some of the mental health issues are complex and inescapable, and my heart goes out to those struggling to heal from them.

However, a portion of this crisis, in my opinion, is due to our mental “obesity”. We are mentally fat and out of shape, incapable of handling this crazy roller coaster ride, called life. Our mental muscles are weak and flabby from overstimulation and overfeeding on a buffet of mentally disturbing media tweets, posts, alerts, and dings.

We have to remember that we are a beautifully brilliant mental program that’s absorbing everything around us.

Unfortunately, what we absorb today by the way of mouth, sight, sound, smell, and emotions is driving our less than joyful mental state.

It’s time we started treating our mind as the muscle that it is, and feed and flex it to keep it strong! In my opinion, the feeding of our mind includes not just nutrition but also sleep, socializing and social media.

So, if we watch crap, eat crap, and sleep like crap, we are bound to feel and act like crap. Hanging out with crappy people? Guess how you’re going to feel the next day?

I see it as simple math that no one mentioned to me when I talked to my primary care doctor years ago. Her terse reply was, “what do you expect, you’ve got two little kids, a full-time startup job and a traveling husband. Its normal to feel weepy and exhausted.”

Now looking back, having conducted 75+ interviews with health pioneers, I can say definitely that it was not normal and it was totally fixable.

Every day, every action either feeds your mind to joy or jitters.

I wasn’t sleeping well, eating right or breathing and resting. I was literally doing everything to contribute to a terrible state of mind,

So, whenever you feel sad, anxious, angry or reactive, take some time to think about what you’ve been feeding your mind lately. Better yet, become mindful of giving your mind exactly what it needs to stay fit!

Check out the short and totally unscientific quiz below that I crafted to help you gauge your mental fitness. Then scroll down to see your results and the explanation for the quiz. Let’s get started!

MENTAL FITNESS QUIZ

Do you laugh at least 3 times each day with genuine (not fake!) glee and find joy in small things?

Do you have the willpower to say NO to that extra brownie, drink, smoke, or double cheeseburger 90 percent of the time?

Do you get at least seven hours of deep restorative sleep every night?

Do you view social media, TV, Netflix etc for less than 2 hours every day?

Are you consciously grateful for the little things like running warm water and almond milk at Starbucks?

Do you spend time with people you love at least once a week?

Do you get out in nature and say hello to the sun for at least 30 minutes a day, 5 times a week?

Are you loved? Do you love yourself?

Do you rest and breathe deeply several times a day for a few minutes?

Do your meals include 50% healthy fats, fresh fruits, and vegetables?

SCORE

THE BOSS: MENTAL ROCKSTAR (8-10 YES)

If you answered YES to about 80% of the questions above, your mind is rock solid. You are the boss of your emotions and you’re not about to let anyone tell you how to feel or what to feel. You know you are in a creation of love and are strong enough to handle any crap that may come your way. Also, you have strong boundaries and try to live mindfully.

THE INTERN: MENTAL MIDSTAR (5-8 YESes)

If you answered YES to at least 50% of the questions above, that’s a good start! However, you’re definitely not in charge yet. You’re like an intern, still doing what others tell you to do. Like a poor intern, your emotions are on a roller coaster depending on the 10 factors above. For you, a bad day is just one social media post away. Or around the corner from one sleepless night. It’s an exhausting way to live and you’re probably moody as heck!

Remedy: Keep a diary and track which of the above-mentioned skills you need to work on to become the Boss!

THE JANITOR: MENTAL ROOKIE (0-4 YESes)

If you answered Yes to 4 or less, you’re probably familiar with mental messiness. Janitors have the fun job of cleaning up all the mess and so do you.  Your mental mess maybe the extra or unwarranted irritability, anger, anxiety, fear or just a constant stream of negative self-talk. You may be contemplating using or already using sleeping pills, happy pills, wake up pills, weight loss pills and any other pill you hope will fix whatever you think is broken.

Sadly, no pill will. But there’s great news still: YOU can fix your problems!

Remedy: Take each question above and figure out how to get to a YES on it. Take your time, but be sure to get that question to a yes before you move to the next. Eventually, life should get lighter, easier, and more engaging. Before you know it, you’ll be the Boss of your emotions and a heavyweight champ in mental fitness.

(Legal disclaimer: See your doctor before you make any change to anything).

QUIZ EXPLAINED

So you’re probably wondering what the science is behind this totally unscientific mental fitness quiz created in a Starbucks while sipping steamed almond milk with nutmeg?

Having interviewed almost 60 brilliant health practitioners I’m sharing how I came up with the quiz questions and the recommendations.

 1. Do you laugh at least 3 times each day with genuine (not fake!) glee and find joy in small things?

Our brain creates pathways based on emotions. The more often you travel on the same emotional path, the more your brain subconsciously jumps onto that pathway. Translation – if you tend to laugh a lot, you’ll laugh even more. If you tend to find faults often, everything will always appear faulty. So the great news about this revelation is that we can fake our way to mental fitness. Find reasons to laugh (watch cat videos, memes, comedy channels, whatever tickles you) and you’ll find more and more things funny and entertaining.

 2. Do you have the willpower to say NO to that extra brownie, drink, smoke, double cheeseburger 90 percent of the time? If you remember your first yoga class or your first marathon, then you know what it means to push through when your body is screaming “NO WAY”. Willpower is the basis of mental fitness. Having the power to say No to spending an hour on Facebook, or simply deleting your twitter account is a significant piece of mental fitness. Otherwise, you’re merely one step away from being a robot programmed by the masterminds around you. Just like it takes willpower to walk away from a Krispy Kreme doughnut in the office kitchen, it takes serious willpower to walk away from negative self-talk. But, you can develop the inner strength if you focus on it. Start small, make a list of what you should be saying “No” to but aren’t. Then get started with one item at a time. Before you know it, you’ll be in charge with a strongly developed “No” mental muscle.

 3. Do you get at least seven hours of deep restorative sleep every night?

According to so many studies, if you lose sleep, you lose your mind. There are hundreds of studies that show an undeniable connection between sleep and the mind. So if you’re a proud night owl, insomniac or a college student, your constant thoughts of misery may just your brain being sad about not getting enough zzzs. For some of us on the wrong side of 40 years, we would like to sleep, but can’t quite seem to catch that perfect snooze. Thanks to a little help from my podcast guests I now sleep like a baby. My secret potion? I apply some magnesium and take a drop of vitamin D with K. If you’re getting less than 7 hours of quality sleep, prioritize fixing it. These days there are such great natural sleep supporters that you have no reasons to suffer poor sleep. Just remember sleeping pills are not the answer, according to various doctors. It is vital to get natural, deep, restorative sleep.

 4. Are you on social media, TV, Netflix etc for less than 2 hours every day? Imagine eating the buffet at Bellagio, the Venetian and Mandalay Bay combined, at the same time, and for free? That is exactly what happens to our minds on social media! Naturally, our mind enjoys living vicariously through other people. Lying in bed scrolling through a celebrity’s social media feed, reading about a recent feud or reading someone’s food recipe is to our brain what a bubble bath is to our body. It just wants to sink in with a glass of wine and never come out. But then, there’s the subconscious thought flow that accompanies the passive scrolling: “I’m not as pretty, as rich, or as successful, as ____” producing an inevitable sense of sadness. The results of studies performed to evaluate emotional states after Facebook binging are not pretty. Worse still, the stories we often get riled up about on social media, in the news, or on Netflix are just that — stories! Perfectly filtered to feed our lowest emotions. Do not fall for them. It is time to take back your sanity! Limit social media and entertainment consumption to less than 1 hour a day, total. Instead, read a good book or go for a walk with a friend.

 5. Are you grateful for the little things like running warm water and almond milk at Starbucks? While social media can make you feel unloved and “not very special”, gratitude can fix it in less than 5 minutes every day. It is the closest thing to a “silver bullet” for all that ails you. For one thing, you can’t be grateful and sad/angry/anxious at the same time. So make up a list of specific things you are truly grateful for and read them daily! What I did during my two years of my health crisis is write a word of gratitude in the morning and right before bed. I ended up creating The Health Journal, a weekly health tracking and inspirational journal, as there was nothing easy or quick to track gratitude and my health. I’m not the only fan, check out what Kelly Noonan Gores says in our interview on the HEAL documentary.

Just start by acknowledging simple, wonderful things that happen daily, like waking up! Jokes aside, millions don’t wake up every single day, so if you woke up that’s worthy of a little gratitude (according to Sadhguru) and me! Now that I’ve developed this practice, I find myself constantly saying thanks – for a delicious brownie that I couldn’t eat a year ago to the warm hugs from my teen daughters.

