#(ill never be uber rich who am I kidding)

[videcoeur]

Now the only thing left to revive the homestuck fandom would be either a Netflix live action or an animated version.

I'm still waiting, hollywood, it's been 15 years. Get on it already.

[citamutiara]

Being able to function normally during the pandemic and political turmoil sounds like a frivolous idea. This week, work was a little busier than usual and my plan to study German properly seemed to wither away (I mean how could you study, wenn alles irgendwie anstrengend!). So, this time I just want to share books I have read featuring female writers from different background i.e POC, LGBTQ, immigrants, cis-gender white female among others.

My Year of Rest and Relaxation – Ottessa Moshfegh

A strange novel about an educated, white, thin, pretty, young, rich (basically uber-privileged lady) who can afford to experiment in narcotic hibernation, aided and abetted by one of the worst psychiatrists. She lives in the Upper East Side of Manhattan paid for, like everything else, by her inheritance. In other words, she can live comfortably without having to do any jobs *gasp*. Reading this book is like an ode to go against the current and escape capitalism where our life is measured by productivity and if anything the heroine in this book could proof that doing nothing is a luxury.     

The God of Small Things – Arundhati Roy

This is a solid Greek tragedy and I am not even exaggerating. Set in Kerala, India, the story hovers around the life of a twin who went through A LOT (and still not exaggerating) including the caste system, religious tensions, communism, forbidden love, history and colonialism, class, culture, among others. I can imagine the atmosphere of book to be grim and uncomfortable, but the prose, choice of words and metaphors are too pretty to be missed (even when the ending was a little bit of a shocker!). Please read this, hmu when you have finished and let’s have an angry crying fest.

Alien & Anorexia – Chris Krauss

After I Love Dick and now this! Fun, tongue-in-cheek yet stylish and full of panache kind of title. Chris Krauss combined philosophy, part memoir, part biography, and art criticism in a whole ass book pondering the life and work of Simone Weil (an ‘anorexic’ French commie philosopher), Ulrike Meinhof (a West German far-left militant who allegedly committed suicide in her prison cell) and Paul Thek (an American artist).

The story hovers around those notable beings interpolated with Chris Krauss’ narrative and/or personal essays as a bulimic writer purging words from a mind that wants to empty itself, become alien, de-create. Sex. S and M phone sex with ‘Africa’. Her failed movie project, Gravity & Grace. Extra-marital affairs. Sounds like a recipe of a disaster but Chris Krauss managed to string them beautifully that I thoroughly enjoy this book. Brilliant -if not sublime. MUST READ.

A Mercy – Toni Morisson

A story of four females (three slaves and one mistress) trying their best to carry on with their lives in the 1680’s when slave trade was still in infancy where class division, prejudice and oppression were rampant. The four voices echoed through the book are Florens who were casted off by her mother to another master wishing to save her but ended up never able to exorcise that initial abandonment only to experience another bigger and destructive abandonment that change Floren’s course of life forever; Lina, an aborigine whose tribe was decimated by smallpox and was so damaged that she avoided love at all cost; Rebekka the mistress, who flee from religious intolerant England with the promise of new land in America only to be embittered by childlessness and husband’s early death; lastly, Sorrow, the weird girl with no re-collection of her earlier life trying to cope with her new life as a slave. Beautifully written but I feel the character development is lacking and when the book finally ended, I was underwhelmed and parched for wanting to know more about them.

Home Fire – Kamila Shamsie

The story focused around three orphans of Pakistani descent who lives in the United Kingdom. Another tragic story where family were torn apart when their father, who had been a jihadist had died in American custody. This is set at the time when the attraction of going to Raqqa, Syria to join ISIL was there for some Muslim youth and the family are being watched because of their father.

Another main character is Kamarat Lone, the UK’s Home Secretary, who were brought up as a Muslim but has been very critical against British Muslims saying that they are not British-enough (which I would like to argue that British-ness is a very vague concept). This book brings us the question of self-identity as a Muslim in a secular world where one has to follow the ‘norm’ in order not to be prejudiced as well as question about nationality, citizenship, loyalty and betrayal.

Self-Help – Lorrie Moore

A collection of short stories rich with characters and wit that it did not need to be a whole-ass hundred pages of explanation to get the points across and to evoke hear-pangs to the reader. It started strongly with ‘How to be an other women’ (which kinda explain why the anthology is called Self-Help) telling story of a woman who learns how to conduct an affair, followed by a tale of one’s life seized by a cold man, kid’s guide to divorce, a woman with terminal illness contemplates her exit (disclaimer: those who are suicidal please refrain from reading this story!), a woman contemplates ways to end a dying relationship, notes on how to talk to one’s mother and how to become a writer. Solid book! 10/10 would recommend.

Jenny Hval – Paradise Rot (not pictured, read the E-book version)

Ok I am tired of typing but I have so many questions after reading this book, is Carral (one of the main characters in the book) is real? If not is she a ghost? Monster? Zombie? Or a.. mushroom? Also did Jenny (also one of the main characters) were taking so much shrooms that she had her brain damaged and Carral was actually a figment of her imagination thanks to her rotten brain? Anybody wants to have discussions about Carral’s existence?

[peterparkerstarker]

Aimless Fools - pt. 2

Part 1

TW/CW: Starker, murder, serial killer/vigilante Peter, blood, throat slitting, dying from illness Tony, intense PTSD, suicidal ideation/attempt, strangers trying to coerce/take advantage of Peter, Peter pretending to be underage, barely legal Peter, pedophilia (which is made clear to be wrong/bad!), noncon, abusive power dynamics, hitchhiking, drug/alcohol use/abuse, choking on cock, gagging on cock, blowjob, bodily fluids (cum and saliva) DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! 

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

He was just about to give in for the night, it was 4:23 am and he’d hardly had any passersby. An elderly couple coming back from a road trip tried to talk him into accepting a ride. The mom line went swimmingly, just the right amount of reassurance that he was a good kid who would be picked up post-haste by his loving and concerned parental figure. 

God, if only they knew.

He was about to pack in for the night, call an uber and sleep off his disappointment, when a red sports car pulled up, a smooth stop that meant business. And the man inside had just the same air of confidence as his ride.

Sleek suit, gelled hair, teeth that were too shiny and straight. Fake. The perfect LA business man, all shine and no substance. 

Perfection.

Peter put on his most demure expression, exaggerating the shivers in his body as he slowly, cautiously approached the car. After all, he was a nice boy, lost and scared and alone, for all this man knew. Peter knew he was buying it hook line and sinker by the way the man’s teeth glimmered shark-like in the glow of his car’s dashboard. 

Jackpot.

After a brief exchange, Peter climbed into the car, making sure to keep up the doe-eyed appearance. All “Wow mister, this sure is a nice car, what do you do? You must be pretty important and powerful to afford such nice things. I’d do anything to have such a pretty car like this…” It was so passe, but it worked every time.

Every fucking time. 

Really, he felt like laughing at how easy it was to play these idiots. With their overpowering Clive Christian cologne and Bulgari watches. It was all about brand recognition with these tools. A little batting of his eyes, a chaste lip bite, and an overly friendly brush of his hand and they’d be eating out his palm, thinking it was just the opposite. 

It worked every fucking time.

“So tell me kid, what’s a poor thing like you doing out so late on a cold night? Aren’t your parents worried sick?” The man put on a false show of concern, but Peter could’ve sensed it from a mile away. He knew the man was actually staring at the exposed skin of his creamy pale legs, and shifted a little in the plush leather seat, letting his shorts ride up even higher. 

“Nope,” he let the word pop on his tongue. They loved that, it always made them think of other things his tongue could be doing. “Just me out here, trying to make it on my own, but it’s hard you know… I’d been out there for hours, not knowing which way was home. I’m so happy you came along to rescue me. I just wish I could pay you back... Somehow.”

A sharp inhale of breath from Mr tall dark and dumbass in the next seat over, and Peter knew he’d made a good catch tonight. This would be easy pickings. 

He shifted again, letting out a breathy sigh and toying with the hem of his shirt. Another doe-eyed glance. Another pop of his lips. Like clockwork.

The man cleared his throat, and asked, “And how old did you say you were, kid?” 

“I didn’t… I’m 16, but I’m about to turn 17! My name’s Peter by the way,” he answered cheerily, the voice of naivete, someone who didn’t know better than to get into cars with rich strangers in the dead of night.

“Almost legal…” the man muttered.

“What?” Peter asked breathily, but the man dismissed it.

“Never mind, I was just talking to myself.”

The car began to slow, pulling to the side of the road. Peter’s heart pounded, this was the good part. The part just before the guy realized who really held the power in this scenario. It always made him a little more excited than he was willing to admit to himself. This is when the fun really started.

“Wh-why’d we pull over?” Rising concern but not panic in his words, this part was crucial. His tone of voice mattered so much in this moment.

“Well, Peter, I was thinking of a way you could repay me, that is, if you really wanted to. I am going pretty far out of my way to get you back home safe…” The man trailed off casually.

“What’s that?” he asked, leaning in closer to inhale the heady cologne.

“Just a little favor between friends…” The man glanced down expectantly at the zipper of his pants, and slowly began to undo them.

“Oh… oh! I uhm… I want to… I mean, how could I not? Look at you, you must work out everyday for a body like that. But I, ah. I don’t… I’ve never… I mean…” Peter trailed off, forcing a blush to rise to his cheeks, looking down as if ashamed.

“That’s okay Pete, I can show you how I like it. It’s easy once you get started.” He said, a pushiness rising in his voice, like Peter better get started soon.

Peter nodded furiously, made a show of gulping back a breath, and slowly took the man into his shaking hands. He’d gotten really good over the past year at playing scared and excited and innocent all at once. Oscar worthy, he thought to himself. 

He looked up, eyes wide and lips wet and parted, before the man started shoving Peter's face down onto his cock. It was okay, as far as cocks go. A nice length, nothing remarkable besides a slight bend to the right. Nothing to write home about, but it would do. 

He let out a gagging noise. Faked of course. He’d trained himself early on to control that reflex, but the guys went wild over the sound and feeling of his throat constricting and choking on their mediocre cocks. Anything to stroke their egos as he stroked them. 

He kept it slow and experimental at first. After all, he had to stay in character. Had to play the ingenue being ravished in the front seat of an obscenely expensive sports car. It was all part of the plan.

Slowly he let himself relax into it, letting his tongue circle the head, growing more confident, more assured. The man kept shoving Peter's head down on his cock, forcing himself deep into his throat. They all did this, all wanted to believe they were god’s gift to receiving blowjobs. He rolled his eyes and let out yet another loud choking groan, and the man moaned, gripping Peter's hair even tighter, hands sweaty and firm. 

They kept at this for a few more moments, before the man suddenly came, spurting and gushing hot sticky cum into his mouth, filling him with the stuff. And Peter let it dribble back onto the man’s cock, his saliva oozing down just as much as the hot wet cum. 

He released his mouth from the now quickly shrinking cock, and looked up, pupils blown wide and mouth dripping wet, and kissed the man, gripping tight onto his chest, and then around his neck. The man squirmed a little, whether at the force of Peter's grip or the cum-soaked kiss, Peter didn’t know, and frankly didn’t care. 

It was at the exact moment that the man tried to push him away that he pulled out the razor blade hidden in the hem of his too-short shorts, and slit the man’s throat, blood spurting hot and wet and salty all over Peter and the interior of the car.

As much as he’d hated it in the beginning, he’d grown to like the coppery taste as it hit his lips. It was a nice reminder of why he did this. 

One less creep in the world, taking advantage of helpless kids. He was doing the world a service, he reminded himself, as he got out to shove the man into the passenger seat and got in to drive the car. He was making the world a safer place for good people. 

And as he drove off into the night, a long, quiet drive to the secluded cliff spot where he left all his victims, he smiled softly to himself. 

A man needs to have a plan, and he was certainly not an aimless fool. 

He pocketed the wrist watch before putting the car in drive and giving it a push to crash off the dark cliffside and down into the rocks and water below. It would be weeks, maybe months before the evidence was found, and by that point any DNA of Peter’s would be stripped away by the water and the fish feasting on this new present. 

He cleaned himself off with a cloth, tossing it down into the water beneath, and walked down the hill, a long and peaceful walk back to his humble one bedroom apartment, a job well done on a cold morning. 

He was making the world a little better, one less sexual predator at a time.

-------

stay tuned for the next chapter!

[mydarlingvioletine]

‘Just a Puppy Crush’

Ship(s): Violet/Clementine

Media: The Walking Dead Game (Season 4)

Summary: a zombie-less modern AU in which two dorks finally get together with the help of their friends.

                        Chapter 1

It started out with an invitation Violet found on her desk. A light purple envelope, her name written on it in beautiful calligraphy.

                 Well, it started a little bit before that.

Violet missed her alarm. And six of the backup ones she had set in advance. Her mother had left early for her shift at the diner and her father didn’t come home last night, so she slept peacefully and uninterrupted.

Until she lazily stretched out with a yawn, eyes opening and landing on the alarm clock across her.

                     7:20

She hardly had time to register what it said before the alarm started angrily beeping again.

        “Holy shit… Fuck… Shit!” Violet scrambled to get up, smacking the top of the alarm clock to silence the robotic screaming. She threw her sheets to the side, grabbing her jacket off the door hook on the way out.

While vigorously brushing her teeth, she looked down at her phone.

            15 missed messages from Pain in My Ass.

[ur uber is Here… am outside]

[got your drink & bagel, where are u?]

[viiiioooooleeet]

[ v i o l e t ]

[did you put the key in a different spot?]

[coward.]

Violet scrolled through the herd impatiently, getting to the latest messages, about 15 minutes ago.

