#Kroger Field

[love-kurdt]

Don't Blame Me (byler): 7

word count: 4,054

warnings for this chapter: hangover after relapse, mentions of cheating. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.

1.

Mike woke abruptly with a stiff neck. He opened his eyes slowly. The first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t lying in the driver’s seat of his car, or in Will’s old bed back in Hawkins, either. Instead, he found himself on a blue chenille sofa, covered by a thick blanket with a decorative pillow propped below his head. Still slightly disoriented, he stretched against the cushions, only to wince at a sharp throb inside his left elbow. When he rubbed the spot, his fingers encountered a swollen bruise, purple and angry. It took him a moment to remember exactly how he got it; someone had yanked him out of his car in that dim Kroger parking lot. Where the hell was he?

He groaned, trying to push himself upright. His head pulsated with a vengeance, and his throat burned like sandpaper. Before he could manage more than a stifled cough, two silhouettes came into his field of vision at the edge of the couch: one tall, slim and dark-haired, the other slightly shorter, broad-shouldered and blonde.

“Hey, man, you good?” asked the blonde guy. Mike would’ve mistaken him for Argyle if he’d had his eyes closed. “You took a pretty hard dip last night.”

The other figure stepped forward, coming more into focus. “Morning,” Matt muttered, arms crossed. “How’re you feeling?”

“I…” Mike hesitated, eyes darting between them. “I feel like a dump truck ran over my skull,” he croaked out, his voice barely recognizable, even to himself. “Where am I?”

“My apartment. Well, mine and Pete’s.” Matt jerked his chin toward the blonde guy, who lifted his hand in a half-wave.

“He scooped you up, dude. Saw you leave the liquor store, and followed you to the parking lot. Tossed your tall-but-scrawny ass over his shoulder and carried you to his car.”

Mike winced at the image. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. It was all he could think of to say.

Matt shook his head curtly. “Don’t be. I couldn’t just walk away.” How could Will have given this guy up? Mike thought to himself. He’s great. “You, uh… want water or something?”

“Water sounds good,” Mike nodded in agreement. “Maybe a second stomach while we’re at it.” He tried to joke, but his headache said, Not today!

Pete shook his floppy hair out of his eyes. “I can grab you a glass, man. We got some bagels in the kitchen, too. They’re not, like, fancy or anything, but they’ll soak up the leftover booze if you’re still feeling it.”

“Sure,” Mike replied. “Thanks.” Pete flashed an easy smile and headed out of the room.

Mike glanced back at Matt, who looked noticeably perturbed.

“Look, I’m not mad at you, I swear,” Matt began, “I’m furious with Will.” His eyes flicked down to Mike’s bruised arm, and guilt flitted across his face. “I just– seeing you like that, I lost it. I was pissed at Will. He’s the one who started this whole mess. He had no right to do that to you. Or to let Wyatt do that. Or… whatever the hell was going on.”

“Join the club.” Mike’s attempt at a laugh came out more like a sigh. He rubbed at the back of his neck, remembering how Will used to do that for him, pressing his strong thumbs into the knots of muscle that formed there from endless nights of writing. “I’m sorry you got sucked into this mess. We barely know each other, and–”

“Dude, stop.” Matt cut him off firmly. “I already told you, you don’t have to apologize. If we have to be mad at someone, it’s Will. He used me, then left me for you, and now he’s… I mean, who does that?” He raked a hand through his messy hair, frustration evident. “And okay, yeah, I’ll admit it stings on a personal level, because I’ve been in your shoes before. But that’s not the point. The point is, you went through rehab, you tried to fix things, you were blindsided by the whole Wyatt fiasco. So let me be the one who’s angry, if that’s all I can do.”

Mike’s eyes burned, and he looked away, peering at the grey shag carpet atop the hardwood floor. “I just… I feel so stupid.”

Matt slid his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans. “You’re not stupid. Distraught and hammered last night, sure, but not stupid.”

“Hey, Matt, do we have any– oh, never mind!” Pete hollered from the kitchen, followed by the sound of cabinet doors banging. Mike couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips.

“Is he always like that?” he asked, gesturing in the direction of Pete’s voice.