 6. Do you spend time with people you love at least once a week? There’s a sad transition that happens between childhood to adulthood. We stop hanging out with the people who love us unconditionally (ahem, parents) and start spending time with those who we want to associate with for various reasons. That might mean choosing the mean but popular kids in high school, the hot/cool teens in college, or the boring boss who controls your promotion. Nevertheless, we are subconsciously aware that these are transactional and transitional relationships built on some form of codependency and not love. As I get older, I realize how crucial it is that I cultivate loving relationships with people who respect me for who I truly am inside. Even the presence of only one loving friend can bring you a sense of general well-being. Yes, your spouse counts too! Prioritize spending time with people who really love you, from your family to those few friends who will drop everything if you ever need them.

 7. Do you get out in nature and “say hello” to the sun for at least 30 minutes a day, 5 times a week?

As humans, we have gone from living under the sun and in nature to living inside and under artificial lights. This has changed everything. We often forget that the sun and moon power our design in a significant way. Our brains are wired to pick up cues from the sun, and our body needs the sun for thousands of processes (not found in a bottle called, Vitamin D+ K, although I take it regardless).  We need nature to keep us in balanced and in rhythm, yet, so few of us spend time having a picnic or a hike over the weekend. After sleeping, this is the second most important of the ten factors for mental fitness. It’s virtually a shortcut to better fitness! Schedule your daily lunch in the sun with your feet on the grass, instead of eating in a tiny cubicle, and watch everything get better! I am not exaggerating. Try it for 40 days and share your experience in the comments.

 8. Are you loved? Do you feel loved?

Can you look in the mirror and say, “I love you” without cringing? Try it. It took me months before I could do it without giggling or making funny faces at myself. One of my favorite authors and inspirational speakers, Louise Hay, introduced this concept and calls it mirror work. The brilliant and famous psychologist to the stars, Marisa Peer, talks about the critical importance of being able to say, “I am enough.” A great antidote to the world making us feel unworthy is to look in the mirror and repeat, “I love you.” In my interview with Dawson Church on beating anxiety, he said at the very end that the most important thing anyone can do is to love themselves. It sounds easy, but so few of us treat ourselves the way we treat others. Track how many times you are mean to yourself with words like, “you idiot” or “stupid you.” How many times do you acknowledge that you love YOU? Every cell is listening, and they need to know that you love them no matter your size, color, level of education, bank balance, or accomplishments. Ensuring that you love you is the single most valuable thing you can do, starting today. Other than, you know, sleep, sun and laughing.

 9. Do you rest and breathe deeply at least a few times a day?

Somehow rushing around has become a norm. Trying to pack three days of work into one has become a thing of pride. Perhaps not for all of us, but some of us. This only ends in sheer exhaustion. Rushing around creates many ripples with an overall dangerous impact. First, it makes you breathe poorly. You begin to experience shallow and quick breathing which creates a lack of high-quality oxygen needed by cells. Second, constantly hurrying signals to your brain that there’s a tiger somewhere (your body uses breathing to figure out when to release fight or flight hormones) which propels it into action by changing your chemical composition in seconds. More glucose is released, your digestion shuts down, sending more blood to your extremities. Your body is ready to fight or run and certainly not prepared for that sandwich you’re wolfing down while driving madly through traffic. Then, we wonder why digestive issues are the new epidemic! So, take time to rest, as your grandmother did. Rest after lunch. Take breath breaks where you simply sit for 5 minutes and a deep breath. Check out some great breathing exercises for anxiety with Dr. Mukta Khalsa here.

 10. Do your meals include 50% good fats, fresh fruits, and vegetables?

Finally, we cannot conclude any fitness talk without a section on nutrition. After all, without food, we die. However, because our poor minds cannot speak as loudly as our cravings, they are ignored. So, I’m here to remind you that your mind would like some good fats, like avocado and olive oil, to feel safe and loved. It would love some juicy organic in-season fruit to feed its creative juices. It would like some dark greens as a connection to our beautiful planet. Feeding our mind a diet of lab-made food (sorry, but did you think that chicken nugget was real food for your mind?) only creates a huge deficit, which no amount of sleep is going to balance. Just like your car won’t drive on good wishes, your mind isn’t getting fit on nuggets. I’m not making a case to boycott nuggets if that’s your thing, but it should be an occasional treat. Prioritize feeding your mind for fitness. It will reward you with a burst of joy like you’ve never experienced before.

Let’s prioritize mental fitness and together create a more loving life experience for all!

Follow Reena on Twitter @reenajadhav Linkedin www.linkedin.com/in/reena or Facebook Reena Jadhav

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Reena Jadhav Host of Podcast HEALTHIER and founder of HealthBootcamps.com the leader in online health programs with renowned doctors to beat cancer, heart health, weight loss, beat diabetes and more.

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 36. Indonesia

This post is about our trip to Indonesia. Yes, we went to Bali, but there’s a stereotype there that I want to avoid… This trip wasn’t just about tank tops, Bintang, and yoga.

Sure, Chelsay and I wanted to enjoy the comforts that make this small island world-famous: Balinese massages, relaxing vibes, and tasty meals made from clean, organic ingredients. But it’s the “world-famous” part that’s actually become an issue for Bali.

See, all of Bali’s popularity has come at a cost: authentic Indonesian experiences. That would be Chelsay and I’s challenge this trip: obviously we’d indulge in Balinese massages, but we’d need to carefully balance these comforts with unique and authentic local adventures.

I actually bought these Indo flights all the way back in February. Four months ago. Direct flights from Sydney to Bali and back.

For Chelsay and I, four months is a lot of lead time... I guess I’d buy our Euro flights pretty far in advance too, but we’d have five other trips (and a wedding) to simultaneously plan. It’s good we had some extra time for Bali though, because this trip required a bit more attention than usual.

I alluded to this in the intro, but my big fear for Bali was that it’d become too touristy. With Billabongs and Starbucks on every corner, a lot of Balinese resort towns had basically become Sydney neighborhoods.

I don’t understand how those places still draw crowds. Everyone is entitled to their own travel priorities, but if you’re flying all that way, why would you want to do the same things you could at home? I remember I had the same feeling in college: we’d drive all the way to Vancouver just to hang out at the exact same bars we had on The Ave. What was the point?

For Chelsay and I, the purpose of traveling is to experience new places in a locally authentic way. That said, there are still places in Bali where you can escape the crowds, I’d just need four month lead time to find them.

Things got creative in the 16 weeks after I bought flights, but by departure day, we had a perfect itinerary: a balanced blend of adventure, relaxation, sights, culture, activity, and treat yo’selfs. We had a late flight into Bali though, so Chelsay and I had to contain our excitement for one more night.

The next morning, as the sun rose, I immediately knew we were in for an incredible week.

It’s 6:30, so a late start for Mike. I realize we’re in this amazing resort (Kupu Kupu Barong), so I roll out of bed, throw on a robe, and head straight for the patio. As I open the door to our thatched-roof villa, light pours through the crack and all I can see is green. Unlike anything I’d seen before.

Our hotel was carved into a steep riverside hill, so the patio had unobstructed views up and down this lush valley. Everything was coated in green. A vertical wall of banyan and palm trees dropped directly into farm terraces below, while singing birds and crowing roosters competed to be heard over the rushing river. I sat on our patio in absolute nirvana for an hour.

Chelsay soon joined me (not that soon), and we had breakfast delivered to our room. What a way to start this trip... amazing views, fresh OJ, Javanese coffee, sausage, eggs, and yogurt. We’d only been in Bali for a couple hours, but already knew this place was paradise.

After breakfast, Chelsay and I decided to head into town. Our resort was near Ubud, which is the artistic, organic, yoga capital of Bali. Everyone describes it as Eat, Pray, Love, but I wouldn't get the reference.

 Either way, the town still has Indo charm. It isn’t quite quiet, but given it’s two hours from the airport, Ubud is certainly less touristy than other Balinese towns. Shops line the streets, with wicker bags, Ganesh statues, and patterned sarongs tumbling into the already thin sidewalks. Masses of scooters whiz around without any regard for lanes... They’re like rushing water, filling every bit of open space.

There’s also a temple on every other street, which was a bit of a surprise. I’d mapped out a few specific temples I wanted to see, but didn’t realize there would be so many! Every one of them was impossible to overlook... It didn’t matter which temples were especially holy or most Instagrammed. You could walk into any random temple and it would be as masterfully stone-crafted and ornately detailed as the last.