[violet please fucking get up i didnt do my english homework i need to copy off of you marlon won’t let me copy his anymore]

[fuck i have to go i cant be late to pre-session but I’ll have brody come check on you to see if you can make the late entrance with her! ill keep your breakfast with me im sure mr. everett wouldn’t give a shit if you ate in class. i do it all the time]

          As if on cue, there was a faint, nervous knock on the door. God bless Brody.

“Be right there!” Violet shouted, quickly throwing her work messily into her backpack. She grabbed a couple dollars off the kitchen table for lunch, threw on her boots, and booked it towards the door.

     "Hey,“ Brody grinned at the shaggy-haired, droopy-eyed messy Violet in front of her. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Violet grimaced, mumbling to herself as she ducked into the passenger seat of Brody’s truck. She caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror, and pulled up the hoodie of her jacket to cover her shame.

         The drive felt like forever, with Brody’s insufferable choice of music. Who still listens to Coldplay? In 2019? Violet was too grateful to complain, and clenched her jaw to hold her tongue.

Brody tried to hold a conversation, but Violet was too out of it to contribute anything other than nods and the occasional “mhm.”

      “Then Marlon was mad at me! I can’t believe that guy. I swear, if he wasn’t my best friend I’d…” Brody’s voice petered out as she pulled into the school parking lot, backing into her spot next to Louis’ car.

Violet immediately jumped out, gave a quick “thankyousomuchioweyouone,” and booked it towards the front doors of the school. The front desk ladies were distracted, so Violet was able to sneak past them and make her way down to the math wing.

            106… 108… 110!

Relieved, Violet peeked through the window, seeing Marlon’s pathetic excuse for a haircut as confirmation that she was at the right place.

     She tried her best to quietly open the door as to not interrupt the class and draw attention to herself, but wasn’t surprised when the door noisily creaked open, everyone’s heads turning towards her.

Really, Ericson? Ever heard of WD 40?

Violet shyly ducked her head, placing herself between Louis and Aasim. Before she could say anything, Louis placed her coffee and bagel on her desk, a patient smile on his face.

         Violet was able to manage a “thank you” while she was scarfing down the bagel. Cheeks full and a dab of cream cheese hanging on her top lip, it’s safe to say that she did not expect Clem to approach her desk at that moment with the worksheet she’d missed.

“Hey, Vi,” Violet’s head jerked up, meeting eyes with Clementine. Embarrassed, she took a tissue and wiped her face, swallowing before she took the worksheet from Clem’s hands. “Grabbed this for you.”

        “Thanks,” Violet managed to stammer, giving a sheepish smile while pulling her pencil case out of her pocket. Clementine hadn’t moved.

Violet tensed up, waiting for Clem to make a comment on her appearance or tease her. Instead, she placed an envelope on top of the worksheet, uncertainty embedded in her actions.

         "Uh, that’s for you. I’m having a birthday party tomorrow night at my house.“ Clem pushed the envelope towards her with emphasis, and cleared her throat nervously. "You don’t have to come if you don’t want. It’s on a Friday night and I know you probably have pla-”

“No,” Violet interrupted her, her voice louder than she anticipated. She received an exhausted look from Mr. Everett. “I’ll totally be there.”

      Clementine immediately perked up, a dorky smile on her face. “Awesome. Oh, and it’s gonna be a sleepover. You don’t have to stay for that.”

Violet frowned, cocking her head and looking at Clem under a suspicious lens. “You don’t have to invite me, y'know.” She sighed, placing the envelope back into Clementine’s hands. “I get it.”

        Clem froze up, visibly upset. “No, fuck. I really want you to come. I just didn’t know if that was your kind of thing.”

Violet, unconvinced, lowered her eyes and took a sip of her coffee. Cold. The heat of Clem’s hand covering her own was a nice contrast to that.

            Wait.

“I want you there,” Clementine insisted, squeezing her hand between her own. The heat from the touch quickly flushed to Violet’s face, her pale skin unable to mask the blush that covered it. “Please come.”

     Louis and Aasim exchanged an annoyed glance at the useless sapphics. Mr. Everett had stood up and taken an interest to their conversation at this point.

“Clem, go back to your seat please,” Mr. Everett cleared his throat, to which Clem recoiled, dropping Violet’s hand. “Violet is more than capable and doesn’t need hands-on help.”

       Clem, face red and flustered, ducked her head and moved back to her seat in the front of the classroom. “Sorry, da- I mean Mr. Everett.” She squeaked, glancing over her shoulder one more time at Violet, uncertainty and sadness on her face.

Mr. Everett continued the lecture, but Violet was too busy staring out the window. She was completely zoned out. She figured she’d just get the notes from Aasim later. She saw Louis give her the occasional worried glance out of the corner of her eye, and kept her focus on the kids playing in the courtyard.

      The class couldn’t have gone any slower, but eventually the bell rang, and all the tension that had built up in Violet’s muscles was relieved.

She didn’t know why this class stressed her out so much. She was pretty good at math, only the second highest grade in the class behind Aasim. Mr. Everett made her feel uneasy.

     He wasn’t a bad guy. Quite the opposite, really. He was a fun teacher who had gone to great lengths to help Violet out with her work. A little by-the-book, but a big sweetheart.

   Plus, he picked on Louis a lot. So he was pretty likeable in her eyes.

Clementine had gone up to Mr. Everett and they were now talking, Clem dropping the classroom decorum to tug on his arm and take a $5 dollar bill out of his wallet for lunch.

        Violet didn’t realize she was staring until both of their gazes landed on her. Startled, she pulled her hoodie back over her head and started gathering her books as quick as she could. She could hear distant murmuring, but couldn’t make anything out.

Her panic was interrupted by Louis swinging an arm around Violet’s shoulders, holding an almost identical envelope up in front of her face, but it was green.

     "If it’s about transportation, I can pick you up. C'mon, the Vi I know and love would never miss out on a chance to get her ass handed to her in Super Smash Bros.“ Louis teased, earning a playful punch on the shoulder from Violet.

"Yeah, right,” Violet rolled her eyes, looking over at Aasim to see he also had one, but orange. “You going?”

       "Nah, my moms are taking me camping this weekend.“ Aasim chirped, a glint of mischievousness in his voice. Noticing the curious glances from his two friends, he cracked an evil grin and spoke one word. "Campfire.”

“Smokey the Bear, Aasim,” Violet giggled, shaggy hair falling in front of her eyes. “What can you do to prevent forest fires?”

       Louis laughed while Aasim rolled his eyes, picking up his backpack and swinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll see you guys at lunch.”

Aasim was gone for what seemed like half a second when Clementine appeared at her desk again, followed by Mr. Everett. Violet froze, her grip on her books tight.

      “My dad wants to introduce himself. Not as Mr. Everett, but as ‘Cool Dad Lee.’” Clem raised her hands to make air quotes, while Le- Mr. Everett held out his hand to shake Violets’.

        Bewildered, she shook his hand.

“Hello, Violet,” Mr. Everett looked happy, glancing between Clem and she. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

      That line earned an elbow in the stomach from Clementine. Violet, still frozen, gave a robotic laugh.

“Oh, I wanted to tell you to ignore that part of the envelope where it says 'presents mandatory.’ My mom is a bit of a smart-ass.” Clem snorted, before cocking an eyebrow over at Louis. “Not you though, rich boy.”

       Louis gave her some finger guns, a big, goofy smile on his face. “Respect for that.”

The second bell rang, interrupting the conversation. Violet threw her backpack over her shoulder, and shot a glance towards Louis. “Fuck, Ms. Martin is gonna be so pissed.”

       "I’ll write you a pass. Don’t worry about it.“ Mr. Everett pulled a notepad out of his pocket and took the pen that was perched on Clementine’s ear. "Just.. try to make sure he actually gets there.” Mr. Everett gestured to Louis, who gave a mock gasp at the implication.

“Will do,” Violet promised, grabbing Louis by the neck of his coat. “I’ll uh.. see you two tomorrow night.”

      “You’re coming?” Clem squealed, her eyes giving away how happy she was. Violet nodded sheepishly, looking back at Mr. Everett before dragging Louis out of the classroom.

“I like that girl,” Lee stated, capitalizing on the blush that had taken over Clem’s cheeks. “Reminds me of someone.”

     Clementine rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently as he made up a pass for her. “That’s good…”

Lee tore off the front page of the notepad, and held it high before giving it to Clem. “You have my blessing.”

Clementine’s flustered state turned into a fit of anger, as she jumped up to try and grab the pass out of his hand. “Shut. Up.” Clem grabbed onto the slip, wrenching it out of his arm. “I introduce you as my Cool Dad and this is how you repay me?”

      Lee chuckled, putting the pen back behind her ear. “If you think I’m bad, just wait ‘til Carley sees her.. Oh, boy.. Her cheeks are gonna be red from all that pinching.”

Clementine huffed and stomped out of the classroom, putting all of her weight onto her prosthetic foot, so it noisily clattered. She kept up the noise until she knew she was out of ear shot, and smiled to herself, bunching the bottom of her sweatshirt up in her hands.

          Her seventeenth birthday was going to be perfect.

[kristoffxannafanatic]

Second Chances

Happy Kristanna Christmas in July @epbaker. I am your Secret Santa. I hope you like this little modern au. Thank you to @lukin08 for proofing and helping to make it gift worthy.

 Kristoff hated bartending but, it was a job and he had to earn a living somehow.   Thank goodness his family always had jobs for him when he was in need. He was scheduled to take the civil service exam in a month. He already had points in his favor for his military service. Hopefully he would get onto a police force or fire department in the area. “Have faith, baby.” That’s what his mom always said. He tried to stay hopeful, but it was getting harder and harder.

During the day he did handy work for Dad’s contracting business and tended bar at Pabbie’s at night. He liked that it kept him busy. It’s not like he had any kind of social life since Rebecca left him while he was deployed. That had been a huge mistake and he regretted dating her. She was nothing like the one that got away from him 10 years ago.

 Anna couldn’t believe she was back in her childhood hometown. She thought she would never come back after her parent’s unfortunate accident. But life hadn’t turned out the way she dreamed when she was 15 years old.

Getting back in touch with her old high school friends seemed like a good idea when she first got to town.  She found out right away they were all too eager to catch up. But going to meet up with them, she wondered if they had changed at all.  Back in school, she had “ran in the right circles”.  It was what was expected of her, even if she never had much in common with her friends.  But she had changed more than she ever could have expected, and she could hope they had as well.

 “Anna, I can’t believe you are back here after 10 years in Europe!”

 “OMG! I know! What happened with that Danish prince?”

 “I read that you guys were engaged.”

 “Oh…yeah we were but only for a hot minute.”

 “Eeekkk!! Tell us about it!”

 “Sorry Christine, I had to sign a nondisclosure…can’t talk about it.”

 “Are you kidding?”

 “Brittany, these aren’t just rich people, they are royalty. Look at everything with Harry and Meghan!”

 Anna remembered quickly why she hated hanging out with these girls. They were vapid…. still! She was hoping they had matured since she left but…NOPE!”

 “Anna why are we going to Pabbie’s for drinks?”

 “Pabbie was close to my Dad. Plus, they charge a fraction of the price for the same top shelf cocktails and wine.”

 “Like money is a problem for us.”

 “Stop Christine, you’re such a snobby bitch.”

 Anna tuned out the two girls plus she couldn’t tell them one of the reasons she was moving home was because her trust fund was running low due to that damn Prince. She had to move back into her family’s home and was going to work with Elsa at their parents’ business, Arendelle Investments.

Christine and Brittany walked into the bar all loud and rude. Kristoff looked up at the unusual disturbance and saw the girls walk in. Bad tippers, he thought to himself and went to go back to work. But who came in after the girls is what nearly makes him drop the drink he is making.

 Anna Arendelle  

 She was even more beautiful than he remembered.

 Anna looked around the bar and saw an open table. “Come on ladies, I found a table.”

 “Anna seriously?! Let’s go clubbing in the city?”

 “I like it here plus the club scene is so played out.”

 “This place is so lame! The only one in our age bracket is Kristoff Bjorgman.”

 Anna’s head spun around. “Wait…what? Kristoff Bjorgman is here?”

 “He’s the bartender. I guess the Army didn’t find any use for him just like that skank that he dated. Anna, please don’t tell me you still have a silly crush on that loser.”

 “You know what, you guys are the losers! He was kinder to me than either of you ever were. You only looked me up because you wanted to find out about Hans and why I let it fall apart.”

 Kristoff watched the exchange go down. He was proud of Anna for telling off those idiots.

 “How dare you Anna? Everyone knows he cheated on you and your trust fund is nearly gone.”

 “Yeah! And you had to crawl back to your big sister. Go ahead and go lay in the gutter with your maid’s son!”

 “You know what…you’re not worth our time. You are a charity case. A broke has been hiding behind a good name.”

 Pabbie walked over and interrupted the tirade. “Young ladies, I can’t have this in my place.  You are going to need to leave.”

 “No problem old man!”

 Anna scampered off in the opposite direction to the ladies’ room. She was so stupid to reach out to her so called friends.  What made her think anyone in this town could have changed for the better? Pabbie walked over to Kristoff and gave him that an all-knowing smile.

 “Son, I’ve got the bar. Go check on your friend.”

 “Grand Pabbie, we were childhood acquaintance not friends.  I haven’t talked to her in ten years.”

 Grand Pabbie rolled his eyes and laughed at Kristoff. He pointed to the ladies’ room. Kristoff knew there was no point in arguing.  He gave up and headed in that direction.  Kristoff heard Grand Pabbie mumble,” acquaintance my ass.”

 Kristoff didn’t have a clue what to do.  He didn’t know what to say. He never knew what to say to Anna when they were younger, always stumbling over his words. He wasn’t good talking to girls but with Anna he was a complete idiot. Just being in her presence made him tongue tied.

 Anna sat there sobbing and feeling sorry for herself. She didn’t want to call Elsa because she would give her that I told you so speech. She had warned her that those girls had not changed one bit since she left. She didn’t know how she was going to get out of Pabbie’s without looking like a fool especially in front of Kristoff. Just then there was a tentative knock at the door.