Matt rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Pretty much. We’re college buddies, plus we ended up roommates after… everything else in my life went sideways.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the house Will lives in now used to be split between four of us: Riley, Kate, Will, and myself. Riley and Kate moved out once they graduated, and then I moved out after I broke up with Will. I’m sure he told you about how I pulled that shit on his birthday, which I’m not proud of, but I couldn’t do it anymore. The nightmares, the… screaming your name, all of that.” Will had never told Mike about the nightmares, only the Birthday Breakup™ part. Which made sense, the longer Mike thought about it; Will had become more of a liar than ever. “So after the breakup, I moved here. I mean, Will and I hooked up pretty frequently in the following months, but he never had the same devotion to me like he did to you. Or so we thought, right?” A pause. “... Shit, sorry.”

Mike let out a breath through his nose, forcing his expression into something neutral. “No, yeah, you’re right,” he said, but his brain felt disconnected from the rest of his body. The thing that stuck with him wasn’t the fact that Will had kept sleeping with Matt after the breakup; that was its own complicated mess. It was the fact that Matt had been in his shoes before. That Will had done this before. That what had felt so uniquely devastating to Mike was just another rotation in the cycle of Will’s self-destruction.

“Anyway,” Matt continued, “sometimes life hands you a shit sandwich and expects you to just deal with it. If a warm… couch and Pete’s… continental breakfast can help, I’m happy to provide. Stay as long as you need, dude.”

Mike nodded, mind spinning with shame and gratitude in equal measure. He glanced around the small apartment: a short pile of art supplies on the coffee table, an easel near the window, a second-hand lamp. It felt strangely welcoming. At least here, no firsthand agony lingered in the walls. They lapsed into a comfortable silence until Pete returned carrying three plates of scrambled eggs and two sides of a toasted bagel on each.

“I didn’t know if you were a butter or cream cheese kinda guy, so I did one of each.”

“I’m a both kinda guy,” Mike chuckled, “so this is perfect. Thank you.”

 Matt helped clear the table so they had enough room to eat. The three of them lowered themselves to the floor, sitting around the table with their legs crossed, and as weird as this dynamic felt, the meal felt strangely… normal. They spoke quietly about unimportant details– Matt’s crazy work schedule, Mike’s first day at the news column next week, Pete’s plans for a date with his girlfriend involving hibachi and a bong for dessert– and no one mentioned Will or the night before. Mike found unlikely solace in these mundane exchanges, as if they offered a temporary respite from the insanity.

After they finished eating, Mike insisted on doing the dishes. He rinsed them under warm water, though each movement jostled his bruised arm. His thoughts kept drifting to Will, how they’d ended up at such a catastrophic impasse. He wanted to hate Will for what he’d done, but a part of him only felt hollow. I don’t have the will or the Will, he’d written in one of his letters. And wasn’t that the truth. He didn’t even want the Will anymore.

2.

Mike found himself in the bathroom. He leaned over the sink, running cold water to splash on his face. The reflection staring back was rough: bloodshot eyes, face framed by long, unkempt hair, stubble that desperately needed shaving. He shut his eyes, fighting a stab of humiliation. But also… relief. Because at least he was out of that house, out of that car, out of that life. At least for a little while. Matt and Pete might have been unexpected saviors, but they were kind, and Mike was grateful for that kindness.

From the other side of the door, he could still hear them talking in low tones. Pete��s voice occasionally rose in comedic protest, Matt’s interjecting with baritone rationality. Will hovered like a phantom in Mike’s mind, and bitterness flooded him again. He pressed a towel to his face, exhaling as steadily as he could. One day at a time, he told himself. I survived rehab. I can survive this too.

He looked back in the mirror. He hadn’t observed his hair this closely in a long time. Now he noticed how long it had gotten, falling past his shoulders, longer than Eddie’s had been. He saw all the split ends, the dull patches, and the way certain strands tangled too easily. Memories battered him in quick succession: drunkenly running down the street after his last frat party ever, Will threading his fingers through his hair and telling him how much he loved the length of it, Brad the orderly poking fun at how feminine he looked, and the way his curls whipped across Mike’s eyes when he stormed out of the house the day before.