We wandered up and down the streets of Ubud for a bit, but had a destination in mind: the Sacred Monkey Forest. I’d never seen a monkey in the wild, so I was especially excited for this stop. Chelsay, who’d seen them in India, had warned me that they can be mischievous. Even she couldn’t have prepared for these Balinese bandits.

As we arrived at the forest, I realized the monkeys were just part of the show. Much like our koala hunt in Lemon Tree Passage, the setting distracted Chelsay and I from our mission. This place was a true jungle: moss covered walkways, vines stretching out from every tree limb, and roots grasping out to grab any ground they could reach. It was Bali, so obviously there were temples in the forest too.

Luckily, Chelsay and I could easily search for monkeys while enjoying our surroundings, because these little guys were everywhere. I later found out that there are 1,000 monkeys in the 30 acre forest! That scooter-to-water-dynamics metaphor just as easily applies here. These monkeys were climbing all over the temples, hanging from statues, swinging on vines, sitting on visitor’s heads, and stealing people’s food and water bottles.

In the mayhem, Chelsay and I witnessed a monkey hop onto a guy’s backpack, reach in, and steal perfume from one of the pockets. What could this bandit possibly do with his loot? I got closer to find out, and I could see that he’d managed to remove the cap and was figuring out how the spray worked. Then I apparently got too close. He started screaming, showed his teeth, hopped beside me, and slapped my arm.

Meanwhile, Chelsay wasn’t having much luck either. She was quietly taking a rest from the commotion when another monkey came over to her. To avoid having this monkey similarly flip out, Chelsay didn’t make eye contact.

The monkey kept coming closer and closer. He reached out and started feeling her shorts... They must’ve passed some test, because he then hopped onto Chelsay’s lap! It was all smiles for a few seconds, before a serious look fell onto Chelsay’s face. In the most strangely calm way, Chelsay matter-of-factly proclaimed: “He’s peeing on me.”

I don’t know she kept it together! I would’ve tossed this monkey 20 feet, but she somehow managed to lightly move him from her lap before rushing off to the nearest sink.

Within a matter of minutes, I’d been bitch-slapped by a monkey and Chelsay was peed on. We really showed them who the dominant species was.

Needing a break from the monkeys, Chelsay and I retired to the Ubud’s rice fields, where we grabbed a very natural, healthy meal from Sari Organik.

I mentioned earlier that I’d put together an itinerary that perfectly balanced adventure and relaxation. The monkeys were enough adventure for the day, so the next few hours would be pure treat yo’self. First, Chelsay and I shared a Balinese couple’s massage at the resort’s tree spa. The “tree spa” was genuinely in a tree. It was like a gilded tree fort.

After the massage, we enjoyed some pool time and whiskeys while the sun set, before a bubble bath with a pot of coffee on the side. Dope.

Then, to wrap up our wonderful FIRST day, Chelsay and I had “dinner” at Room 4 Dessert. This place is run by one of the world’s best pastry chefs, Will Goldfarb, and was featured on Netflix’ Chef’s Table.

Will (we’re best friends so I can call him that) started in NYC, where his dessert-only restaurant earned him celebrity status. Sensing fame had gone to his head though, he packed up and left to open the same restaurant in Bali. A nine-course dessert menu with weird dish names, unique ingredients, and killer cocktails. That’s right, NINE-COURSE DESSERT only. Skip the protein and veggies, thanks. Just sugar for us.

Chelsay and I’s favorites that night were the Skinny Blanquette (coconut ice cream, with coconut shavings, and coconut wafer that melted in your mouth) and Chocobubbles (just read the description and you’ll understand why). Chelsay’s Veronica Corningstone cosmo also paired perfectly with our dishes.

The next morning, I again woke up at 6:00, but it was worth another jaw dropping view. For Day 2, fog was rolling through the valley, and an early morning rain yielded a rainbow.

After another patio breakfast, Chelsay and I decided to visit the Tegallalang rice paddies. Rather than get a taxi though, we voluntarily chose to take part in the scooter flood I described earlier.

In no time, we were zipping around Ubud, weaving through traffic on our nimble bike. I didn’t have any issue with the tight roads and imaginary lanes... Chelsay described me as the James Bond of scootering, and I feel like I blended right in with the locals. The locals might have thought so too: while driving, a fellow biker pulled up beside us and we shared a full conversation. “Where are you from? Oh, you’ve been to the US. Yeah, New York is great... cold winters though.”

After this social hour, it was time for the rice paddies. There’s a short path that takes your through the tiered valley, and Chelsay and I happened to go while the farmers were actually in the field. My biggest takeaway from our paddy hike: rice is an incredibly low return food. It takes so much effort to get even one grain. You have to flatten the land into tiers (from the pictures you can see the size of these tiers), hope for the right weather conditions, wait for the harvest, and pick the tiniest grains... and it isn't even that filling! Regardless, I can absolutely appreciate the mastery these farmers had over their land. It was hard, traditional labor, and seeing that will make me never waste a grain of rice again.

As we were leaving the rice paddy, Chelsay and I started to feel a few drops of rain. It’s Bali, a tropical island, so we certainly expected some showers. What came next was an absolute monsoon though. Chelsay and I were caught in the middle of a biblical downpour... We were outside. On a scooter. Weaving through traffic to find cover. Obviously we didn’t film while driving in the rain, but this video is from just afterwards:

From researching, I knew there was an authentic Italian place nearby, Uma Cucina. We were completely drenched when we walked in... like, we could ring our shirts and shorts out. I mentioned Bali is a tropical island though, so my guess is we weren’t the first soaked couple to walk in. They had towels and a blow dryer ready for us immediately. The food at this place matched the service too, as clean, organic Balinese ingredients made up the perfect Carbonara and Bolognese.

The rain subsided for a bit, so Chelsay and I decided to swing by one more temple before we left Ubud for Tulamben: Goa Gajah. The highlights of this temple are the Elephant Shrine, with an ornately decorated barong cave entrance, and a set of female fountains, whose water is meant to provide eternal life. ...Chelsay and I were still drenched from earlier though so I assume we’re invincible now.

Just kidding, we’re definitely not invincible because we both got colds that day! This was an especially big problem because we’d planned on going to Tulamben that night for shipwreck diving the next day. It was a three hour drive there, and given we were sick, we weren’t even sure it would be safe to scuba. In an extremely rare mid-vacation audible, I decided to cancel both our Tulamben hotel & the next day’s dive, and instead stay two extra nights at Kupu Kupu. Chelsay and I ordered room service that night, took a ton of vitamins, and got to sleep early.

We still felt sick the next morning, but were on the come-up. By noon, and after our requisite breakfast and coffee, we were ready for the day.

Truth be told, I was actually considering audibling out of Tulamben even before Chelsay and I got sick. First, I wasn’t sure one or two dives would be worth a six hour round trip (especially because we were absolutely diving later in the week). Second, and more importantly, I now knew how much fun scootering was, and it became my new goal to cruise through the Balinese countryside on a bike.

Having mastered the roads during a monsoon, driving on a dry day was a breeze. Chelsay and I buzzed through rice fields at 60 km/h, weaving between village traffic (aka dogs) and navigating hair-pin turns on our way through foggy mountains.

We actually drove about two hours outside of Ubud, and our first stop was Ulun Danu Beratan, a picturesque temple perched beside a lake in northwest Bali. As we stared out at the peaceful lake, it was striking to me how white Bali’s clouds were. I realize all clouds are a shade of white, but these were so big and bright. They might have been heaven.

We continued racing through the mountains, passing monkeys along the side of the street, before reaching the mountain peaks near Munduk. From here, we could see the lush, green northern coast of Bali gently descending into the sea. We found a lunch spot nearby, The View, and had a delicious traditional meal to go with our phenomenal view.

We actually had lunch pretty late, so our two hour ride back to Ubud coincided with sunset. I’ll never forget racing through those windswept rice fields as the sky put on a colorful show above us. This ride was absolutely top 3 memories from our trip.

To wrap up a perfect day (in which we started out sick!), Chelsay and I shared another clean, healthy traditional Indonesian meal. This meal was courtesy of Warang Palau Kelapa, where they grow their own veggies in a farm overlooked by the restaurant.

The next morning, we enjoyed another killer patio breakfast. I’ve always said you can judge a Mexican restaurant’s quality based on the salsa they bring out before... Are vacation days the same with breakfast?