 “Anna? Are you okay?”

 Anna covered an audible gasp when she heard Kristoff’s voice on the other side of the door.

 “Do you need me to call you an Uber or…”

 Kristoff wanted to be the one to take her home, but he didn’t want to sound like a creep.

 “Or what?”  Anna’s voice was soft, but she couldn’t hide her curiosity.

 Kristoff took in a deep breath.  “Uh…maybe…maybe I could drive you home?  That is…if you are comfortable with that.”

 Anna’s heart soared. She loved how he was always so shy for such a tough looking guy. She has had a crush on him since she was 10 and he was 13. The last ten years had been extremely good to him. He had grown at least 6 more inches and filled in nicely. While she still felt like that plain, freckly 15-year-old.

 She remembered the day they met. He had come with his mother, Bulda, to their house to give homework to Elsa when she had missed school for a prolonged illness. Bulda was their maid and cook, his Dad, Cliff was their handyman.  She thought back to how kind both of them always were to her. Pabbie even was a good friend of her Dad’s.

 “I would love for you to take me home, Kristoff.”

 Kristoff’s elation quickly changed as his heart dropped. Now he had to figure out what the hell he was going to talk to her about.

 “O…ok. Let me tell Grand Pabbie and we can go. My truck is parked out back, so you don’t need to walk thru the bar. I’ll meet you right here when you’re ready.”

 “Thanks, Kris.”

 His knees went weak when she called him Kris. She was the only one he ever let call him that. He rushed back to the bar to tell Grand Pabbie he was taking her home.

 “Good luck, son.” Grand Pabbie winked at him as he went back to the bathrooms.

 Anna washed her face and cleaned herself up before waiting for Kristoff outside the bathrooms. She fidgeted with her jacket while she waited. She had no idea how to talk to him.

 “Are you all set?”

 Anna looked up into those kind, brown eyes and nodded her head and he guided her out the back. They walked up to his black truck…. used but clearly well cared for and loved. He surprised her by opening her door for her and lending her a hand for her to climb up into the cab.

 “Thanks.”

 Kristoff shrugged like it was nothing. “It’s no biggie.”

 She looked at him with those big blue eyes and with all sincerity said, “No it is a big deal and you will never understand what your acts of kindness have done for me over the years.”

Kristoff was confused. He didn’t think a simple act of driving someone home and helping them into his truck was anything but basic human decency. It got him thinking that nobody ever treated her with manners and kindness. He jumped into the driver’s side and they headed towards uptown where Anna lived.

It was quiet the first 5 minutes. Neither of them knew how to start a conversation. Anna decided to jump right into the deep end.

 “So, I heard you were in the Army? Did you get sent overseas?”

 “Oh, yeah…yeah, I joined shortly after you left for Europe. I figured it was a good way to get money for college. I spent some time in the Middle East, but I was lucky. I got to help people and didn’t get involved in any squirmishes.”

 “Have you gone back to school?”

 “No, I haven’t had enough money to cover the balance but I’m taking the civil service test soon.  If I do well on that, I can get a job as a cop or firefighter.  I did a little bit of both in the Army. Then I will be earning enough to go to school. What about you? Did you go to college in Europe?”

 Anna was embarrassed to answer him because while he was keeping our country safe, she was partying around Europe with that Euro trash loser.

 “No…not yet. I was a little lost, but I think I am finding my way back into the light. I am going to work with Elsa until I figure out what I want to do.”

 “Good for you. Most people can’t admit when they have gotten lost. How is Elsa?”

 “Elsa is great…she is so happy that I am back. We have been having a lot of fun bonding again. So, I heard you have a girlfriend?”

 “Who, me?” Kristoff let out a sarcastic laugh. “UH...no. Rebecca dumped me while I was deployed. She said she needed someone that was going to be there to service her wants and needs. She also wasn’t a fan of the fact that I hated the club scene.  I got a nice letter all about it when I was in overseas.”

 “I thought the club scene was for me, but it got old really quick. I guess I am a home body, just needed to find my way back home. I can’t believe she Dear Johned you! How could anyone break up with you, you are the complete package!”

 Kristoff pulled up to Anna’s house, slammed the truck into park and looked at her. “wait…. what? I’m the complete package? Are you kidding me? You have it all…the sunny personality, radiant smile, great people skills, beautiful, intelligent, world traveled and the most amazing blue eyes I have ever seen.”

 “You think I am beautiful?”

 Kristoff couldn’t hold back anymore. He leaned in and captured her lips with his. Anna melted into his embraced. They slowly separated after a few minutes. Kristoff touched his forehead to her’s.

 “Sorry for being so forward but I have wanted to do that for ten years. Ever since you left, I have regretted the fact that I never told you how I felt about you.”

 Anna just looked at him in complete shock. She grabbed onto him and started to cry.

 Kristoff started to panic.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have expected that a girl as amazing as you could ever like a bum like me.”

 She pulled away from him and cradled his face.  “Oh Kris, these are tears of joy…I have loved you since I was 10 years old. I thought you only saw me as a dumb kid.”

 “Anna, may we, may I, could we…maybe go out on a date.”

 Anna leans in and kisses him again. “We may!”

 Kristoff gave her the biggest smile Anna had ever seen. “So, are you glad you came back?”

 She returned his grin.  “Best decision ever!”

[mrclinical]

Let it Snow (2019)

Directed by Luke Snellin

Rating: 54/100

Late nineties and early noughties teen-comedies on the whole were appalling. There must of been a yearning for highschool/college melodrama during the period - a yearning for hope of love, or reassurance that popularity is not all it’s cracked up to be. Despite the cliched gags, routine humiliation and stereotypes that these films pedalled for laughs, what they almost always got right were their soundtracks. Luke Snellin follows the convention, bringing us a vaguely festive teenage romance bolstered by blockbuster hits and wokeness. The film features several different romantic narratives, as the teenage ensemble wrestle with their sexuality, the “friend zone”, rejection, the prospect of college and family illness, under falling snow and the peripheral twinkle of fairy lights. Oh and lest we forget,Joan Crusak who wheels around the small town in a tin foil hat offering a mix of narration and agony aunt advice.

Like many festive movies, Let it Snow is first and foremost about reconciliation, aligning our priorities in life with that is really meaningful and casting off our superficial worries and prejudices to allow love, tradition and family to sweep us off our feet. Snellin’s handling of the different interlocking narratives is handled with varying proficiency and effect. Tobin (Mitchell Hope) and Angie (Kiernan Shipka) are best friends who have a shared interest in movies and classic vinyl. The two characters are clearly made for each other, if only Angie would give up her interest in nice guy super-jock JP (Matthew Noszka). Snellin nails the prism of the friendzone, an environment of repressed anger and self-loathing. Then there is Dorrie’s narrative, played by the superb Liv Hewson, a character who in a less sensible and crass film would be reduced to her best friend Addie’s (Odeya Rush) well-meaning sidekick and emotional rock, but in Snellin’s picture gets her own starring role, in a lesbian love story which deals with the repression of identity involved with conforming within the matrix of high school and home life. Snellin doesn’t exactly explore these concepts in great depth, but sort of dips in and out in the breezy way that holiday films deal with dysfunction in relationships. For Let it Snow is reaching for that feel-good vibe. The kind which will brings repeat viewing to Netflix like last year’s gushingly irksome A Christmas Prince. For, this is a film about teenagers for teenagers, who I am sure will identify with a handful of these characters and feel aggrieved at the unnecessary criticism the film has received from older and sniffier critics.

The problem for me is that the film gets bogged down too much in needless melodrama, further dragged down by sluggish writing. The emotional core of this movie lies within the narrative that I found too queasy to stomach: that of Julie (Isabela Merced) and Stuart (Shameik Moore). Julie is a smart kid who is uber self-aware, who must make a decision between attending Columbia University or staying home to attend her sick mother (the kind of sickness that is encapsulated in a sad cough or flappy hands). Julie finds herself face-to-face with famous musician Stuart, who initially arrogantly palms off her social advances, only to be swept up by her cut-through-bullshit witticisms and spends the day frolicking around snowy suburbia with her and falling hopelessly in love. Think of a lite edition of Richard Linklater’s Before trilogy, with less stirring dialogue, scenery, sensuality or sensitivity. Or Prime Minister Hugh Grant in Love Actually and sweary Martine McCutcheon without the magic of Richard Curtis. It is a tale of two worlds colliding and finding unity, but it never really rings true. A handsome savoir swooping in with his fiscal clout to support a family in dire need of it. A lonely man with his riches but nobody to share it with except the corporate bots who surround him and fan his ego. Two people who fall so quickly in love that it is hard to believe that any of it is anything but fanciful hogwash conjured up in a thirteen year old girl’s dream. Netflix loves a little romantic up-punching after all, and so does its audience.

Although certain aspects of the film seem too glossy to be genuine and the narrative seems a little too cheesy to take in one sitting without resorting to heavy eye-rolling and audible sighing, Snellin’s movie does host some quaint little quirks which are entertaining in their own way, the centrepiece being an impromptu duet between Tobin and Angie of Waterboy’s hit “Whole of the Moon” played on a wheezing church organ. It might sound awful, but it is a sweet touch. The narratives eventually flow into one another culminating in a celebratory and cobbled together waffle house party bash. The whole affair is a little to wholesome for my liking, but I’m sure it will prove a hit for the streaming platform.

[reddielibrary]

Still The One

Secret Santa: Katie | @kaspbrak-eddie

Gift for: Elmo | @ellomello16

Special Message: Merry Christmas to the sweetest member of the fandom! I hope you enjoy this lil fic and I hope you have a good day, ily ♡♡

Word count: 6,789

*click title to read on AO3

Richie Tozier had never considered himself to be a wildly successful person. In school, he’d always been above average but had never been the top of his class, putting little to no effort into homework and exams but still managing to maintain mostly A’s and B’s. It may have been impressive, sure, but he had never been exemplary, and he prided himself in that. The slight apathy he felt for his schoolwork still yielded the same outcome that most of his friends and peers could only barely achieve through long, arduous hours of intense reading, writing, revising, re-revising. He didn’t bat an eye at assignments his classmates lost countless hours of sleep over. School had always come easily to him, as most things did. He was an incredibly charming man, never failing to make even the most stuck-up assholes crack a laugh every once in a while. 

Humans he had never taken issue with, he felt most comfortable in social situations and threw himself into them head-first every opportunity he had. Meaningful human interaction, on the other hand, deep, personal, one-on-one connections, well that was one of the few items on the list of things in life that made Richie uneasy. And he had a string of failed relationships to show for it, one that was longer than a suburban mother of six’s grocery list. Richie had simply never been able to connect with anyone on that profound, meaningful level that everyone talks about--that his partners talked about feeling with him. He had simply always felt like there was something missing, something not right. It felt as if something--or someone--was pulling him away, but if there was one thing he was sure of, Richie Tozier knew that he had never been in love.

Eddie Kaspbrak, on the other hand, had. Countless times. He fell easily, and when he did, he fell hard. Lamentably, he had a nasty habit of falling for people who could not even come close to reciprocating the love he gave--the absolute, irrevocable adoration that could only come from someone who aimed to please. The household Eddie had grown up in had been built around his mother’s intense, all-consuming need to be needed. Eddie had never known her as a rational person, although he supposed she probably had been at some point in her life. To Eddie, she was overbearing, almost dictatorial. Everything he did had to be passed through her first, and she approved of almost nothing. After years and years of the constant hounding, the unremittant whining and worrying, Eddie had learned that it was easier to just let her have her way, and he’d carried with him this skill of always striving to please. And he was damn good at it. It affected every part of his life as an adult, relationships with friends, with significant others, but most importantly, it made him incredibly good at his job.

He was passionate about his career--he threw every part of himself into his work, and he loved it. Although the work was unceasing, exhausting, it was a good outlet for his energy, especially when the same tendencies that made him great at his job had a propensity to affect his relationships negatively. Everyone he’d ever dated had had one of two problems with him--either Eddie was too clingy, fell in love far too quickly and let it overtake his entire personality, often morphing it completely to become more appealing to his partner. That, or they fought with him constantly about being work-obsessed, stating that he spent too much time away, or even when he was home, that he was distant, thinking about work; they complained about his going above and beyond to be the best, never supporting him the way he needed. By the time he was in his late twenties, Eddie had decided that he was done with relationships. He was exhausted and completely fed up with pouring his endless love and energy into people who didn’t champion his goals and applaud him for reaching them. In his memory, he had never had someone like that, someone who he could be himself with, someone who wanted him to be his very best. And he assumed he probably never would.

It was a Wednesday morning when Richie had gotten the call at 7:45, jolting him awake abruptly from a deep, heavy sleep. He groaned and patted around blindly for the phone on his nightstand, brushing his sleep-kinked, floppy hair out of his face as he did so. “Tozier here,” he grumbled into the phone, his voice thick and deep.

“Rich! It’s me! Get your ass out of bed, you lazy piece of shit!”

Still half asleep, Richie groaned, “The fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m just kiddin’ buddy. But seriously. Great show last night, you were fuckin’ hilarious!”

“Yeah, Steven. You always say that. That’s what you’re supposed to say, you’re my manager.”

“Yeah yeah.” Richie’s manager, who doubled as his best (read: only) friend, pushed on, ignoring Richie’s humility, “So the guy from SNL called back finally. You’re golden, baby. They want you to come out next week to audition.”

Richie’s eyes shot wide open, he was definitely awake now. He scrambled for his laptop on the floor by his bed as he replied, “Steve-O are you serious? If you’re fucking with me right now I’m gonna drive to your house and murder you.” He opened his laptop hurriedly to check his email, first reaching over to the bedside table to grab his glasses, sliding the thick, bulky lenses over his eyes to bring the world back into focus. Once he got his email pulled up, he desperately refreshed the browser, clicking the ‘get mail’ button incessantly.