He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the sink. Part of him had once taken pride in the messy look, back when he believed it reflected some inner rebellion. Now it felt like a relic of a life he wasn’t sure he wanted anymore. His gaze drifted to a pair of scissors by the soap dispenser. They looked cheap but serviceable.

Before he could overthink it, he grabbed them, lifting a chunk of hair near his temple. The first snip jolted him. The scissors caught, hesitated, then chewed through the strands. A long strip of curly black hair fell across the sink. He froze, trembling. Part of him wanted to stop. This was ridiculous, a superficial gesture that wouldn’t solve anything. But he kept going. Each uneven cut gave him a fleeting spark of release, like he was shedding every awful memory that had built up in the last few months.

When he reached the back of his head, his arms felt unsteady. More hair clung to his fingers than he expected, and the tiny space of the sink seemed overwhelmed by the discarded pieces piling up. He paused, panting softly, trying to calm the rattling in his chest. He noticed a single tear trailing across his cheekbone, but it dried before reaching his chin. He wasn’t sure if he was actually crying or if it was just some kind of reflex of his body, betraying the turmoil inside.

Leaning closer to the mirror, he saw the uneven lines and jagged edges. A mocking voice in the back of his mind whispered that he was only ruining what little composure he had left. Another voice, somewhere deeper, told him it didn’t matter, that the old Mike was gone anyway. He let the scissors clatter into the sink, stepping back to assess the damage. A rough silhouette of mid-length, choppy hair stared back at him, highlighting every angle of his face he usually tried to hide. He wanted to feel relief, or triumph, or some sense of renewal. Instead, he just felt exposed.

He paused only when Matt knocked on the door, voice muffled. “Mike? You all right?”

“I’m fine,” he called back, but his voice faltered. After a second, the doorknob turned and Matt slipped in, carefully shutting the door behind him. His eyes moved from the scissors in Mike’s hand to the shorn patches of hair. He didn’t wince or grimace, just stepped forward and took the scissors gently.

“You want some help?” he asked, no judgment at all. Mike nodded meekly. For the second time that morning, Mike asked himself why Will left Matt in the first place. Because that’s who Will is, his mind supplied. You know that now.

Matt gestured for him to sit on the closed toilet lid. Methodically, he tidied up the ragged edges, trimming clumps that Mike had butchered and evening the sides. Once he was done, Matt left for a moment. Mike glanced in the mirror, taking in how the shorter cut curled around the nape of his neck and around his ears and made him look… different. He didn’t know if it was better or worse. He blinked, and Matt was back, holding a clean towel and a change of clothes. Mike took them in both hands and went to thank Matt one more time, but he told him, “Shut up– respectfully,” and closed the door behind him.

Mike removed his clothes and stepped into the shower. The hot water beat down on him, washing away the last remnants of clippings clinging to his neck and shoulders. Steam fogged the small room, and in the blurred vapor, he exhaled for what felt like the first time in ages.

3.

Mike was stretched out on the couch later that afternoon, reading his signed copy of “The Object of My Affection,” by Stephen McCauley; a Chrismukkah gift from Will. Mike, it’s good to hear that my book helped you feel better about your own life, he’d written inside the front cover. I hope yours gets better. You deserve that much and more. All my best. How Mike wished he could call good ol’ Stephen up and tell him that his already-terrible life had gotten even worse.

Then the phone rang, cutting through the silence and startling Matt so hard that he rose a couple inches off the ground from his place at the easel. He set his pencil down and hurried across the room, picking up the receiver with a clang.

“Hello?”

Mike barely needed to hear the reply to know who it was. The frantic cadence, the barely-contained panic. He could practically picture Will pacing, breathless, scrambling for the right words. Mike levered himself onto an elbow, straining to hear more, but Matt’s responses gave him everything he needed to know.

“Yes, Will, he’s here,” Matt snapped. “No, you can’t come over. You’ve done enough.”

Mike’s body locked up. You’ve done enough. The words landed like icing on a fucking cake. It was the karmic, full-circle moment Mike had no idea he’d been craving until that moment.

What have I ever done to you, Will?

Enough. You’ve done enough.

Back then, Mike hadn’t even done anything wrong. He had just been there, and that had been reason enough for Will to push him away. And now? Now, Will was the one on the other side of that phrase, clawing for forgiveness, and for once, he couldn’t get through to Mike. It was satisfying as hell.