Actually, this was a travel day, so there was a ceiling on how cool it could be. We were flying to Labuan Bajo, which was a deliberate attempt to continue avoiding hordes of tourists. The flight itself was short, but we sat next to Arjen Robben, who I later learned was a world famous soccer player for Bayern Munich and the Dutch national team.

Arjen must be a savvy traveler, because he clearly knew that Labuan Bajo is the gateway to some of the world’s most amazing sites, namely Komodo Island and its Komodo dragons. That said, I don’t think it’s quite hit mainstream tourism yet. This is good because there aren’t many crowds, but it can also make it hard to find quality hotels or restaurants. Chelsay’s friend Alex is the only person we knew that had been before, and she described the town as “a piece of shit.”

I decided to book a place about 15 minutes outside of town: Villa Domanik. Risky given the distance, but it’s probably better than staying in town. We grabbed an airport taxi and I pulled up the route on my phone. The surroundings were very different from Bali: dry, arid, and certainly less touristy. Again, that can be a good and bad thing... On one hand, Chelsay and I want to escape the crowds, but on the other, tourist infrastructure clearly has not reached Labuan Bajo. We turned off what was already a shitty road onto an even shittier dirt road. I had the map pulled up, so I knew we weren’t being driven off to be killed in the woods... That said, I also thought there was no way we’d stay at this place for three nights. We were in the middle of nowhere with seemingly no easy way into town.

We arrived at the hotel, which was hidden behind a gate. I already had the Booking.com app open and ready to search for a different hotel, when we stepped into a beautiful paradise. Butterflies bouncing between flower beds, papaya trees and banana palms lightly rustling in the breeze, and a massive infinity pool overlooking the Flores Bay. I closed the Booking.com app.

I didn’t make any plans that day (balancing adventure with absolute relaxation), so we threw on our bathing suits and played in the pool for the entire afternoon. Everything about this day reminded me of Santorini. Jaw dropping views: check. Private pool for just Chelsay and I: check. Salad and pizza delivered for lunch: check. Colorful, bursting sunset: check.

Our relaxing Day 1 in Labuan Bajo would be followed by two aggressive days. For Day 2, I’d arranged a boat to take us to some nearby islands. I’d expected a powerful speed boat, but I set my expectations based on Villa Domanik when I should’ve based them on the town of Labuan Bajo. Rather than a speed boat, we essentially got a 25 foot plank powered by the motor for one of those handheld fans. Luckily I’d gotten it for just Chelsay and I, so we were able to lounge about on our two hour trip... Well, at least during the less choppy stretches.

The rickety wooden boat somehow completed the long journey to our first stop, the island of Padar. It’s a very small island, maybe 3 miles from end to end, but hosts an incredible view from its highest point. From research, I knew the view we had in store, but made sure Chelsay looked the opposite direction until we reached the top. After a sweaty and steep 300 foot ascent, we finally turned around to take this in:

I’ve been to 30-some-odd countries and seen some incredible things, but the view from this peak has to be in the top 5. It’s just not a real place. The island itself is mesmerizing, with ever undulating hills filling land that seems to grasp out in every direction. White sand trims its coastline, while teal blue beaches highlight the island against the surrounding deep blue sea.

After an hour on Padar, Chelsay and I continued to our next island stop: Komodo. This island, along with nearby Rinca Island, are the world’s only homes to Komodo Dragons. Arriving felt like Jurassic Park, and the system for ticketing felt similarly prehistoric. Because most visitors came with group tours, their guide would speak with a qualified park ranger to lead them on a walk around the island. Chelsay and I had a private “boat” though, so we were left to find a ranger on our own. We didn’t want to join one of the larger groups, so I ended up paying a $2 (20,000 IDR) bribe to some local kid that lived on the island. He definitely wasn’t a ranger and probably wasn’t qualified to give us this tour, but he knew his way around and could help us avoid the big groups while finding Komodo Dragons.

I couldn’t understand a word this kid spoke (shirt softener or shirt souvenir?), but he managed to find a pack of six Komodo Dragons, which is a big accomplishment given there are only 6,000 left in the world. These “Dragons” were a bit more docile than the ones you’d seen on Planet Earth, but they still showed some fight with challenging hissing, powerful slapping tails, and snake-like tongues licking their bloody mouths. Oh, but one other sign that our guide wasn't qualified: he kept asking Chelsay and I to take pictures of him with the dragons!

After seeing the dragons, our definitely-not-legit guide must’ve decided he’d earned his $2 bribe. He led us on a winding route that just ended back where we’d started. We asked if there were any more dragons, and he signaled to wait one moment. He jogged off 50 feet and, still clearly visible to us, peeked around an equally visible tree. He jogged back and very apologetically said “Sorry, no more dragons there.” We figured our dragon six-pack was enough of a success, so let him off the hook.

Our next destination was one nine months in the making. No, it wasn’t a baby, but a child of sorts. See, Chelsay and I first started diving on our honeymoon in the Maldives, a Mecca for manta ray sightings. Unfortunately it wasn’t manta season, so although we saw sharks and turtles and cuttlefish, we didn’t see any mantas that trip. Our second opportunity for a manta sighting was in Western Oz, where we could’ve snorkeled with the shy sea creatures in Coral Bay. We ultimately decided to swim with a whale shark instead, which was definitely the right call. No regrets, right. Anyway, we had a few opportunities but still hadn’t seen any mantas.

So, back to our third stop: a stretch of current in the Flores Sea known as “Manta Point”. Although it wasn’t manta season, we knew there’d been a few sightings each day, so maybe this third time would be a charm for us.

As the boat pulled into Manta Point, we could see the choppy collision of the cold Indian Ocean and the warmer Flores Sea water. The boat driver and his crew (aka his 9 year old son) were on the lookout for mantas when a flurry of activity started. They didn’t speak ANY English, but the son was pointing out at the water and the Dad was moving the boat towards a dark shadow in the water. Could this be it!?

We quickly geared up and shuffled to the end of the boat. The Dad signaled for us to jump, so we gently plunged in. As with our dolphin and whale shark snorkels, we hit the water and our eyes immediately darted in every direction. Nothing but blue. I popped up to the surface and looked back to the boat, where the crew (again, a 9 year old boy), was pointing towards a spot in the water. Chelsay and I swam quickly, our eyes still darting back and forth.

Then, through the dark blue haze, I could start to see movement below us. No silhouette, just movement. Then color. Black. White. Then an outline. A wing. And a mouth. And gills. Oooooohhhh my gooooood. It was a manta!!!!!!!

It swam so gracefully, with its wings propelling through the water like a bird through the air. It was also massive: much bigger than I expected at about 6 feet from wing to wing. There were also two of them. Wait what!? Two! No, three!! FOUR!!! Actually, holy shit. There are so many massive mantas!

We had to have been in the middle of a migrating pod. Smaller pods of two or three would pass by Chelsay and I before occasionally breaking into some sort of whirling underwater tornado. The normally shy mantas then turned back towards Chelsay and I (Chelsay immediately froze in panic), before swimming right up next to us! Like, less than a foot from our faces. In the video below, you can tell my sense of excitement, accomplishment, and disbelief. We’d finally found mantas.

Eventually the traveling pod passed us by, so Chelsay and I hopped back on our rickety boat. The driver seemed as impressed with the number of mantas, so we motored to catch up and see the pack from above. This had to be a migration because there were mantas everywhere we looked!

A lot happened that day: not only did we get to swim with a migrating pod of mantas, but we also saw the native Komodo Dragon, and took in the stunning views from Padar Island. We were exhausted, and passed out for much of the boat ride back before ordering delivery pasta to the Villa.

It was actually good that we took it easy that night, because Chelsay and I had another aggressive itinerary for Day 3 in Labuan Bajo. I’d arranged a day trip that would take Chelsay and I to three different dive spots, including Manta Point. In our entire week in the Maldives, we’d only been on five dives, so three in one day was a push.

I mentioned earlier that Labuan Bajo is still getting its bearings for tourism, and this dive day was a perfect microcosm. On one hand, our boat was one of the only ones as the Manta Point dive site (aka minimal crowds). On the other, the dive company didn’t seem prepared to really host beginners (aka minimal tourism infrastructure). There were several examples, including poor equipment, the crew forgetting to change Chelsay’s tank, and not weighting our belts sufficiently, but we managed to see some cool things regardless. We didn’t see any mantas (which made it that much crazier that we’d seen 20 the day before!), but did see beautiful colorful coral, cuttlefish, and an anemone eating by pulling particles from the water into its mouth.