“Bro, I can hear you clicking from here. Relax, I haven’t sent you anything yet. I’ll get it to you once I put everything together, I literally just got off the phone with the guy.”

Richie sighed. “Steven, you really are a genius. It’s happening!”

“It’s not me, Rich, it’s all you. And I always told you it would, have I ever lied to you before?”

Richie chuckled, rubbing at his eyes, pushing his glasses up to his forehead, still in disbelief, “Stevia, baby, you lie to me all the time.”

“Hush now. You know when I do it’s just for your own good. Alright, well, I’ll let you get back to sleep… Or back to whoever is in your bed right now.”

Richie mock gasped, “Are you accusing me of having premarital sex? You know I’m waiting until marriage, Steven, sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh shut up, Richie. Goodbyeee...” He dragged out the last syllable as he audibly pulled the phone away from his face and hung up, his voice trailing off as the microphone was drawn further and further away from his mouth. A few minutes later, just as Richie was succumbing back to sleep, his phone vibrated with an email containing his itinerary.

Eddie sighed as he lay down on a cot in the on-call room of the hospital he’d worked in for almost four years now. He was halfway through another long shift, it was almost 6:00 am, but he could at least take comfort in the fact that it was just a twelve-hour rather than a twenty-four. Eddie had always had a penchant for medicine, even when he was young. Growing up with a mother whose every waking moment was dedicated to her only son, Eddie had been the target of her constant and unrelenting care. Although all of the illnesses she was sure Eddie suffered from had turned out to be fake, the excessive doctor visits as a child had made him extremely comfortable in hospitals and outpatient centers. As he’d grown older, he’d taken comfort in understanding his “illnesses,” and in doing so, he had begun to understand the source of them. He’d never been a slow kid--neither mentally nor physically--and at the ripe age of eleven, he’d realized just how his mother’s protection had hurt him, and he had vowed to leave her the very second he was able.

The only support system he’d had as a kid had been the friends he had made, who, after he’d left town for college, he had forgotten more and more about every single day. He was unsure if it was due to the influx of new information and experiences or something else, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t conjure up any of their faces in his memory, not even a single name. There was something there, he knew, something--someone--tugging at him. Something that panged in his stomach every time he walked past someone on the street with dark, frizzy hair, something he couldn’t put his finger on. There was the day in college he’d gotten reading glasses, and that night just as he was turning the light out, the sight of the frames laying on his bedside table gave him the strongest sense of déjà vu he’d ever experienced in his life, so much so that he had felt light-headed for a few seconds before regaining his composure. He had not slept well that night, dreaming of his childhood, blotchy and blurry, the only clear parts he could pick out in his head were a pair of impossibly thick glasses, beat-up black sneakers, scraped knees, and popsicles melting in the sweltering summer sun.

He’d been awoken by a panic attack in the early hours of that morning, something that rarely happened anymore, only when he had these dreams. These confusing, disorienting dreams. They were trying to tell him something, that he was sure of, but after years of having them, he was resigned to the fact that he’d never figure it out.

As he curled up in the cot in the on-call room to take a quick nap he thought of these dreams, hoping against hope that someday soon he’d understand what they meant.

As Richie boarded the plane at LAX at 5:00 am, he was so jittery that he could barely stand still. Most of it was from the four cups of coffee he’d already downed that morning in the Uber to the airport, but the rest was from nerves. He was nervous about the SNL audition, sure, but he was also nervous about something that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Something that was in New York. Something he couldn’t remember. He shook his head quickly to rid the thought as he flashed the cute, young flight attendant a small smile, pushing his glasses up and turning to look down the long airplane cabin and find his seat.

He didn’t get much done on the flight, too distracted to think straight, his mind running a million miles an hour. Immediately after he sat down he pulled his laptop out of his backpack, searching for the hours of SNL footage he’d downloaded to watch on the way in hopes it would ease his nerves. He lost himself in the footage, even laughing out loud at some points. He’d lost track of time, but about halfway through the first episode he’d started, he felt a tap on his shoulder and pulled his bulky headphones off, knocking his glasses askew. Fixing them quickly, he looked up.

“Sir, we’re taking off. You have to put that away until the pilot gives us the go-ahead to get large electronics back out.”

Richie nodded and hastily shut his laptop, stuffing it in his bag and slouching down in his seat, looking out the window as the plane taxied the runway slowly. The take-off was excruciating, his seatmate asked him to stop bouncing his leg at least four times, having to speak up over the mechanical, monotonous roar of the engines. He apologized profusely each time, only to be asked again a few minutes later, not even having noticed that he’d started again. Once the electronics light above him lit up, he grabbed his laptop again and tried to relax, doing breathing exercises he’d learned from a school counselor while he was in college to try and ease his anxiety. It worked somewhat, and the five-hour flight raced by quickly. Once they’d landed, he rushed through the airport carelessly, almost mowing down a few toddlers on his way to the exit; airports always made him uneasy, too many people, he always felt overstimulated. As he made it to the arrivals area and found the driver he was told would be waiting for him, he broke into a near sprint, running up to the unexpecting man out of breath. “Hey,” he took a heaving breath and gestured in between the sign and himself, “That’s… That’s me. I’m Tozier.”

“Hello, Mr. Tozier. Pleasure to--”

“Just call me Richie. Please.”

The man nodded solemnly, “You got it, Richie. And is that the only bag you brought? I was told you’d have a suitca--”

“Oh, fuck!” Richie exclaimed in a hushed yell. “Be right back!” He took off, loping through the crowded baggage claim area, his backpack swinging behind him.

Richie managed to find the baggage carousel fairly quickly, and his bag was--by some fucking miracle--one of the first up. He grabbed it and rushed back to the driver, who was chuckling quietly to himself. He unzipped the suitcase to retrieve his winter coat--something he hadn’t needed in years since he’d moved to California. “You ready to go now?” The driver asked kindly after Richie had thrown the old, worn coat over his shoulders and zipped it up tight.

Richie nodded and extended the handle on his beat-up suitcase to wheel it behind him. The ride to the hotel Richie’s manager had booked for him took about an hour and a half. The hotel was in the middle of the city and traffic was, as always, an unbelievable nightmare. By the time they arrived there, it was just after noon, and Richie was starving. The car pulled up to the curb and waited as Richie paid and pulled his suitcase from the trunk. He shot the driver a two-fingered wave and turned around. Right into a shorter man, a man who looked to be around his age. He donned a set of blue scrubs shrouded by a thick parka that went down to his knees, his chestnut hair was tousled and frizzy under the hood, the guy looked exhausted. “Hey, can you fucking watch where you’re walking? Fucking touris--” His voice was cut off as he looked up to glare at Richie, and all of the breath left his lungs.  “Do-- Do I know you?” His eyes went soft as he let the hood fall off the back of his head, looking up at Richie, his gaze tracking quickly back and forth over his face.

“I don’t… uh. Maybe? You look kinda familiar…” Richie trailed off, pulling his suitcase in closer to his legs in order to avoid the looks of antipathy from passerby.

“Sorry, you just…” the guy shoved his gloved hands in his pockets nervously and took a deep breath, his exhale condensing in the air in front of his cheeks, flushed from the cold. “You look like someone I used to know… I think. I don’t know. Sorry, have a nice day,” he said as he quickly turned on his heel and hurried off down the street.

Well that was fucking weird, Richie thought to himself, I could have sworn I… He shook his head to clear the thought from it, he needed to focus. As he checked into the hotel, he couldn’t help but be slightly absent, his mind running circles, distressing over the audition, but also blindsided by the strange interaction on the street.

Eddie huffed as he replaced his hood on his head, tucking his chin into the jacket so that as much of his skin was shielded from the cold as possible. You’ve gotta fuckin’ stop with this, Eddie. The dreams… they don’t mean anything. He’s just a dude in glasses. Nobody. Focus. Forget about it. He sighed, quickly weaving through the slow walkers on the sidewalk and darting down into the subway tunnel, taking the stairs two at a time, grateful for a break from the incessant wind. When he got home and went to sleep, he had the same dream as always, but this time it was clearer than it had ever been.

The audition went fine, not as well as he’d hoped, but Richie wasn’t worried about it, he enjoyed his job in California; although Los Angeles did seem a bit lonely sometimes. He was glad to be heading back to Maine for the week to spend Christmas with his parents, who he hadn’t seen in over ten years, always too busy building his career to make it back home. This was the first year since he left for college that he was finally able to take a few days off and be home again. He thought about his childhood as he packed up his hotel room from his quick, three-day stay, pondered why he could remember hardly any details from that period of his life at all--not even the name of his best friend.  

He’d run around with a bunch of kids in those years, but there was just one. He knew there was always just one. The one that he wanted to spend all of his time with, the only one he still had any semblance of a memory of: band-aids, tears, cheeks flushed a darker red than Richie had ever seen in anyone--or had ever seen since. The one thing he remembered from his childhood, clear as a bell: the tinkling, warm laugh that echoed from his friend’s freckled, pink lips. The laugh he’d spent his entire childhood and adolescence doing anything and everything to elicit. The reason he still enjoyed making people laugh, why he’d made a career of it. He smiled to himself as he puttered around the room, his mind distracted by all manner of things, the man from the other day all but forgotten.

He gave one last look around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything then rolled his suitcase out the door behind him. The drive to the airport was slower this time than it had been three days before; snow began to fall about halfway through the drive, covering the city in a layer of pristine, sparkling powder. Richie watched out the window as the car blazed past skyscraper after skyscraper, his breath fogging up the window.

By the time he got dropped off at the airport, the snow hadn’t stopped, in fact, it hadn’t slowed at all. It looked as though there was a large possibility of his flight being grounded for the night, although he’d been refreshing his email every five minutes for the entire duration of the car ride, checking for news from the airline as well as from SNL. No news yet, so he strolled on in and through security quickly. He grabbed his backpack and tennis shoes from the scanner after they came out and sat in a nearby chair to put them back on. As he was slipping his second shoe on, a body plopped down next to him to do the same, dropping a pair of suede ankle boots on the tile floor with a loud slap. Richie could overhear him talking with someone on the phone frantically and snuck a peek up at the man. He was pressing his iPhone between his shoulder and his ear tightly, rambling so quick Richie wasn’t sure how he could get a breath between the words.

“I know, Ma.”

“Yes, I checked, it looks like it’s still going out.”

“It’s really not that bad, I pr--”

“Well, the news always exaggerates, you know th--”

“Yes, I’ll tell the pilot to be careful. Sure.”

“Mhm-- Yeah. Bye, Mom.”

He sighed loudly as he hung up the phone, dropping it onto the seat next to him then bending over to put his shoes back on. He chuckled quietly, “Sorry if you overheard any of that…” he said as he fiddled with the hems of his jeans, folding them just so and tucking them back under the tongue of his shoes, tying them up with the thin laces. He smiled over at Richie, who was still bent over working on the same shoe he had been when the other man had sat down.

“Hey… you’re that dude from the other day, aren’t you?” Richie asked quietly.

The guy screwed up his face, sitting back up. Richie followed, and he watched as realization fell over his features. “Oh my god, yeah. I’m sorry about that, I was just off a twelve-hour shift and…” he blushed and tried to flatten the hair on the back of his head, just long enough to show a slight curl. “And I was tired. But I’m Eddie.”

“Richie. Pleased to meet you, Eddie. Where ya headed?”

Eddie stood up, beckoning Richie to follow. “Bangor. You?” He asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“No shit? Same.”

“Oh that’s weird… I’d definitely peg you for a west coast type of guy.”

Richie laughed, warm, loud, “Ah, yeah. I’ve lived there for almost ten years. Born and raised in Maine though, baby,” he said, pushing his glasses up on his nose as his laughter yielded a snort.

“Don’t call me baby,” Eddie snapped. He’d always hated being called baby, although no one he’d ever dated had used the pet name; it stemmed from something else. It wasn’t his mother, as she favored more cushy pet names for him: Eddie-bear, muffin, sweetheart. Someone else had called him baby, had used it so many times. Why couldn’t he remember? The only thing he had left of the name were the feelings attached to it: the pain, the sorrow, the grief.

Richie put up his hands defensively, “Sorry ‘bout that, it’s a habit.” He checked his watch, there were still two hours until the flight was due to start boarding. “You on the same flight as me? The 4:45 one?” Eddie simply nodded in response, looking over at him with warm eyes. “Wanna get some food? I’m fucking starving.”

Eddie, in turn, checked his phone for the time and shrugged. “Sure, what did you have in mind?”

“Well I don’t know about you, but dat Chili’s 2go really hits the spot pre-flight, it’s an absolute delicacy.” Eddie laughed, a sound that made Richie’s head spin, made his heart ache. He beamed, “Letsa go!”

Eddie shot him a smirk, “You know Chili’s doesn’t serve Italian food, right?”

“It does if you order the spaghetti,” Richie quipped with a laugh.

After wandering around for ten minutes only to discover--to Richie’s utter dismay--that there was, in fact, no Chili’s 2go in their terminal, they settled for a little bar that wasn’t too busy, sitting down in a corner booth in the warm, dimly lit restaurant. When the waitress came over, Eddie immediately ordered “the biggest glass of red wine you guys are allowed to serve.” As she walked away, Richie’s eyebrows shot up at him, above his glasses and into the mess of his hair.

Eddie shrugged, “I fuckin’ hate flying. Plus, it’s an airport, everyone is allowed to drink here at any time of the day, right?”

Richie chuckled, “If I got drunk I’d spend the entirety of the flight trying to get you to let me blow you in the tiny airplane bathroom.”

Eddie’s mouth hung open in horror, “God, that’s fucking disgusting. Is everyone like this in California? Do you guys not have germs there?”

Richie winked, “Sorry.”