Matt pressed the phone closer to his ear, exhaling sharply. “No,” he said, unwavering. “I’m not letting you bulldoze in here with empty apologies. He relapsed, Will. Because of you.” His eyes flicked toward Mike, watching the way he slumped back into the cushions. Mike couldn’t hear Will’s response, but it wasn’t hard to fill in the blanks. I didn’t mean to. You have to believe me. Let me fix this.

Matt’s jaw tightened. “Fix it? He walked in on you and Wyatt. Do you not understand what that does to someone who’s fresh out of rehab?”

Mike watched Matt press his index finger and thumb against his eyebrows in frustration. “I don’t care,” he said finally. “You and your explanations can stay away. He doesn’t need to hear them tonight. Or maybe ever.” There was a pause, then: “Just fuck off, Will. I’ve got it handled.” The receiver slammed down.

For a few seconds, nothing moved. The apartment was deathly quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and Matt’s uneven breathing. He turned back toward the couch, shoulders still tight. He crossed the room, perching on the edge of the coffee table in front of Mike, fingertips tapping idly against his knee.

“Are you–” he started, but before he could finish, a strangled noise burst out of Mike’s throat, a hybrid of a laugh and a cough, almost involuntary. A tremor worked its way through his chest, and he pressed his lips together, trying to smother whatever was rising in him. It didn’t work. A laugh, thin and almost manic, escaped before he could swallow it down. It was so sudden that Matt flinched a little.

“This is crazy,” Mike wheezed. “Imagining… fuck, hearing him beg like that? I can practically see him freaking out.” He let out another brittle, breathless laugh, then muttered, “And you… you told him he’s done enough. Just like he once told me. Except now–” He swallowed. “Now it’s actually his doing. It’s not my fault anymore.”

Matt shifted forward then, sitting beside Mike on the couch and pulling him into a loose, steadying embrace. It wasn’t forceful, wasn’t romantic, nor overwhelming, just there. And Mike, for whatever reason, let himself sink into it. There was nothing to prove, no anger to fight through, no obligation to be okay. There was just Matt’s arm, solid against his back, keeping him upright. Matt shifted slightly, and his fingers brushed over the feathered edges of Mike’s hair. “You know,” he murmured, “I really do like the new hair. It looks good.”

“Thanks.” Mike managed the faintest hint of a smile, tipping his head just slightly into the contact. He hadn’t imagined that he’d end up here, in Matt’s apartment, with Matt’s arm around his shoulder, while Will hovered uselessly in the periphery. Yet there he was, feeling Matt’s heartbeat against his side.

4.

Mike stirred, disoriented, the distant rush of traffic filtering through his half-conscious state. His body ached, heavy with the weight of exhaustion, the kind that settled deep in his bones. A warmth pressed against his side, steady and unmoving. He blinked. The small lamp beside the couch illuminated Matt’s shoulder, where his head had come to rest. For a moment, he didn’t move. The rhythm of Matt’s breath was slow, even, as if he hadn’t quite drifted off but wasn’t fully awake either. It was strange, how easily he had let himself collapse against Matt, how neither of them had seemed to mind.

But something pulled at him. A pressure in his sternum, an unfinished thought knocking against the back of his skull. Suddenly restless, he sat up too quickly, his breath hitching as he stood up from the couch. Matt stirred beside him, eyes flickering open with bleary confusion.

"Woah– what’s happening?" Matt asked, his posture shifting to something more alert.

Mike ran a hand over his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes. His pulse was loud in his ears. "I need to do something," he murmured, already searching the room for his duffel bag. Matt watched as he unzipped it, fingers digging through the fabric with increasing urgency. The moment his hands found what he was looking for, he stopped. His fingers closed around the worn edges of a composition notebook.

Mike pulled it out slowly, feeling the weight of it settle in his hands. The cover was cracked and peeling at the edges, the black-and-white speckled pattern dulled from constant handling. The spine was barely holding together, patched with old strips of tape. He ran his thumb along the binding, feeling the indentation where the pages had been creased and flattened over time.