The best part of the day was actually meeting a nice British couple. They were a bit older than Chelsay and I, so they’d been a few more places. We compared trips & laughed about our experiences, and they shared tips for the places Chelsay and I planned to visit. That said, what I found most interesting was how similar our stories were. Not just travel stories, but life stories.

They weren’t born explorers, but took one long trip in college and loved it. After a couple months, they got itchy, and planned their next trip together. Then another. Then they moved abroad. Before long, they were completely addicted. Sound familiar?

Their travel priorities were similar too. They wanted to move to Canada or New Zealand next, not only for the outdoor lifestyle, but also to more easily travel to nearby locations. They talked about how much they loved Vietnam and the Philippines... not to party in tourist-heavy resorts, but for the pristine, untouched views. They prioritized experiencing unique cultures in the most authentic way possible, which is exactly what I wrote about earlier in this post.

For dinner on the last night of our trip, we went to MadeinItaly, the lone “nice” restaurant in Labuan Bajo. Chelsay and I were exhausted from the week, and especially from the past two days. This dinner was similar to the Innsbruck ski resort or Exmouth meal after our whale shark snorkel. We were weird, but everything was funny. At MadeinItaly, we couldn’t stop laughing about the wait staff, who were directed by a militant head server. Our waiter brought out just one wine glass when we ordered two, and the head server smacked him on the arm. A waitress brought dessert menus for us and we politely told her we’d already ordered, before the head server raced over to chase the waitress away. We heard one waitress spill a drink on another couple, so I can only assume she’s now missing. This same militaristic precision showed in the food though, as we enjoyed THREE pasta dishes (pumpkin risotto, slow-cooked beef tortellini, and a salty tagliatelle alla ragu) before the start of the night: lemon millefoglie.

The next day, our flight back to Sydney wasn’t until 4:00, so Chelsay and I woke up slowly, drank our coffees slowly, ate our toast and papaya spread slowly, and lazily lounged beside the pool. It was another relaxing day in a trip that perfectly balanced treat yo’self comforts with wild adventure. On one hand, we enjoyed rain forest villas, tree fort massages, nine-course desserts, and pizzas beside our private infinity pool. On the other, we scootered through rice fields, hiked the pristine Padar Island, spotted the rare Komodo Dragon, swam with manta rays, and were peed on by monkeys.

Most importantly though: throughout these adventures and relaxing moments, we managed to avoid the crowds. We weren’t trapped in touristy Bali. We were deliberate in taking advantage of what makes this part of the world so unique. Of course we had comforts most locals don’t often enjoy, but our best memories from this trip were authentically Indonesian. Fog rolling through the rain forest valley in Ubud, a colorful sunset over lush green Balinese rice fields, slowly cruising the Komodo National Park waters in our rickety boat.

These are moments that I’ll remember forever, and the exact experiences Chelsay and I aim for in our travels.

[kateemmerson]

What are YOU sincerely proud of today?

Do you breathe your very essence and power into your life every day?

Or do you tend to play small and tone it all down?

Why is it that we are still sometimes too shy to share the great things in our life? All that stuff we are taught when little about keeping your light under a bushel and not blowing your own trumpet…..I think that ultimately we do ourselves an injustice. So, today I am challenging you to actually stand up and be proud of who you are and what you are achieving in your life, no matter how small or big it appears externally. I have been sharing my secrets lately about radical shifts, tough times etc, so what about sharing some of the groovy stuff I am experiencing too?

Are you able to acknowledge something awesome in your life today that you are so proud of it could burst out of you if you let the world to see? It can be something small that is just for your own self-esteem – knowing that you got through today, or being proud that you are sticking to your exercise routine. Or that you actually remembered to call your friend on a day you know mattered to them. It could be an outcome at work that leaves you feeling proud and puffing out your tailfeathers – perhaps something a colleague did in passing this morning that reminded you how awesome you are?

Or maybe it’s a real biggie that you have been feeling shy to share with others – will they be jealous, not be happy for you or do you battle to take the credit? Close your eyes for a moment and let yourself feel the energy of being truly proud of yourself. Not in an overly egotistical way, but more of in an “I am prepared to acknowledge this because it makes me feel honestly great” kind of way.

  PRACTICAL CHALLENGE RIGHT NOW! Find something that you are willing to acknowledge and tell 5 people today.

Mmm yes 5!

My masterminders have to do that every two weeks when we meet- start off by sharing something they feel is a success! It builds self-worth and keeps the positive energy flowing especially when things feel a little rocky or tough! Yes 2017, we know what you have thrown at us!

What is something that YOU are proud of accomplishing in your life right now? See if this can stretch your comfort zone just a bit. You may feel awkward, you may feel shy, you may feel like an egotistical and arrogant person…but what if you also feel the light that shines inside you as you share that with another human. Let yourself be seen for whom you really are today……go on!

I am proud of…..!!!

I’d like to share what I am currently proud of with you:  I am so proud that I managed to stick out 3 months in the USA. Even though it has been my dream for the past 3 years to go for an extended 3 month visit to see how much I really love it, I literally went there with NO plans, no specific work lined up in the USA, no conferences to attend or movies to appear in, Premieres to walk the red carpet at or friends birthday’s to celebrate as per every other visit thus far. Of course I always have my location free lifestyle and all my wonderful regular online courses, writers and masterminders. But that was it. Three months stretched out ahead of me – in dollars!

I went essentially to SHOW UP for my third book SHIFT YOUR HOME as I have always had a dream about collaborating in the USA. In the first two weeks I pretty much cried every day, slept ten hours, wondered what the HELL I was doing and just felt so so very alone, small and helpless. Little and pathetic! YEP! So I resorted to my own advice that I dish out and made myself do just ONE thing every day towards finding magic for my third book, and slowly it started unfurling when I got out of my own way! I started doing my yoga at a local studio in San Rafael, hung out at Starbucks to work and guzzle coffee, writing gratitudes and keeping my eye on the bigger dream.  After all, I didn’t want to waste a three-month trip.

SO after wallowing a bit in self created dross, I picked myself up with help from my support teams (my mastermind group, friends, partner and a massive release exercise!) and literally started being as cheeky as all hell and asking people for help to meet people that would be connected to the realty / real estate industry to collaborate with my new book. VOILA- I managed to collide with someone very special and soon we will be releasing the new updated version and online course!

  SO BACK TO YOU!! WHAT ARE YOU SINCERELY PROUD OF? My challenge to you is that you chat to 5 (FIVE) people about what is happening in your life that you are proud of today. Yes, I mean 5!

  And if you really want to UP THE ANTE and put an awesome full stop at the end of the year, keep reading…

WOULD YOU LIKE TO HARNESS 2017 AND CLOSE OUT STRONG?

Every year at this time, I facilitate CLOSE OUT STRONG. Done as a stunningly supported group process you get to harness the GROSS AND GROOVY, the GLEES AND THE GLITCHES from 2017 to set yourself up for a LIGHTER start to 2018.

This process ensures you take stock and take charge. Streamline and focus on what matters so that you don’t limp over the finish line but rather END PROUD AND TALL!

For more information READ HERE Officially starts Friday 24th November, but you can join later if you choose.

What are YOU sincerely proud of today? was originally published on Kate Emmerson - The Quick Shift Deva

[opepin]

october: week four

23: i woke up with no problem today. i got out of bed earlier than usual and then went straight to do legs. i’m dreading doing legs for some reason now. i used the same weight as last week to make sure it wasn’t a fluke or anything lmao. i still took 39 minutes or so to finish my workout T_T lol i was trying to go for a 30 minute workout again. oh well! then i got back, hopped on the computer, and showered. kevin got out of bed without me noticing and scared me in the bathroom x_x; i made myself a smoothie and kevin ate the rest of the buns for breakfast. he left for work (yay, he’s made it outside again haha) and then i did some more research protein powders. i am leaning towards getting the chocolate version of pure foods protein, but it is so expensive! it’s like $40 for 1 lb of protein D: i am looking into naked as well as another brand that i can’t remember. then i tested some things and uploaded my tutorials. i got on a client call and then ate lunch while watching ‘no game no life’ and then went on stand up and straight into making templates for customers. it was a nice chill but busy work day. i would like my work days to be like this. haha. 

kevin reminded me last minute that we didn’t defrost chicken thighs so i went ahead and made the marinade for the lemongrass chicken breast i was going to make tomorrow. lol our blender cannot puree correctly... lol. i tenderized the breasts and made the sauce and put them in a ziplock bag before washing the dishes. it took me an hour to do that and by that time, kevin got back home. while we were waiting for the rice to cook (he was already hungry), i went to the yoga studio to do more legs. i feel like my legs are getting weaker? lol i honestly don’t see any progress in my butt either. x__x; i am going to eat less fat though and keep on though. before i showered, i took a shot at cooking the chicken breast myself. i hate pan frying and using the stove because it’s hard for me to gauge whether or not i’m cooking meat or burning it lol. i did a pretty bad job: the heat was too high and i burned some chicken a bit. i called in kevin for help and he cooked the breasts so well T_T they were so yummy with the char he got on them. i just need to practice more, right?

i showered while kevin handled the chicken and stir frying some zucchini. then we ate dinner and watched yakitate! japan. after dinner, we both did dishes and packed lunch and stuff. then i went to watch anime and kevin went and gamed. i’ve been trying to sleep early again but it’s been on and off for me. eh.