“So, anyway, what were you doing in New York?”

“Well, uh, actually… I was auditioning for SNL,” Richie said nonchalantly, looking down at his water glass and taking a small sip of it through the straw.

Eddie raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling in the soft light of the restaurant. “That’s cool, what the hell?”

Richie shrugged. “I do a lot of stand up in LA, my agent knows a guy who knows a guy.”

“That’s so fucking cool.”

Richie nodded, “It was terrifying though. Did you know they don’t laugh when you audition? Like at all. They’re not supposed to.”

“God, count me out. I can’t even make old people laugh. And they don’t have the internet, they don’t see any jokes.”

Richie smiled, “Maybe that’s ‘cause they’re just distracted by how cute you are.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie replied, stifling a grin as his cheeks turned a dark, warm rouge. Richie’s heart nearly stopped beating at the sight.

They finished their meal with more expository conversation and slightly less dirty talk, although it was admittedly not much better. Eddie’s cheeks slightly flushed from the wine, Richie’s cheeks sore from smiling, they wandered to their gate quietly. “Well, we’ve still got like an hour…” Eddie yawned as he checked his boarding pass, looking around at the gate numbers ahead of them. “Ah! Over there,” he said, pointing to a sign that read 35, the area underneath already had some people milling around it.

They found a set of chairs that was as secluded as you can really get in an airport and they both sat down, depositing their bags and coats on the chairs on either side of them. After a few seconds, Eddie looked over and nudged Richie, who was rustling around in his backpack. “Will you. Uh. Would you watch my stuff if I nap for a little? I can’t sleep on planes, but I’m fucking exhausted.”

Richie nodded, zipping up his backpack after having retrieved a book from it. “Sure thing, sweet cheeks.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “Don’t… call me…” he was interrupted by another yawn, this one bigger than the last. “Whatever.” He pulled his knees up in front of him in the chair and reached for his coat, covering himself in it completely; only his head poked out above the thick fur that lined the hood. “Wake me up before they start boarding, I’m in the first boarding group.”

“Damn, how’d you swing that?”

He looked up at Richie, his eyes already half-closed with sleep yet still somehow managing to shoot daggers, “Printed off my boarding pass in a timely manner.”

Richie raised his eyebrows, “Well alright, just call me out for poor time management.”

Eddie nestled further into his coat, closing his eyes completely, “Mhm. Night, Rich.”

Richie’s heart soared at the pet name, his stomach fluttering with warmth. He smiled to himself as he looked over at Eddie, already breathing evenly next to him.

After about forty-five minutes, Richie was abruptly pulled from his book by an announcement over the loudspeaker that their flight would be delayed by at least an hour. He folded down the corner of his page and set his book aside, turning to look at his still fast-asleep neighbor. His voice low, he placed a hand on Eddie’s shoulder softly.

“Hey. Eddie,” he whispered, pressing his fingertips lightly into Eddie’s arm.

Eddie stirred, but not enough to move or even open his eyes, “Mmm?” He grumbled, curling up under his coat even more than he already was.

Richie kept his voice at a whisper, “Flight’s delayed. Another hour.”

Eddie murmured some sleep sounds, balling his fists up in the fur of his coat and wrapping it around his sides. “Good. Hndhdon’t wanna,” he let out a long, deep exhale, “dohnwandjsee my mom ahneeway.”

Richie chuckled, “That’s okay, Eds.”

Eddie, almost fully back asleep now, leaned over the armrest separating them and rested his head on Richie’s shoulder, nestling his cheek into the soft material of Richie’s baseball tee.

“Dohncallmeethat,” he whispered on an exhale, and his next intake of breath was a sleep-gurgled almost-snore. It was Richie’s turn to blush, he stifled a smile as he recovered his book and opened it back up.

After another hour, Eddie began slowly to wake back up, his eyes fluttering and a yawn breaking his lips apart as he sat up, sloughing off the coat, now too hot under its insulation. He looked at Richie, his cheeks flushed slightly from the warmth and the sleep. “Uh. Sorry for… I didn’t realize… That I’d been sleeping on you… How long was I out?”

“Like two hours,” Richie replied, a grin on his face. “I bet they start boarding soon, the snow stopped a bit ago.”

Eddie attempted to keep another yawn at bay, “Thank god. My mom is gonna have a fucking conniption.”

“Yeah, you said something about her while you slept,” Richie said, looking down to make eye contact with Eddie.

His eyes flew open wide, panic on his face. “Fuck. What did I talk about? I have weird dreams a lot… Didn’t realize I talked during them. That’s.” He paused, running a hand through the hair that was kinked on one side from being pressed against Richie’s shoulder. “That’s great.”

“Oh, not much. You just said you didn’t wanna see her.”

Eddie looked relieved. “Oh. Well yeah, that’s not untrue. She’s… A lot.”

“Sounded like it. From what I overheard when you were talking to her on the phone earlier…” Richie trailed off, the PA system in their gate had turned on, a bored-sounding woman began to drone out their flight information.

“Boarding for flight XF56G to Bangor will start in the next twenty minutes, sorry for the delay.”

“Where’s your seat?” Richie asked, still looking at Eddie, now rifling through his coat pockets for his boarding pass.

“12G,” he replied, neatly refolding his boarding pass and tucking it into his pants pocket.

Richie hastily retrieved his, folded and nestled into the back of the book he’d been reading. “Dang it, I’m 23B.”

Eddie smiled snarkily, “What I get for being on time.”

Richie glowered over at him, “Whatever, a flight’s a flight. Sucks no matter what.”

Eddie shrugged, “I guess you’re right. Well, it’s been fun, thanks for not stealing my shit while I slept.”

“All I had to do was sit here and watch you look pretty,” Richie replied. “Wasn’t too hard of a task.”

“I swear to go--” Eddie started, but was interrupted by the call for boarding group A, of which he was a part. “Well, maybe we could, uh…” He cleared his throat as he stood up, folding his coat over his forearm neatly. “Maybe we could get drinks or something while we’re in town, I’m only about twenty-five minutes outside of Bangor… God knows I’ll need the alcohol.”

Richie smiled. “Me too, maybe we could meet in the middle. Now go, or you’re gonna forfeit your precious group A standing. Find you after the flight.”

Eddie nodded, turning around and hastily pushing past strollers and bags and masses of people to make his way to the desk, turning around to shoot Richie one last grin before he disappeared behind the door.

The flight was quick, not even two hours. Richie spent most of it reading and attempting to sleep, although neither was going very well at all. He was continually interrupted by snippets of memories, playing in his head like snapshots; popping up and disappearing like old, faded polaroids. Things from his childhood he’d since completely wiped from his mind; at first, it was his parents, yelling at him for breaking his glasses, praising him for his A averages, worrying at him for something that to him was still a cloudy and nameless entity in his head. A relationship, maybe, but he hadn’t dated anyone in high school. Hadn’t he?

Then came his friends; the treasure trove of memories that opened up the moment he began to recall them was immense, it was endless. Summers spent swimming at the quarry, the years when time had had no illusion of significance, no meaning at all. The group of them roving the entire town on their bikes as if they owned the damn place, building the clubhouse in the barrens, hiding out from their bullies there. He was abruptly ambushed by memories of those boys, the bullies who’d made his and his friends’ lives living hell until one by one they’d moved all out of Derry. These memories he’d packed so far away he wondered if he’d been paying the bills for the storage space these had taken up, they surely had not been in his head all this time.

He remembered his friends one by one, Bill first. Bill. He hadn’t had a name in years, hadn’t thought about his friends since he’d moved, every attempt had ended with him left more confused, with more details forgotten. God, had he adored Bill. The leader, the coolest one of all of them by leaps and bounds. Bill’s power over them had been unmatched, they had all loved him, stutter and all. He then remembered Beverly, cooler than Bill by all standards but their own for no discernible reason. He recalled her beauty, but more than that he recalled her biting wit, her fierce loyalty, her courage. He remembered the others too, nearly all at once. Stan, Mike, Ben, their faces came up in his mind as if he was looking at photos, as if he was watching the greatest hits of his life. They came crashing into the forefront of his mind like a shattered stained-glass window being reassembled in front of his eyes.

Just as the plane began its final descent, more memories came to the surface, ripping through the others almost violently, overtaking all of his other thoughts like brushfire and flooding his mind with nothing but Eddie Eddie Eddie. Cute cute cute. How he could have forgotten him he had not the slightest notion, but those years with Eddie came rushing back, and suddenly it was all he could do not to pass out. They came over him in a deluge, swarming in his head like bees and making him light-headed. Little Eddie Kaspbrak, little in stature but never in character. His friend with the asthma that had turned out to be nothing but a bad case of worrying. His friend who had carefully and meticulously cleaned up and bandaged his knee that one day he’d fallen from the back of Bill’s bike, the only one of them able to stay calm and level-headed through all of the blood, all of the pain. His friend with the too short shorts and the too big t-shirts. His best friend. The love of his life.

Richie felt the plane land, hard and fast, felt his seat underneath his legs jostle him around as they made a bouncy impact with the ground, the movement slowing down as they taxied to the gate. He was pulled from the cavern of his thoughts, he looked up and around the plane, searching for that warm brown head of hair he’d just spent so many years without. It had been ten years, but the next five minutes were due to be the longest of his life. The moment the plane stopped moving, Richie unbuckled and jumped up, joined by some of the other overeager passengers. And Eddie. Richie caught sight of the button nose as the man turned his head, his eyes desperately searching the overcrowded cabin for the boy he’d been in love with since before he even knew what love was. The smile that was on Eddie’s face, his eyes brimming with tears, communicated exactly what they were both feeling. The rush of emotions, the inability to wait five minutes even though they’d waited years already. Richie just stared back, unaware of what his face looked like, although he supposed he probably looked like a damn slack-jawed idiot.

They held eye contact until Eddie’s seatmate exited the aisle and followed the line of passengers off the plane. Eddie tore his eyes away and reluctantly followed, flashing an uneasy, impatient smile before he moved. Richie waited patiently--as patiently as he could, although patience had never been his strong suit. When it was finally his turn, Richie moved anxiously off the plane, following the mass of people in front of him who apparently felt that it was okay to walk as slow as physically possible. On the jet bridge, he began to bob and weave through bodies, trying not to push anyone but nearly mowing down a few old ladies, hobbling at an astoundingly low speed through the wide tunnel. The moment he stepped off, his eyes found Eddie, who was waiting patiently for him, bag and coat in hand. Eddie smiled as Richie approached, dropping his belongings on the floor to reach out to him. Their bodies collided solidly, Richie also cast his bag away, their things in a messy heap on the dirty airport floor.

Richie looked down, looked closer this time than he had before. “Eds.” He fixed his glasses on his face, as if unsure whether or not his eyes were betraying him. “Eddie.”

Eddie nodded, tears welling in his eyes. “Richie,” he whispered.

Richie reached his free hand to cup Eddie’s cheek, letting his thumb swipe softly back and forth across his high cheekbone, still as littered with freckles as it had been when they were fourteen. Richie could feel his eyes wetting as well and blinked a few times, refusing to tear his eyes away from Eddie’s, they were still the same warm, hazel brown with flecks of gray. Richie could feel Eddie staring back up at him, boring holes into his own crystal blue eyes, cast into an almost clear aqua by the brilliant afternoon sunlight reflecting off the snow outside, magnified by the thick lenses that sat in front of them. As they looked at each other for the first time in over ten years--really looked at each other--Richie could feel every single memory of them crashing over him like a tidal wave, crushing him and building him back up again, and he could see the hurricane raging on behind Eddie’s eyes as well. He remembered the long glances, the soft touches, the warm, summer sun reflecting off the water, shining on their wet hair and their wet arms, coaxing freckles out of hiding. The bitter winters, those memories still dominated by warmth, the campfires, the backseat of Richie’s truck with the heater all the way up, the two of them wrapped up under blankets in the same bed. The hot breaths and lingering touches, tingling, warm skin covered with goosebumps. The warmth coming to a crescendo, a blaze that had destroyed everything in its path, igniting their lives and incinerating everything within reach. The fight that had ended it all, and the cold that it had left behind. Replaced again with only longing glances out the back of car windows, driving opposite directions across the country.

Richie watched as Eddie lost his battle with the tears in his eyes, letting a sob escape his chest, beaming up at Richie as the tears began to fell. “It’s been… God, it’s been so long, Rich. So fucking long. And how did we-- how did we not...”

“I don’t know… It doesn’t matter though. Because we’re here. And we remember. And… I never told you when we were younger because I was seventeen and a fucking idiot. But I love you, Eddie. I have since the moment I met you, and… I don’t think I stopped, even while I couldn’t remember you.”

Eddie smiled, laughing through the tears. “I love you too.” Just then, Eddie’s phone began to ring in his pocket, vibrating between them. He pulled it out hastily, sighing at the screen and pressing it up to his ear. “Mom. I just landed, calm down. I’ll be there soon.”

“Yes, I--”

“No, it’s fine, I can--”

Richie chuckled softly to himself as he watched Eddie’s brow furrow, and he reached in his pocket to retrieve his own phone. He read through the few texts he’d missed, deciding to deal with them at a later time. He took a deep breath as he opened his email, refreshing it slowly, ready to see nothing. When it finally loaded, there were two messages. Both from his manager. With shaking fingers, he opened the first one. His eyes pored over the screen, barely reading the words, attempting to absorb the contents of the entire paragraph at once. He scrolled to the bottom quickly, not really retaining any of the text at the top. When he got to the last line, it said this: “I know you’ll have scrolled through this whole thing and not read any of it. So, here’s the deal…”

He looked up at Eddie, who’d just hung up his phone in frustration. Eddie’s eyes went soft when he caught sight of Richie’s face. “What’s up?”

“I did it, Eddie,” he said, exhaling a short, relieved laugh. “I got the job.”