24: i don’t know how but i managed to do a hiit workout in the morning today and get to the office, but really, i got to work late lol... i think i slept in a bit too long and then i took my time working out and showering... i actually think picking out what to wear took more time than i expected @_@; i ended up leaving as kevin was waking up lol. i got to the office at around 10 am and went straight to work, which was prepping for our training session today. lol, cole was forced to come after he said he was going to work from home because john was locked out of the room and today was an all-hands benefits meeting. he was kjadfnksjdf about it, but he seemed to enjoy the day anyway :P i rushed into the single person office and moved all of my stuff in order for me to do training lol. i will definitely do training at home from now on. it’s so much work moving my keyboard, mouse, laptop, adapters, etc to an office for only 1 hour .___.” well, after that, i went into john and cole’s office to listen to the benefits presentation. it was really fun hanging out with these guys. cole showed me the stuff he got from wish LOL.

then i went to eat lunch in the office and i was going to move everything back to the product office but dave was going to lunch and cole and i planned to get a snack so this was the perfect time for it. we went to chatime and beard papa’s. i got a mango green tea with boba. yummm. we sat down and caught up for a bit before heading back. i moved my stuff and then went straight to talking with dave about the game plan for thursday. i spent the rest of the day trying to build out the agenda with dave. lol i had a lot of work to do tomorrow... dave left the office after talking with me about shortening a section and then cole came into the office and waited for me to pack up. i was thinking about staying a bit longer to finish the agenda but i just left it for tomorrow. we walked and talked to the train station and then i met up with kevin :) we commuted home together and then lazed around. today was my rest day so i had my entire evening free~ well, when i got home, i put chicken in the oven right away and made rice. i think kevin gamed a bit and then we ate dinner while watching yakitate! japan. for desert, we finished an entire bag of cheetos. we have finished all of the flaming hot cheetos and i think it hurts my stomach a lot D: at least it’s gone now! :P

after dessert, we played trine 2 until jon messaged kevin and kevin went to play hots. i wasn’t mad because now i could watch ‘no game no life’ huhuhuh. i watched anime until around 11:40 pm and did some stretching before i went to sleep at around 12:30 am. it was a really nice day. wooo! it’s great when you get everything you need done before a certain time in the evening. i feel like i have a lot more free time ;D

25: i worked from home today in order to prepare for the full day of in person training tomorrow without distractions. i went to the yoga studio and did a hiit workout then i made my smoothie and went to work. at first, i felt overwhelmed, but when the end of the day neared, i felt worse LOL. i had a lot to do but i also had one meeting with another client but i had so much to prepare. our template import failed so i had to recreate two journey maps after fixing up the agenda for tomorrow and creating training guides/packets for each section we were going over. @_@; i asked phil if he could help remake the maps but i had some time after making my handouts so i just went for it until the end of the day. phil was also busy so it was okay. i didn’t get to practice but it was the end of the day and i decided to just let it go and wrote in my little notepad “good luck.” LOL. kevin came back pretty early and i finished up watching ‘no game no life.’ it was a good anime and i can’t wait for more O_O lol.

i found out that there was a crunchyroll app for roku and i downloaded it but when i tried using it later on at night, it crashed multiple times. oh well. i did my oblique workout inside the apartment because i was just using the mat. i watched the latest episode of ‘jane the virgin’ while working out. then i went to shower. then i got to catch up on some anime and youtube videos while kevin gamed lol. he made pasta and i just relaxed. we watched yakitate! japan while eating dinner and then i started watching an anime called something ‘elite high school’? idk. it has good reviews but i got really bored of watching it and i was doing something else after a while. i went to sleep before 12 am so i could get up early for tomorrow’s session.

26: oh boyyy. i woke up at 7 am, did my arm workout in the yoga studio, and then showered, and made myself a protein shake before heading out to the office. i thought i would make it in time for our meeting, but i got there 5 minutes late. i was stressed the whole ride because i felt so unprepared to do a full day of in-person training @_@; well, dave was really chill and his attitude calmed me down. we introduced ourselves, hooked up our laptops, and then got to work! we were running about 30 - 60 minutes behind the agenda, but we made it work. everyone in the group was great and receptive and i told me when i needed to slow down. ahha. dave went on a pret run for lunch, we took a break, and then we went back into it. when dave came back with all of our orders, we ate, and then answered questions. i went into smaller things and then after everyone finished eating, we hopped back into training. my brain melted at around 4 pm. o__o i turned really wonky after the session ended. mind you, i only took like 500 steps during the entire work day and i only peed twice LOL. dave made reservations for us for dinner, but i had to decline because i was just so tired after that lol.

cole waited for me in his office so he could show me the pumpkin and 4.5 lb bag of candy/chocolate he got from the amazon truck during lunch! it was $10 for all of that apparently lol. he gave me some chocolate, i gave him leftover starbucks blueberry scones, and we walked to the train station. i was so wonky lmao. i think i was yelling at cole while we were walking and asking weird questions. what a nice way to end a tough day and work week (lol i’m speaking as if it was friday). i waited for kevin on the platform. 2 nearly empty trains left before kevin got to the station -- he tried running for the last one, but didn’t make it. the train that came next was packed LOL but we got on. we got back and my stomach was feeling pretty bad, my hips hurt like crazy from sitting all day, and i just wanted to eat. we got free fruit and chocolate from the front and then we ate leftovers for dinner. we watched yakitate! japan and then kevin gamed and i walked around. lol, i couldn’t make myself sit for a while. then i decided to get my back workout done and i went to the yoga studio. then i showered and watched shokugeki before plopping into bed and just watching youtube videos. i didn’t want to watch any more anime :P

kevin went to sleep at around 1 am, which surprised me. i stayed up until then as well because i was definitely going to work from home tomorrow. i fell asleep waiting for kevin. he stayed up eating a scallion pancake and then going to bed... rood. haha. side note: kevin told me that he waited in bed for me to come back after my workout in the morning only to find out that i wasn’t working from home when he got up LOL. what a silly boy.

27: i slept in today as per kevin’s request lol. he’s so funny. he left for work and then i made myself breakfast: black tea with my vanilla protein powder (when you blend it, it creates foam on top and looks like a latte!) and a bacon breakfast sandwich. in the morning, i caught up with a lot of integration work stuff and dealing with timesheets and whatnot. lol. then i went in and made some changes to clients’ templates and maps. i hopped on a call with phil and caught up a bit. then i sent out some emails and worked on remaking the training template for the second time x__x; i hope this is the last. stand up turned into a design session again, but i stayed on and worked on the templates until 4:30 pm. then i finished creating templates and hiit the yoga studio -- haha, get it? kevin came back while i was exercising. i made rice and we ate leftover chicken thighs for dinner along with some veggies while watching some yakitate! japan. after my workout, i showered and then we went straight into playing new steam games and took a break to eat. i think we played spelunky, helldivers, and another game that was similar to trine 2 but i really liked it. i forgot what it was called. we stopped playing spelunky and kevin talked to ryan on the phone for a bit. i went to stretch while that happened and then after, we continued to game. i went to sleep after i got tired at like 2:30 am and i think kevin stayed up to play a bit of heroes of the storm. it was a nice friday game night with the boyfriend <3333

28: i slept in today again. i woke up at 10:30 am, which was just in time to do my morning stuff and commute to jialing. haha. i ate half of a scallion pancake that kevin heated up in the morning and then i hopped on the train. i transferred at park street today and got on the green line. the experience wasn’t too bad haha. the green line is really clean :O i got off at copley and then walked over to the courtyard restaurant inside the boston public library. i couldn’t get seated without jia so i messaged her and waited. we got afternoon tea and caught up. the food was delicious! i got the darjeeling 2nd flush, and it was the perfect compliment to the sweet and salty treats. we talked and ate for about an hour and then we walked over to the prudential center. overall, afternoon tea was great but pretty pricey. i would go again but not any time soon. then i needed to pee real bad so we stopped by the convention center. the line at the library was long because there was some event happening. i walked jia to the bridge to her hotel and then took the train back home.

i got back at like 3:30 pm. kevin and i meal planned and then we played some more steam games that he bought from the sale. i forgot which ones we tried out...but i know i really like gauntlet. after we gamed for a bit, we went grocery shopping. i felt really crappy for some reason. kevin also felt dizzy because we didn’t really eat lunch. we quickly finished shopping and then got back and i ate leftovers while kevin ate a rice box he got from kam man. kevin cooked some veggies as well. i coordinated with mindy and jia. it didn’t seem like we were going to see jia tonight so kevin and i picked up mindy from the airport via car. then we brought her back home and i just sat and talked with her. we almost forgot about food until mindy mentioned she was hungry. we ordered from fat cat and then drove over to pick up food. they both got lobster mac and cheese. mindy really liked it ;D we also got cajun fries haha. so we talked and ate and it was sooo nice. i missed mindy so much and i’m so glad that she came to visit :D lol we talked until like 2-3 am! it was crazy. i think i showered and both of us went to sleep. mindy stayed up a bit to skype with garrick but kevin and i ko’d at like 3 am. it was also mindy’s first time interacting with kevin?! i didn’t realize that haha. 

29: whewwwww! we all woke up super late haha. i think i got up at around 10:30 am? i’m not sure. i asked mindy if she wanted to workout and she eventually got up and we went to the gym. we did a hiit/strength training workout and we died. omg, this video’s difficulty level is high (or i’m just not fit anymore lol). it was a 45 minute workout and we got through most of it, but skipped one set of a weighted move and went into abs and then stretching. we cooled off and then went back and i made us my fave smoothie, but with peanut butter powder! lol it tasted real health but mindy liked it :D she showered, i bothered kevin while he was rolling in bed, and then i showered and changed and we chilled for a bit. mindy got hungry so she ate her leftover lobster mac and i ate a sweet potato. then we took the train to copley and walked to fomu! fomu specializes in vegan ice cream and treats. i got a regular sized cup with a scoop of apple cider donut and magic bar -- the ice cream was soooo good. mindy said it tasted like a thick yogurt, which is true, but it was an alternative that tasted the most like ice cream imo. mindy got apple cider donut and chocolate pudding. omg, their pudding is sooo good. she also picked up treats for yuki :3

we stopped by some small shops and then went into copley place to use the restroom and look at bougie stores. we stopped in sur la table, which was a trap for mindy because she wanted everything LOL. i felt like i was there with kevin :P we found out that copley place is connected to the convention center jia was at AND it connected to the prudential mall?! lol. whutt. so we didn’t need to walk in the rain and got to the other mall i wanted to show mindy. today was weird because there were a lot of weird people outside and one person tried talking to mindy and we also saw two dogs poop in malls and idk .___. was it because it was the weekend to celebrate halloween? idk. anyway, we stopped by sugarfina and mindy got so excited. lol mindy is the most excitable guest i’ve had in boston :P then we stopped by kate spade so she could buy gifts for people. jia met us there and charged her phone in the store while we browsed. mindy got her stuff and then we went outside to make plans for dinner.

jia was indecisive as per usual and she ended up getting dinner with her coworkers and boss. mindy and i called an uber to neptune oyster and put our name down on the waitlist for a seat. the wait was 1 hour and 30 minutes so we walked around north end. we went to mike’s pastry, which wasn’t packed (weird) and mindy got a hazelnut cannoli. then we stopped by modern pastry and then sat down at thinking cup. she got coffee and i got tea and we just chilled there until we went back to check our spot in line. we got there right in time because a bunch of people finished eating and we got seated right away. mindy and i shared 6 oysters and hot and cold lobster rolls. their salad was bomb and the hot lobster roll was delicious! there was so much fresh lobster meat! the cold one didn’t have much flavor and the bread was very dry Dx we left asap and called a lyft home because it was pouring.

we got back and started playing ‘doki doki literature club’ and it got too real after an hour or so. o___o” i might be a bit traumatized. i qq’d after mindy went to shower because it was like 1 am and i was tired. kevin ate the lobster roll we got him and then cooked in the back and after, he retired to his room. jia came by from her dinner / event and actually got on the last train of the night. mindy, jia, and i talked. jia ate her lobster roll. i think this is where mindy and i got wonky from tiredness. lol. mindy rq’d and took a 45 minute nap before her flight. jia laid on the couch with her lololol but she stayed on her phone for a while. then i did some cleaning up and i went to shower. kevin was watching a stream in the room but went to sleep at like 2:30 am. i stayed up catching up on venmo stuff until mindy’s alarm rang and she got up to leave. she called a lyft and i hugged her goodbye. mindy is the chillest guest ever and we have lots more to do the next time she comes visit ;) jia decided to sleep for a few more hours and catch a train in the morning. i ended up sleeping at like 4 am to make sure mindy got to the airport safely and then i ko’d. zzzz. i was definitely wfh tomorrow.

[nofomoartworld]

Art F City: L.A. Art Diary Week Four (Everyone Loves Eames, Erotic Art, and More)

Screenprint by Polkela, seen at Co-Lab Gallery.

In his fourth week in Los Angeles, Michael Anthony Farley discovers that there’s not enough to do on weekdays and way too much to do on weekends. Here’s how he spent the weekend. Everyone loves Ray and Charles Eames, and erotic art.

Catch up on Week One, Week Two (and Week Two, Part Two), and Week Three.

Friday 7/14

I am working from a Starbucks in a nondescript strip mall near a Gold Line station in Pasadena. I stand in line for my second coffee, and give my name to the barista, when the man behind me asks “Michael? Michael what?” I turn around and realize I’ve just run into an old buddy from art school in Baltimore who I haven’t seen since we graduated. We chat about how we both ended up in the same suburban California Starbucks, thousands of miles from our hometown.

He moved out here to work in visual effects on films. Now, he’s attending a graduate program at the Art Center College of Design a few blocks away, learning virtual reality skills for the coming boom in demand. He tells me that he, like all the contract artists who work on big blockbusters, is under constant surveillance by the studios to make sure footage doesn’t leak as it did in the X-Men Origins: Wolverine debacle. I immediately start mentally formulating the plot of a William Gibson-esque thriller.

Hopping on the Gold Line back into the city, I transfer to the subway, on my way to the Expo Line—the newest and arguably most-praised piece of L.A.’s odd rail network. It’s irritating that you have to pay for each transfer (bringing the cost of a three-line rail trip to about the same as a Lyft line ride) but otherwise I’m pretty impressed by how much smoother and cleaner L.A.’s trains are than aging East Coast systems. I feel slightly vindicated for my uncommon decision to take public transit when I look down out the window of the elevated train and see untold millions of cars sitting in seemingly endless gridlock. The opening I’m heading to (oddly, the sole art event I could find on a Friday evening) is at The Landing, a gallery about 16 miles Southwest from my starting point. Google Maps tells me the trip will take around an hour and a half by public transit. Not wanting to repeat my usual mistake of showing up too late for L.A.’s early-to-bed art scene, I plan to get there around 6 p.m.

(L-R) Ryan Fenchel, “Sidereal Procession, the Adept in Public”; Don Edler, “Chaise Lounge for Celeste and Unmonumental Table,” 2017 (with John Zane Zappas Ashtray); Gary Knox Bennett, “Pair of Eames Chairs Assemblage,” 1959.

By some strange magic of perfectly-timed transfers, I actually arrive to the opening early. For about half an hour I’m the only one in the gallery, and the staff are shocked that I beat rush hour traffic and found parking. I explain that I took the train, which has an elevated station nearly directly above the gallery.

“Wow. What’s that like? I didn’t know anyone used it!”’

I wouldn’t say the train was packed, but it was far from empty. The opening on the other hand, remains pretty dead for the majority of time I hang around, which is confusing because the show is great and they’ve laid out the most impressive buffet of snacks I have ever seen (another strike of good luck, since my opening/dinner buddy cancelled on me last minute).