[tuxxer]

My thoughts on S5 of the magicians

Thoughts on Season five of the Magicians

                 So, as we finished Season four of The Magicians, we turn our thoughts on what is to come for the surviving members of the troop. Alas Quentin Coldwater joins the ranks of casualties during the war on magic. The Show treats death not as a finality, but merely as a plot device to advance a story line as needed. This time however the actor who plays Q, appears to have decided that there was no more to tell in his story and to leave the show on a personal high note.

                I have decided that the show needs a new direction and felt that it was time to bring you the reader along for the discussion. Season five for all intents and purposes is a clean slate in terms of story. Normally the previous season would set up the story for the following season at some point during the episode run. From what I could tell, almost every outstanding story arc has been resolved and the only new story arc is the deposition of high king fen and the current whereabouts of Josh Hoberman.

                The Twins have been cast into the seam, the director of the library has been killed in his attempts to achieve godhood, the fascist library state has fallen and hedge witches have gained a level of respectability in the eyes of classically trained Magicians. Only miscellaneous plot points remain. Fillory has been the subject of a hostile take over by the aptly named Dark Magician, Irene McAllister is still on the loose, the whereabouts of Santa, Panty sniffing pervert, Mayakovski, the chick from firefly I lost track of, along with Marina and Poppy.

  Elliot Waugh

                 Farm boy from Iowa. Has excellent leadership and organizational abilities and very confident in his magical abilities, the kind of person that you would follow to hell and back for a martini. That is if you’re an insecure person that has issues and a serious need to be accepted into a cool kid clique for personal validation. Probably a nice empathic guy if he knows you on a personal level, but only if he is the dominant.

                Has the ability to guide with out ordering and punishes by withdrawing friendship and patronage. Maintains a clique of disciples that adhere to his mindset, lives a lavish and flamboyant lifestyle and can level a scathing barrage of wit and sarcasm. Has intimacy issues arising from childhood and maintained a co-dependency with Margo.

                Of course, that is Season one Elliot. What I expect to see in the up coming season is a broken version of that Elliot with flashes of greatness followed by wallowing in self pity. This is of course up to the producers and they may have ideas on their note pads and emails about the direction they want to go.

                Elliot needs to go the way of Q in the books and become a teacher at Brakebills teaching what ever flavor of magic he has. He is ageing out of his past lifestyle and is in danger of being seen as an old person rather than the young edgy type he was. I am not someone that has the medical documentation to be able to diagnose Elliot, but I have known people like him. Living life like you don’t expect to make it past your thirtieth birthday and then waking up and realizing your no longer young and the phone no longer rings.

Margo Hanson

                Young, Beautiful, and the patron saint of mean girls everywhere. She comes to us from the west coast and a scion of a rich family. Wearing an aggressive wardrobe that promotes her confidence in that when she is in a room, you will know. An aggressive spitfire who hides a secret identity, with unusual talents and achievements. Like Elliot, she is highly competent with great organizational skills, and unlike Elliot has no problem with pointing out your flaws.

                Her command of invective is truly inspirational, her common sense shining when pulling out the pistol shocking the naïve Q and his prime directive in the nietherlands. Forming the second part of the co-dependency with Elliot, she enabled his lifestyle and validated him when perhaps she should have been making steps to evolve without the following seasons.

                For season five I expect that she will complete the transition that she has started in season 4, fully and without apology. Congruent to that, I expect that at some point in the season she is going to throw down with Elliot and tell him in her usual fashion to grow a set of tits and man up. As Janet, she has shown that she can run a major company and as Margo, that she can rule a kingdom.

                Mere time loops are not going to be a problem, this has come up before with Q and Julia arriving in Fillory sometime in WW2 England. We can expect that no matter the problem, this time Margo will be the one solving it, and probably much to Elliot’s discomfort.

  Kady Diaz

                 Kady is the anti-Margo, much the same ingredients but nature won out over nurture with her. The daughter of a hedge witch, admitted into Brakebills and expelled for stealing items for Marina. Coming to terms with this, she forms an unlikely partnership with Julia and ends up in a very frightening situation with Reynard the Trickster.

                Sharp and attractive and tends to be one of the more physical magicians in the group. Jock rather than cheerleader. When she is brave, she is fearless but when she is venerable, she goes introverted and runs. For Jade to shine she needs to be part of a team and up till now she has had nobody depending on her.

                I expect in Season five, Kady is going to have problems integrating the hedge witches and interfacing with whom ever is running the library. Enough has been done to the hedges that I could be forgiven for thinking not all of those hedges are going to be live and let live.

                Obviously, what I would like to see for her, is to return to the world of law enforcement and perhaps integrate that with the magical world. Much like the Auror’s do in the Harry Potter world. Bonus points if she takes up with the production of Dragon Porn.

     Julia Wicker

                 What can we say about Julia? Gorgeous, educated and fashion confident. She is no Margo that uses clothing to announce her presence. Dealing with her, your dealing with a professional that is not immune to the fact that she is attractive and can’t have her head turned by mere flattery.

                She has been in a race since Season one with Margo to see who transforms into the person that they are meant to. Combining talent and compassion and raw determination, she has gone from being a hedge witch, suffering huge personal losses and surviving, to ascension and becoming a goddess.

                Losing Q will be a huge blow for her, the last surviving person that she knew from her old life and perhaps the man she would have eventually married. With her magical abilities now returned, she faces an uncertain future.

                Like Elliot, the best place for Julia to be is going to be Brakebills as a teacher of some sort. Possibly even becoming the dean and taking Fogg’s place at the school. That mentorship day in Season one strikes me as a good landing spot for her.

   Alice Quinn

                 Hyper-smart , studious with serious attention to detail. Pretty, but very insecure and fashion negative. With librarian looks and a body that’s a teenager’s wet dream, Alice tends to use clothing that either lets her ugly up and be invisible or clothing that draws attention to her natural charms while forgetting that this lady has you looking where she wants you to look.

                For her magic has been real, and not just a tool that compliments the rest of a person’s abilities. If Magic does not present a solution, she attempts to find another way to solve a problem magically. Her worldview has been shaped by absentee parenting, a brother whose death led her on a quest to find him, only to find Q instead.

                A loner with no use for team work, she has trouble integrating with other team members on a long-term basis, and as such she has had the most trouble finding a spot on the team and keeping it. Her collaboration with the library in the past season, and the casualties suffered by the hedges does not bode well for her, when it comes time to count the cost after the dead have been mourned.

                For Season five, I expect her to go to pieces and crash and burn. Q was her rock in the same way that Charlie was. Magic will be her first go to, for returning Q to the mortal world. Short of being able to do that, she is going to have to make her way in the library as the only path open to her. Fun thought for bonus points, I expect her to form an unlikely pairing with Elliot

     Penny

                 Penny has the least amount of thought allocated to one of the prime characters. Switched out from Penny40 to Penny23, he seems to be really kept around when you need a magical uber. Both variations on the character have strong loyalty vibes to those that deserve them, and has a strong moral compass.

                Ever the outsider, he finally finds a home and friends when teamed up with the crew and I expect that will continue in Season five. If anything, I expect that he will suffer from severe sympathy fatigue and team up in some capacity with the library, or hopefully Kady’s hypothetical magical police.

 Again, I should mention that I should say a few words about him, just I am drawing a blank as to where he goes from here.

  Josh Hoberman

                 Josh is one of the older members of the team, a class ahead of Margo and Elliot and a contemporary of Poppy. Seemingly nice guy whose magical talent should be hospitality magic, if that’s even a thing, what his actual discipline is, I confess I never paid attention. It might be plant magic cause he seemed to have gotten the good drugs.

                Called up from the bench a couple of years ago, he has been an advisor to the Fillory side of the crew and gotten steady promotions up till now. Due to an ill-advised Dalliance back in the day, Josh has a little problem with full moons. Leading to a surprising short-term solution and a steady squeeze that’s going to be complicated in season five.

                But wait, there is potentially more. In the process of saving Elliot from the monster, Josh traveled back to Fillory to coordinate with the Fillorian magicians, and at some point, after Fillory was subject to a hostile take over from some individual. Leaving Margo and Elliot to arrive in Fillory 300 years in the future to find that Josh and Fen are missing.

 The Fuck

                Season five, I am going to use the books to align Josh’s future. Assuming Mayakovski is the invader, kicking Josh and Fen back to Earth seems reasonable and I am predicting Josh takes up residence in an Italian Palazzo with Fen. With no real idea how they got three hundred years into the future, Josh may have concluded that the dynamic duo have shuffled off their mortal coils and has at some point made sexy time with Fen, expect the fun to begin when Margo sends a what the fuck Bunny to express her dissatisfaction on Josh being AWOL.

      What should come next.

  This is the reason we need new blood, at best the current cast is only good for one more season before monster of the season starts to get boring, if the show is not canceled by then anyways. I had this thought in my head when I was watching mean girls. At the end of the movie, there is this brief shot of a couple of girls walking in the distance, clearly, they are the next generation mean girls.

 Anchor the show around Brakebills, it has played a bit part in each successive season but should be the main part of the next generation. Wrap up lose ends for half of season five and then start introducing the new Elliot, Julia, Kady etc. Start up the mentoring, teaching positions with new and arrogant magicians that are gonna conquer the world, as the past crew explain why the class lost half of their people when magic went away.

[machinehead]