Gabrielle Garland

The group show, The Useful and the Decorative, pays tribute to The Landing’s former identity as a design gallery. It’s a collection of art objects that allude to functional designwares from plates to furniture. It’s right up my alley, as I love both painterly surfaces and midcentury modernism—two things that are rarely conflated outside of nonrepresentational painting. Here, though, design classics such as Le Corbusier’s chaise lounge and the much-treasured Eames recliner populate endearingly wonky paintings of interiors by Gabrielle Garland. She’s cleverly balanced expressive brushwork with subjects iconic enough to be legible despite warped perspective. There are no figures in the paintings. Staring into each domestic space, I imagine this is what it must be like to take an ayahuasca trip in one of those immaculate California homes from the pages of Dwell. It occurs to me that’s probably not an uncommon occurrence.

Don Edler, “Anthropocentric Tablet and Chablet Tair,” 2017.

The other highlight of the show is Don Edler’s work, which “fossilizes” contemporary design objects on the verge of obsolescence in hydrocal—iPhones, calculators, credit cards, and so forth. One piece in particular, “Anthropocentric Tablet” reminds me of Michael Jones McKean’s recent dystopic anthropology museum at The Contemporary. In both installations, there’s a sense that the world as we know it will disappear, and our material culture will be a cryptic piece of archeology for another to interpret.

I take the train back Downtown and an old friend from Baltimore, Neale, picks me up at the end of the line to catch up. We’re sitting on his balcony in a particularly picturesque corner of Echo Park when I notice a friend from Berlin has checked in on Instagram a few blocks away. I message my friend, filmmaker Yony Leyser, and find out he’s in town touring his documentary Queercore: How to Punk a Revolution. He invites us to an event at the Tom of Finland Foundation nearby and we decide to walk over.

In the garden of the Tom of Finland house.

As I should’ve come to expect by now, the walk takes far longer than we anticipated and everyone’s already hopping in Ubers by the time we arrive. Tom of Finland’s former home strikes me as surprisingly cutesy (a sentence I never thought I would type). Neale explains, “Navigating L.A. by Google Maps always fucks me up because you zoom in and there are grids within grids and the blocks are huge. It’s like watching Powers of 10.” Despite its Bermuda-Triangle-like navigational challenges, Los Angeles constantly redeems itself with Eames references.

We’re given an address to a secret-ish warehouse venue downtown, where a mini-festival of queer erotic performance art and video screenings is taking place. As soon as we arrive, someone wins a door prize comprised of various dildos. A performer described as “a proudly non-binary artist who prefers to be identified by their LinkedIn profile” begins lip-synching to Alice DeeJay’s 1999 club hit “Better Off Alone” while presenting their anus.

Having spent my day criss-crossing vast distances, I am deliriously tired. We’re being steered to some chill-out installation apparently intended to re-center our sexual qis or realign our erotic chakras or cleanse our auras (or something with crystals?). I’m told there’s no alcohol and I realize I probably can’t get through whatever this is without it. Yony disappears on foot to find an open liquor store. We warn him that after midnight in L.A. is the equivalent of 4 A.M. in any other city, but he persists.

He rounds a dark corner and it’s the last we see of him.

Saturday 7/15

Bodega Vendetta

I wake up on Neale’s couch and walk another deceptively far, scorching hot “10 blocks” to a friend-of-a-friend’s apartment who is a curator. He shows me this drawing by Bodega Vendetta and never have I wished more that a work on paper was an animated GIF.

Over the course of hours, I receive multiple conflicting texts from friends encouraging me to attend different events that all begin around the same time many miles apart. An art magazine release party! An opening in Culver City! An opening an hour away in the opposite direction! A party at a collector’s house! A party at a gallerist’s house! Yony’s screening! A party that’s “the L.A. pop-up of Club Glam”! (I am told that saying something is “The L.A. pop-up of _____” lends it credence, even if it’s a thing that hasn’t actually existed anywhere else.) I think about all the weeknights I’ve spent looking for something (anything) to do here and realize L.A. has the most extreme case of problematic weekend-loading I have ever encountered.

Megan St. Clair “FIRST PLANT,” oil on wood. Houseplant art is alive and well at Co-Lab Gallery.

I settle on attending The Co-Lab Gallery’s closing party with Liz Eldridge because I have heard good things from several friends about the Highland Park institution. Many of my peers in Los Angeles have small but impressive art collections, and a big chunk of those works came from Co-Lab. The gallery functions more like a retail space than a traditional white cube model—it’s jam-packed with art hung salon-style, with tables full of ceramics and racks of prints and other artist-made knick-knacks. This is a display strategy that normally would drive me crazy, but here it works because so much of the art is actually good and the volume allows the gallery to keep prices accessible. There are a handful of paintings priced under $100 that I’m seriously tempted to buy, but remember that figure represents about one week’s worth of necessary Uber rides here. I’m slightly ashamed that I’ve allowed L.A. to add another step in Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.

Anti-gentrification wheat pastes in front of The Co-Lab Gallery.

I’m introduced to gallerist Kristin Hector, who first opened the space in Koreatown seven years ago, but has been in Highland Park for the past three. I ask her why the gallery is closing, and she blurts out “It’s not gentrification backlash! Everyone always assumes that!” (As in many pockets of East L.A., art galleries such as Co-Lab and “hipster” businesses like coffee shops and yoga studios along York Boulevard are frequently targeted by anti-gentrification graffiti.)

She explains that she wants to move into a larger space and shift the focus of the practice. I ask her if the jam-packed hang is indicative of every show or just a “going-out-of-business” sale vibe.

“Oh this is what all of our group shows are like!” she explains, between shouting out unthinkably reasonable prices across the room, “I love so many different aesthetics. It’s fun to see different styles come together—this is a good example,” she gestures to a wall of paintings that alternate between provisional painting, expressionist figuration, and realism, “Always colorful! Always a little ridiculous, and sometimes dark but vibrant!”

Liz and our friend Brittney are enthusiastically flipping through a rack of prints and other works on paper, asking each other for advice. Since wall space is already at a premium in Liz’s sunny Craftsman bungalow, I suggest investing in one painting for the same price as several cheaper pieces. We move around the room, deliberating. We’re both drawn to Julian Tan’s small acrylic paintings on panel. Each is obsessively jam-packed with detail, describing chaotic domestic spaces. (Naturally, as in the Gabrielle Garland paintings from the night before, Eames chairs make cameos. I start to think that if all artists in L.A. have such comfortable and tasteful furniture, it makes sense people become homebodies when they move here from cramped East Coast apartments).

Julian Tan’s cryptically detailed acrylic on wood paintings.

Liz—ever the dramaturg—begins excitedly fabricating narratives for each mise-en-scène: “This is clearly a room of privilege; it’s a kid who doesn’t understand what he has! I feel like this is the teenage fantasy of someone who grows up to be in the alt-right,” gesturing to an interior full of swords, video games, and other boy toys. Then, “Wait, is he making meth in this one? Meth AND an Eames chair?”

The paintings are all hypnotically captivating, but one detail (other than the titular cinematic reference) draws me to “2001 IS ON, LET’S CHILL”. On the coffee table a copy of Haruki Murakami’s “1Q84” is described with a remarkable economy of tiny brush strokes. It’s one of my personal favorite books of the past few years, so I could spot its signature cover anywhere, but Tan’s ability to squeeze so much charmingly shaky detail into a few square millimeters is still impressive. Its inclusion also complicates the “bro-iness” of the other objects in the homes—one of the book’s main plot lines is in essence a feminist revenge tale.

Liz ends up purchasing the piece (and plenty of works on paper too) and we leave ecstatically talking about how good owning art feels. On the way out, we overhear that the gallery’s new reincarnation will actually be as an art rental facility for film sets in North Hollywood, close to Studio City and its endless sound stages. At first we’re disheartened to hear that—Co-Lab seems to have filled a niche position in the city wherein young creative types could actually afford to support their peers. I then remember Mel Chin’s collective GALA Committee, which infiltrated the set dressing of Melrose Place with conceptual artworks. Kristin Hector seems to have a penchant for curating works with sneaky details, and I’m optimistic Co-Lab’s next incarnation might carry that torch.

L.A., after all, owes its cultural gravitas to the intersections of art and spectacle, counterculture and schlock. Who knows what books might show up on the coffee tables of shitty sitcoms and soap operas in the years to come? As we dive ever deeper into this latest battle of the culture wars, tactics like that will only become more vital than the first time around.

Detail from Julian Tan’s “2001 IS ON, LET’S CHILL,” Acrylic on wood.

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