MORE CORNELL

Below is a collection of the most interesting replies to my General Journal inbox and our Facebook page. There are many, many, many more great/fantastic replies in the FB thread here: https://www.facebook.com/MachineHead/posts/10154745571783823 But these are the ones that hit me the hardest for whatever reason. Reading everyone's replies made me realize that it’s been a very difficult thing to process for many of us.  I appreciate the well wishes from everyone.  Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.  Yes, it triggered something dark inside me, something closer to the surface than I realized.  Writing/talking helped me process it. Talking about it on our group-text helped a lot, talking about it with my guys at practice helped a lot.  Writing the journal helped a lot, reading you’re replies helped a lot. And so I’m sharing your replies to hopefully help anyone else struggling with this. It needs to be discussed. His suicide, depression, mental health, whatever we want to call needs to be addressed. We need to get over our uber-macho, alpha-male-society, and be able to talk about these things.  For ourselves, for our kids, for our future. My oldest son had heard Genevra and I talking about Cornell. Driving him to school 2 days ago, he asked me how he died.  I told him. He didn’t understand why someone would do that. It was tough conversation.  And my first thought was to not tell him what it meant, but then my larger fear went to "what if he feels this way already?”  And before you go, “oh kids don’t feel that way, kids are just happy all the time”, I have 2 friends who are going though it with their tween/teenagers.  So we spoke about it, and I told him "I hoped that him and Wyatt never felt that way because THAT scared me even more." It was heavy… How any parent lives through that I’ll never know. Back when the news broke, the band/crew were talking over the group-text, Phil shared something amazing with us.  It was a post from our long-time friend Steffan Chirazi.  He had posted his eloquent thoughts regarding Cornell's suicide (written before suicide was confirmed). If you read only one of the replies below, scroll to the bottom and read his. It’s well worth your time. ——————————— From: Paul Miller Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL To: The General Journals Yeah man. I know that's not a formal way to start a reply, but that last line, "Listen, Honor, Remember Chris Cornell"... that's the truth. Did so today.  Soundgarden was one of those bands that I listed to and enjoyed, but I didn't run it into the ground.  It was great music, and I didn't want to burn myself out on it.  It would rotate, but I'd save it for special occasions.  When "Black Hole Sun" hit MTV, I'd find myself turning the tv so that I wouldn't get sick of it, but it became unavoidable for awhile (at least here in Indiana). I appreciate your words.  They ring true here, too.  Never got that low, but my thoughts have been dark enough.  It scares me, too.  But, I want to forge ahead for my 5 year old - she is what keeps me runnin'. All the best to you, and thank you for the music through the years. I'm sure you hear people say that your music helped them through rough times.  I believe it.  It kept me focused on doing something personally productive to develop my chops as I wore out the cassette of 'Burn My Eyes' while learning to play your riffs!  So, thank you for that. Take care, Paul From: Rochelle Mangan Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL To: The General Journals Thank you for this, I loved reading it and am enjoying re listening to a lot of the songs and albums you mentioned with a different perspective on them (this is something I enjoy doing with music a lot, listening to things after people have told me their ideas and opinions on them etc). I just want to say though that I hate the "they had so much to live for" type comments. Even if it's done from an emotional, irrational state, I can't not say something about it. I will find it hard to express concisely and over email the many reasons why but one of the main things is this.... Mental health is hard to deal with because it's invisible, it's so easy to feel like you're a flawed person somehow rather than recognise you are actually unwell. This can mean that experiencing severe depression or whatever when everything in your life is "going great" can (in my experience) often make it so much more confusing and distressing. I'm definitely not saying it's harder to deal with if your life's great! But, if things aren't great - you've lost your job, you're struggling with a relationship etc it's easier to sort of say to yourself "well of course I'm struggling".  I feel like it's also sometimes easier for others to empathise with you if they can see some logical reasons why. It's also easier to get help from public health services (in NZ anyway). When I'm in a bad patch and I have good things happening in my life I ALWAYS find it harder to not do damaging behaviours because my external things are so at odds with what's happening internally. It's like a big war going on and it is so confusing, so exhausting, just one massive dangerous mind fuck! Anyway I hope this doesn't make you feel worse than you may already be feeling, I don't mean it to. I just feel that it's important to say these things sometimes. I know suicide can be confusing to people but as you may know, when you're there, it's not. Thank you for your ramblings and your even more amazing music. It has definitely kept me alive in a big way numerous times. Rochelle xxx From: Anita Hoeve Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL To: The General Journals Even though I'm a Machine Head fan from the start, and I really enjoy your journals, I don't normally respond to them. Surely you have better things to do than read all the comments, but wow, this day really sucked, didn't it? I was utterly shocked to hear about Chris' passing. Even more to learn it was suicide. Feel so sad that he felt this was the only way out. I love his voice, his music, listened to Superunknown just last week. Between all the social outpourings I read today, yours really stood out. Thank you for your story, your memories. For really taking the time to share them with us. They got to me. Take care Robb, give your kids and Genevra an extra big hug tonight. Love, Anita From: "Kondalski, Joe" Subject: RE: CHRIS CORNELL To: 'The General Journals' I was at the Fox Theater last night to see Soundgarden, here are a couple of pics from the show. We were in the front row and Chris gave us fist bumps and was very engaged  with the fans during the show. Ps- these are cell phone pics, I will send some pics from my camera later. Feel free to post this pics anywhere. From: Fábio Gil Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL To: The General Journals From a 34 year old fan boy trying to play it cool: if you need help, go and search for it and solve your shit, man. We all have demons and hard things we can't handle by ourselves, sometimes. So, for this fanboy, and millions around the world, for whom your TALENT and music inspires so fucking much, put yourself together and "headup". I have a band and we are looking for a proper singer for a time now, maybe a year... And you, dear Robb, your vocal approach, your melodies, ressonate in my head, pushing me to break my barriers and fears and step to the mic (I play of the guitars). This is how much you inspire me. And I'm... just one. Imagine what you do daily to your legion of fans. Is there anybody out there? Yea. There is. Always. From Portugal, with MUCH MUCH love, Fábio Gil. From: Jean-Baptiste Collinet Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL SPOTIFY PLAYLIST To: The General Journals Thanks for the playlist, Robb. Great choices, many almost-unknown songs. Great. Well, I tought about dropping a serious line about how Chris somehow "changed my life" (I know, that's so cliché, but I'm at loss for words, damnit). But I was too down last time you wrote about him. Not only did Chris, as a human being, kinda "redirected" me on a safer, healthier path… even if we never met (if there's heaven or hell, we may meet sometime. Let's be a hopeless optimistic-pessimist!) His music... Boy, it's just gut-tearing to think about the loss of the man who opened my mind and my ears enough to stop my technical frenzy and stage thirst for a huge while, and made me start listening instead of merely hearing. I even put aside performing for years, and I just started again maybe a few months ago. Not as a Swedish Melodeath drummer and guitarist, but as a viola da gamba soloist. Talk about a ride. It doesn't look like it, but both worlds share much more than one may think. Not sure I would have made it so far without Chris. Chris had this ability to quickly grok and understand the world and music in an unbelievably holistic way. If that's not inspiring, I don't know what is... I could go on and on, rambling. Enough. Chris has still much to "teach" us, even if he's not "there". He made me wonder if we're not the dead, wrongly thinking we're alive. How can we dare think we're right? What if the ones we think of as dead/fallen are the ones alive? Anyone has an answer to this? Jean-Baptiste Collinet @Rich Hoit I both love and hate this. I love the passion, the honesty, and the wish to not shy away from the raw and heartfelt feelings towards a fantastic front man, singer, musician, friend and man. So much respect for that. I hate the fact that it had to be written so soon 😢 Bravo, Machine Head, a great piece and a great sentiment. And thank you, Chris Cornell. @Ashley Merritt You're strong as fuck Robb because you actually wrote how you feel honestly like this, helping anyone struggling with mental illness.. it helps to know that you're not the only one and the way you feel frankly is exactly the way I do. What a trip. Being open and around good folk means everything, there's always an up after a down. Always. @Theresa Alaimo Very proud of you, Robb Flynn, Machine Head, for this tribute to Chris. A s a journalist for my magazine, Black Planet, in New Mexico, I ran for over 15 years, I too am grieving for Chris Cornell, that beautiful man with an amazing voice. During the Voivod Tour they played at a club a few blocks from my work space apartment and the promoter asked if I could steam the crab legs for Soundgarden at my place. Delivering a plate of steaming hot crab legs to the beautiful Chris and looking into his eyes, made my legs steam as well. I believe I said, "Your Majesty, I present you with steaming hot crab legs" and bowed. I was such a dork, but I was so overwhelmed by his aura. I was also at the Foundations Forum where I saw Soundgarden and met you and other great guys. I interviewed you and we all became friends and hung out with Pantera, Biohazard, Exodus, STP, Lemmy, Pearl Jam, Iron Maiden and up and coming new bands for a weekend. I still have my Scorpions beer mug they handed out from their helicopter flight, it was a great experience. Anytime you are feeling sad or depressed Robb, try to remember that you are a talented musician, a beautiful man and maybe not every woman in the world wants to fuck you, but be your friend and will listen if you need to talk. I might not ever know if you read this, Robb Flynn, but at least it's out there. We all love you and need you to stick around. We've lost too many, Dimebag, Peter Steele, Wayne Static, Scott Weiland, Layne Staley, Lemmy, just to name a few and when we barely catch our breath, then we lose another. We can't lose you too, our hearts are already broken. @Matt McDonald "And I think I'm strong, but I'm not. I'm not as strong as I project, and I'm not sure if I'm stronger than depression. Because I sink into it sometimes. And it's black. I hope I am. I need to be for my kids. For my wife... for myself." God damn that shit hit me. So personal, so profound, and so relatable. Counseling, medication, therapy... none of that is a guarantee. Whether it's a bout of sadness or full on throes of suicidal depression, sometimes the hardest part for overcoming it is simply reaching out. Be it pride, shame, guilt... find a way to overcome, find something that helps you out of the funk. Music can be so powerful, so thank you for still being here to share your deeply personal thoughts and feelings, and for continuing to make music. You never know how much it could help even just one person, I think that's reason enough to continue. Thank you! @Jennifer May It can be really hard to admit, you worry that you'll be labeled as an attention seeker or told that you just need to cowboy up and try harder to be happy. Medication is still really stigmatized and expensive, and talk therapy can seem intimidating. I'm very, very lucky and grateful that my mama works in mental health so I've had someone to help me navigate the system. RIP Chris, we lost one of the greatest today. @Phil Stein No matter how much one tries to capture the range of emotions evoked by Chris Cornell's vocals, the description falls short of what he could do and what he could convey. Let alone the beauty, poignancy and power that he could generate. It was like hearing a 5 course gourmet dinner from appetizer through dessert - it was varied and more than that delicious vocally. Thanks for the great description and memorial For Chris Robb. It's so on point and fitting. Perfectly stated!!! @Mark Garcia It's the asshole in me but I will never grieve for someone who takes their own life. I can appreciate all the words from fans and I may not have been a fan of sound garden some of the songs were worth listening to. This band as well as the grunge "sound" never resonated with me so maybe that's why as well. @Jimmy James Brute honesty again from mr Flynn. Bravo this is why we love you and machine head. Depression does fucking suck and you don't shy away from talking about it. RIP Chris Cornell! Man I was actually a big soundgarden fan back in the 90s before discovering metal. @Siri LH Thank you for your honesty and reflections! Highly interesting to read. I can relate to the sadness and the mind fuck. Soundgarden was the band that sparked my love for heavy music. I've been depressed myself and always felt comfort in listening to Chris Cornell's voice. It resonated with my mind. The darkness felt lighter when I put on a Soundgarden album. I was comforted, like someone got my mood. Whenever I've felt lost, I've put on some Soundgarden and found myself again. Soundgarden feels like the essence of my being and I will always be deeply grateful for their music, and for Cornell's voice, lyrics and mood. I've seen them live once and I smiled the whole show through. Eternal love for Chris Cornell and Soundgarden <3 My heart goes out to his loved ones. @Austin Kokel I saw them on Lollapalooza '96, and I'm glad to hear you say what I felt at that show. I was only 15, but I had Badmotorfinger and Superunknown and I absolutely loved both and was right up front. The band was definitely in a funk, and the bassist was an asshole, spitting on and insulting the crowd (and bot in the fun Ramones way I experienced an hour earlier). I try to explain their set to people now, and I can't. I'm glad to hear my 20+ year old sentiments echoed. That said, I always wondered about him after that day, but I never saw this coming either, not this far down the road. Thanks for your honesty and insight, Robb. We love you. We love Machine Fucking Head. Be strong. @J Ake Hess You've expressed so many feelings and thoughts rattling around in my head today that I just couldn't find words to put to. Cornell will always be uniquely amazing and in a class​ by himself. I was listening to his cover of Prince's Nothing Compares 2 You just last night and letting myself become entranced by his unique sound and incredible voice. Today I am sad, angry, and a bit enthralled with my own mortality. Nobody is immune and sometimes the struggle is too much for even the people with everything to live for. I can't imagine what his family is feeling today. Beyond tragic… @Steffan Chirazi No-one can be sure why he is dead, and when it is appropriate, we will know. But depression is a very, very real thing. It is a part of life, but for some, it carries deadly lows and utterly crushing weight along with a gravitational pull into darkness that many of us cannot fathom. I sometimes fight the rabbit hole. I see it, I feel it, I flirt with its edges, but then I bury my head in the dog or hug the cat or take deep breathes and get outside and find a piece of mental architecture to grab hard, fast and haul myself out. I am very lucky. I am slightly brushed with depression and anxiety, but fortunately I am always able to find the light. Fortunately I still retain enough of my natural mental antibodies to find the path out quickly and efficiently. There is no doubt that age makes that path harder to find sometimes, as a consequence of both the physical being and some of the inevitabilities which come with your 50s (such as more people in your circle dying). Others are not so lucky. It isn't because they 'don't want to' or 'aren't trying hard enough' or 'don't love their familes' or anything remotely like that. It isn't ever for the lack of trying. It is because depression (and anxiety) are a crushing, debilitating disease which this country, this planet, seems largely unable to recognize. We push people to the outer regions of anxiety and depression with no care that there are some who fall headfirst into a rabbit hole tornado and only through regular (and possibly unrecognized miracles) find themselves hurled into the escape bunker as opposed to the abyss. Yeah. Imagine that. A tornado that escalates within minutes from a slight, chilly breeze, a tornado that offers no pattern as to when it will appear. And imagine that the only help which can come your way is a bunker miraculously opening up beneath your feet and drawing you to a womb of safety until the tornado passes… ...Often, people with clinical depression will self-medicate. Not because they 'like to fucking party' but because there is no other way out. It's 'easier' to take a swig, take a pill, take a hit. It keeps the darkness in the distance and the tornado (when it pops up) is smashed into smithereens by the 'medicine’. Let me, by the way, be VERY clear. I am NOT saying he was doing ANY of that. He had his dances back in the old days, ones he has been very open about. But I thought he had left that behind. I honestly don't know but feel he had for some time. Whatever eh? Because we judge anyway. Yet we judge. We judge in all senses and all ways. Why do they do that? Why do they behave that way? Who do they think they are? Why can't they just cheer up...? Why are they being such an asshole? Yeah, cheer up will ya? You're handsome or pretty or rich or famous or successful or ALL of those things. Come on. All you gotta do is think about how much worse so many other people have it. Who do you think you are? There are people with 'real' problems out there… I heard the same shit about Cobain and Staley. Listen, does anyone really believe that they wanted to go? That they didn't with every sinew wish in their more lucid moments that they could find a way out? Of course not. Pain is one thing, emotional pain is a whole other ball of wax, but add that to a chemical equation in your DNA that can (without warning) turn your colours to black and white, your peripheral vision to a short, narrow tunnel and which leaves your light feeling cold-negative and it is clear to see that this disease is both monstrous and potentially crippling. The thing with tornados is that when you're in one, they don't afford you the 'luxury' of contemplation. Especially when it is your own chemicals, your own imbalances through no fault of your own, which rise from nowhere to envelope you in that tornado; I never heard of anyone caught in one who was able to see straight, let alone reason with themselves. Fortunately some find their way out. They discover a regular path out of the fog, and they can stick to it. That is not to judge people who cannot; every situation is different. But some simply can't. They try and try and try again. Maybe they achieve success in escaping dark moments, and maybe they eradicate self-medication and triggers from their lives with the help of great local support. However there are never guarantees. Again, I don't know why he died. I spent a little time with him here and there, enough to know that for years, there was a dark moodiness which expressed itself via his generally quiet way and rich lyrics. Later on he certainly spruced himself up, chucked in the deeper self-medications, and seemed a lot more comfortable with life than when he wrote the semi-self-ridiculing "Jesus Christ Pose" but what did I know? Apparently not much at all… ...If you see a friend struggling, if you sense or feel a friend or family member is drifting near a rabbit hole, please, check-in with them. However you have to, either directly or just create an excuse to see them, to talk to them. We are so emotionally guarded that we perhaps see it as 'intruding' or 'sticking our noses in'. Know your friends. Know your family. Be kind whenever you can with them, have a laugh or crack a shit joke. But touch base. Do it today. Much love to everyone who suffers and is either marginalized, trivialized or simply ignored. Much love to those getting assistance in their ongoing battle. Subscribe to The General Journals: http://thegeneraljournals.hosted.phplist.com/lists/?p=subscribe

[420710ge-blog]

my first entry

all of these entries will be more or less stream of consciousness

Im watching queer eye. SO I felt like writing a blog and starting a blog bc im emotional and severely depressed. ( if the fab 5 could re vamp me and my life omg)

I'm trying to grasp this concept that i am 28 years old

and i STILL have no idea who the fuck I am or what the fuck am i gonna do.

what i do know is I am a single. I am straight-ish haha (no one is straight these days eff lables and gender norms) I live in a basement. The neighborhood I live in isnt the best in my opinion for me. I know I enjoy cities and hustle and bustle and noise. this area is not where i want to spend a long period of time in. I have my drivers license but dont have a car. I'm on a fixed income. I am very very poor. I've been struggling with money my whole life. My mother was struggling with money and work my whole childhood ive come to learn. i feel like my mom maybe didn't give me all the right tools i needed to make it in this world.

I'm not a good cook, but i enjoy cooking and wish I was good. I eat very unhealthy. I dont know how to shop for groceries or clothes. i eat fast food,microwaves meals and snacks, cheese and crackers, cereal, deli sandwhiches, pb & j, fruit snacks, ice tea, juice and water. (thats basically it unless i go out to eat which is bad bc i have no money for it.)

i cannot grasp the concept of money i dont know how to budget or balance a check book or keep track of spending. i need to put money a side and save and i just cant seem to do it. The money is always being used. i feel like im always in debt or owing money that i never get in front of this wave to start earning actual income every dollar i make is always spoken for and the $1 to 80 dollars that i actually get left over is for cleaning supplies hair products medication condoms tampons pads basically things i need. and im honest in saying i do spend money on food and great craft beer bc its my way of treating myself for actually making a payment or actually getting out of bed, for going hungry for a few days or for having a good mental health day.

My hobbies include filling out job applications, fighting with doctors and secretaries, bill collectors debt collect companies and creditors, watching youtube videos, vloggers and youtubers on my phone and my freinds old old laptop the basement has pretty difficult internet connection and it is freezing cold but other than that its nice it works its a place to sleep and shelter, other hobbies are watching movies and tv, and lastly SLEEP. i sleep 10-14 hours most days or i go 2 days without sleep. i am always over sleeping or i just cant turn my brain and stress and anxiety off just to shut my eyes and sleep. I almost never talk with friends or see other people or go out and hang with friends. the only times i do go out is if someone offers to pay for me or otherwise i cant.

i am addicted to social media. i cant go for more than 15 seconds without checking instrgram or snap chat or youtube or facebook. i can easily spend 11 hours going back and forth between those 4 sites. it is very bad for my mental health and its stunted my success bc i cant help but compare myself. and its vicious negative cycle that i cant seem to break.

i have to walk or use uber or lyft or public transit to get around which gets very expensive over time. walking and being out waiting for the bus or train is very triggering for my mental health. People who are fortunate to have the luxury to own or lease a car please realize the people who cannot afford a car or cannot drive for whatever reason are not second class citizens. People and humans are very nasty and rude and more terrible than youd imagine. having to walk everywhere and be in with the public as much as i have turns you into a cynical abrasive aggresive hateful and rageful person. for example a few weeks ago a car turned on the street that i was walking on and the walk sign was lit and he had a yellow switching to a red, her turned quickly to beat the light that he didnt see me or the walk sign and was inches away from me so i ran after his car and punched the shit out of the passenger window. i spazed out like that bc i had a week of walking in the freezing cold (and living in a super cold place) being rained on and splashed by the puddles being ran thru by cars, teenagers on busses making fun of me throwing things at me, people in cars yelling shit at me and the others standing at a bus bc we dont have a car and we have to wait in the cold assuming that we were all bums or homeless.

I am not happy or passionate about things i use to be obsessed with. I grew up loving comedy. stand up sketch improv.

i use to perform. i would go see it all the time it meant the world to me it is what i wanted t0 do with my life.

but now I dont and i think its was stupid. and a waste of time. same with college it was a waste of time and money to get a degree in something i have no passion about anymore. and a degree in something in which there are no jobs for you.it was terrible decision i made. one of the billions of terrible decisions i ahve made in my life

I have zero self confidence and i barely care what my appearance looks like anymore. i glance in mirrors but never really look at myself. I dont look people in the eyes anymore. I think so hard about what i am saying for i say that it comes out more often that not weird or incorrect bc i am so worried about what others are thinking about me so then that leads to me getting made fun of for how i talk or how i say things. I am always the butt of my friends jokes im always being poked fun at or pranked or messed with.

I dress like 15 year old skate kid. i have nothing that is appropriate for like an office or an audition  or job interview or business meeting or family event or a formal event or cocktail party. i dont know how to dress for my age or for my gender. 

I am super lazy and messy but i have been working on it.

i use cannabis recreationally not everyday but definitely multiple times a week. when i can afford it. it helps clear my head and use the same way a person uses a nice glass of wine at the end of a long day. i dont think its wrong or inhibiting me as a person. sometimes it even helps with motivation and helps get me out of a depressive funk.

I am severely depressed and have an anxiety disorder.

I over think about everything. i make plans and lists for every scenario that i am going to encounter on a daily basis its almost obsessive. my train of thought before entering a conversation with anyone is “do not say anything weird dont look at them for to long, dont fidget, omg what are they thining about when they are looking at me, am i ugly and i coming off as weird or immature or nervous.” 

I lost alot of very important people in my life bc of death or from people and friends and family just cutting me off and people to live the rest of their lives without me. it makes me judge and hate everyone.

I am constantly worried that i am gonna become homeless live on the streets and become a junkie. I actually think about this so so so much. i actually shocked from what i have been thru that i havent become a junkie yet.

I dont want what most white women in their late twenties want and crave. i dont relate or most girls in my age range. its hard for me to find things in common with my peers.

I dont want to buy or own a house. renting forever is fine by me

I do want to buy and own a car preferably a truck but a small suv could work too.

I dont want a family. I dont want children my own or adoptive. I dont want to live in the suburbs or in a neighborhood with tons or old people and families.

i dont want marriage i think its problematic and dumb thing to subject yourself to.

i enjoy soccer and skateboarding and true crime movies and tv shows and horror movies and tv shows.i like some funny things but its selective. i love the sims.

i want to try out living in other states in the us and maybe even try living in the uk.

if i was rich i would want 2 small apartments in central city locations on both coasts of the us one on one and one on the other. and ill use my money to travel. i am craving to travel so badly its all i have been thinking about lately. but again no funds

i want to meet someone who just totally sweeps me off my feet. somone who knows how to be a real man and real boyfriend im tired iof these boys i need a guy who calls me out on my bs, gives constructive criticism, incredibly supportive and KIND. i want our respectfulness to be at an 100%. i want to feel worshipped and adored. i want them to be succesful and be able to bring me up and boost me forward. great listener. not sleepy or annoyed very easily. insane dark weird goofy sense of humor. id love them to be outgoing and be able to command a room and be comfortable around people new and old. great sex and adventures. currently im giving my ex a chance and its prolly a terrible idea.

i want a makeover i want to learn how to dress myself correctly and figure what my style is, make money and keep money, how to cook, how to skateboard, how to surf, how to take care of my skin and my hair. I want to learn how to work out where i wont make my current ailments and injuries and medical issues flare up and put me out of business for few days. id like to have toned arms back shoulders and legs and to not be winded dont everyday tasks.

if i had to make a dream cocktail. and the final result would be the new me i would throw in the blender: confidence of a drag queen, the wit and sharp tongue of joan rivers, the comedic timing of sean hayes, riley reids sex skills, the intelligence and maturity of michelle obama, pinks hair and singing skills, kat dennings body and dgaf attitude. that would be the perfect me in my eyes.

I want to make everyone proud of me. and I want to be proud of myself. 

idk what this was but its on the internet

-GE

[davidfostercomedyblog]

“Well-Traveled” Isn’t Everything!

There’s this kid I don’t like.

 Actually, he’s not a kid - of course neither of us are. He’s my age, but somehow not liking someone feels so high school that the thought still manifests as such.

 He’s a friend of a friend of a friend, so I’ve thankfully only been exposed to his pretentious pontifications a handful of times. Each time is unique in subject matter, but consistent in its incidental rebuttal of all that I believe, and each time I bite my tongue because I wish to remain friends with said friends, instead rationalizing: This is what blogs are for! In our most recent crossing of paths he nauseated me with the following anecdote.

 “So I get in this Uber, and there’s this black kid driving, nice kid, and we’re talking…”

 Already I’m annoyed by his self-definition as being not racist.

 “And I come to find out he’s never traveled anywhere,” and he delivers it as if he just told us the kid was dying of liver cancer.

 “He’s 24 years old, grew up in the South Central area, does music, really intelligent kid (we get it, you like blacks), and has never been out of southern California! So finally I just couldn’t hold back and I told him: “Man, you gotta get out and see the world. You just… have to. Like, all you know is L.A., and there’s so much more to see. I mean at least get down to San Diego, right?!”

 Wrong! I could barely refrain from vomiting into my mouth then spewing it into his just for the sake of closing it. Let’s dissect this awful bullshit one beat a time:

 1.     There are 24-year olds who are yet to fall in love, finish school or hold a full-time job, let alone travel the Goddamn world. The (black) kid’s 24, not 44! Can you at least allow all his chest hair to come in before failing to backpack across Southeast Asia becomes an existential crime?

2.     Southern California is one of the most culturally rich parts of the world. It isn’t like he’s been trapped in the middle of Wyoming or even some generic suburb. Kids who grow up in SoCal are relatively exposed, especially those from the hood who apparently work outside it. I think he’s fine.

3.     San Diego?! He’s gotta get to San – Diego?! I’ve been to San Diego, twice… and all I learned was that as much as I hate L.A. I would live there any day over San Di-fuckin’ -ego (no offense to beloved friends there). 

 On one hand I acknowledge the value in going to foreign places and observing other cultures. On the other I take exception to clichés such as “seeing the world” or being “well-traveled” as implied badges of “worldliness” or being “cultured.” While “seeing the world” is quite literally what you are doing, its allusion, and illusion, is that such trips dramatically enhance one’s consciousness and relationship with life.

 First of all, being able to take off work and having the resources to travel is relegated to the top percentile, most extraordinarily privileged few. The reason most “well-traveled” folk don’t realize this is because everyone around them is equally privileged and their peanut-sized brains, suspiciously disproportionate to the quantity of stamps on their passports, can’t escape the tunnel vision of their own reality, ironically. They figure everyone gets (all the fuckin’ way) to Asia at least once, and if not they’ve surely “hopped the pond” to Paris or London a few times. I sometimes feel like it’s the adult version of losing our virginity, where “You haven’t done it yet?” is a passive aggressive synonym for: “I’m cooler/better than you.”

 For the record, I’ve been places, bro’. I’ve been to Montreal, Holland, Spain, Costa Rica, Bermuda and San Diego – not the most impressive resume, but not the most shameful either. More important is the fact that I never felt like any of the aforementioned trips made me wiser, more worldly, or self-aware. I was in each place for anywhere from a few days to a few weeks, which in my opinion allows you to get to truly know somewhere about as well as does dating someone for the same amount of time. If you haven’t engaged in a screaming match, been kept awake all night by each other’s storms of emotions, then cried in each others’ arms in forgiveness what the fuck do you really know about this person? Similarly, what can I know about Costa Rica from my privileged, resort stay, one-week romantic getaway, even in spite of having gone out a couple of nights with local surf bums? Nada. I lived in Los Angeles for over a year before I felt like I had a beat on the town at all, and even then it ultimately ate me alive. My opinion is if you’ve never held a job and/or spent at least one year in any place worth visiting then you can’t know shit about it. I’m sure a one-week stay in Arkansas would suffice.

 My parents’ friends have been on vacation to the Dominican Republic over five times. I’ve never been. But my high school girlfriend was a Dominican from Washington Heights and the amount of time I spent chilling with her friends and family was largely what put my Spanish over the top to quasi-fluency (concurrent with high school honors classes). I used my Spanish to get in good with the weed dealers uptown. Later on I coincidentally lived in that same neighborhood for nine years and ate maduros, mofongo and pollo guisado like it was my fuckin’ job. Nevertheless, I’m yet to “see the world” of D.R… right? Sure I am.

 This is why so many people pay so much money to live in such little homes in New York City. Because we’ve got the whole world in our hands, at our fingertips. When I die I’ll have spent way more time in Chinatown conversing with Chinese people than any world traveler has in Shanghai. And there is no amount of trips to Puerto Rico or any part of Latin America that will familiarize you with Hispanic culture as well as my many years working in the Bronx. I’ve got Africa on 116th St., Greece in Astoria and Italy all over the fuckin’ place, fellas. Sure, I’d love to go see the actual places as well, but I live in New York. I can’t afford to.

 I’ll never forget one day waiting tables in Beverly Hills, and some young, attractive but annoying regular walked in wearing a t-shirt: PARIS IS ALWAYS A GOOD IDEA.

 Sure, I thought, so is sex. But not everything’s always on the table like that.

 Wrong. For her everything is always on the table.

 I wondered how many times she’d been to Paris. Maybe only once - maybe never. Maybe six times. This wasn’t the point. The point is she probably had been, as well as to other places that generally come up in the same conversation as “that time in Paris,” and judging from her demeanor, age, and quite frankly, her voice, there was nothing especially “cultured” about this chick. I believe you can sometimes tell a lot about a person’s intellect by their voice and/or thickness of geographical accent. I don’t believe there’s an amount of times one can sip champagne overlooking the Eiffel Tower that promotes psychological frequency. This can only be done via life. In Instagram memes everyone seems to agree that life’s most valuable lessons are learned through suffering and failure, but then in competitive social cyphers of shit heads those experiences are replaced by leisurely 10-day vacations.

 As the moron asked: What can you know about yourself if you’ve never been to San Diego? I ask what can you know about yourself if you’ve never been unable to afford a trip to San Diego, or anywhere for that matter? What can you know about the world if you’ve never flown past the islands of opportunity and made all the wrong decisions only to never see them again? If you’ve never walked the great line at the food stamp and Medicaid office only to be told you make too much to qualify for assistance but not enough to eat three meals every day. If you’ve never swam in the ocean of heartbreak, climbed the tallest mountain of disappointment only to be thrown off into the valley of social isolation, or peeked over the great wall of physical illness only to be punched in the face by false hope and emotional imbalance, what can you know? Oh, you’ve been to Paris? Cool. What about jail? Ever been to jail? Ever had crazy sex in the projects in Harlem when it was still “Harlem?” Ever been bitch-smacked by probable murderers in the George Washington Bridge Bus Terminal and robbed for your nickel bag of weed? No? Then how can you really know yourself, bro’? C’mon, get out there. See the world. Bitch.