He had filled this book with months of his life; drunken scrawl, whiskey stains, half-baked mythology, entire worlds spun from yearning. It had been his escape. His confession. His last fragile tether to something that had once mattered. He had written until the words blurred, until the story no longer felt like fiction but a reflection of himself, of his longing, of his love. His love for Will. Everything in this manuscript had been tied to Will. The notoriously (and, as Mike had believed at the time, groundbreaking) homosexual protagonist. The mythology steeped in sacrifice, in then-unrequited affection. Mike had poured himself into it, convinced it meant something, convinced it would last.

But the truth had become clear; Will wasn’t his anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time. And the story he had built, the one he had labored over for an eternity, didn’t belong to him either. Not anymore. The realization wasn’t painful. It wasn’t even freeing. It just was. His grip tightened on the notebook, and he looked up.

“Do you have a lighter?”

Matt hesitated for half a second, then nodded. He stood, crossed the room to a drawer, and came back with a cheap Bic lighter. He didn’t ask questions. Just pressed it into Mike’s palm and said, “Okay. I’m coming with you.”

They descended the metal fire escape in silence. The night air pressed against Mike’s skin, a stark contrast to the coziness of the apartment. The alley stretched out before them, empty except for a dented dumpster and a pile of soaked cardboard in the corner. A single flickering streetlamp bathed the pavement in uneven gold, casting long, distorted shadows.

Mike stopped near the wall and crouched, placing the notebook on the concrete. He ran his fingers over the cover one last time. The ink of his name– Michael Wheeler– had faded into an almost ghostly imprint, barely visible.

He thought about the nights spent hunched over this notebook, fingers stained with ink, whiskey burning in his throat. He thought about Priya, urging him to keep going. About Will, who had been the reason he had started writing in the first place. About the way this story had once felt like his salvation. And now, all it felt like was an anchor with a broken chain.

He flicked the lighter open, watching the tiny flame awaken and dance against the wind. Then, without hesitating, he touched it to the corner of the notebook’s cover. The fire bit into the new surface, curling inward like it was tasting the paper, deciding whether to take. Then it caught.

The flame licked across the cover first, darkening the speckled pattern, peeling back the layers of tape. It spread hungrily, devouring the edges, creeping toward the pages. Mike watched as the flames swallowed his words, the ink curling into blackened tendrils, the paper twisting in the heat. Matt stepped closer and then, without speaking, reached out and took Mike’s free hand. Mike didn’t react at first. Then, slowly, he tightened his grip in return.

They stood there as the notebook blackened, the fire burning in uneven patterns. Every now and then, a page lifted slightly before crumbling inward, as if trying to escape to safety. The smell of burning paper filled the alley, sharp and acrid. Embers floated up into the night, brief and bright before vanishing completely.

Mike thought he might feel relief. Or maybe grief. But all he felt was finality, a steady understanding that this was over. The words had served their purpose. Now they were nothing more than ash. Matt didn’t let go of his hand, not until the flames had eaten everything, until the last ember flickered and died, leaving only a pile of darkened fragments at their feet.

Eventually, Mike felt himself relax. He stepped over the pile of ash and turned back toward the fire escape. Matt followed. Neither of them spoke as they climbed back up, their footsteps quiet against the metal treads. When they reached the apartment, Matt turned off the kitchen light. Mike set the lighter down on the counter. They returned to their respective places on the couch, Mike picking up his book, Matt reaching for the TV remote.

The Wanderer had reached his final destination.

-

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[gay-kurapika]

Academic advising appointment went really well and like boosted my confidence a lot going back to things. The academic advisor saw my fucking 120 credits ready to be transferred and my 3.89 GPA and straight forwardly asked me what happened, because she saw i was clearly smart and driven and I told her in vague terms about having a mental breakdown and how 10 years later I've decided it's still worth trying, even if it's not in the same field, because I still care. And she was like, excited. Like REALLY excited, she has got me in direct contact with the actual head of the department I'm going into because she thinks he can wave some classes for me based on the fact that I finished a creative writing minor, because a few of these are writing classes. I did tell her, and plan to tell this guy as well, that I'm okay taking some writing/English classes if I need to because I like them, but like...getting classes waved because they're happy to get someone smart and driven in their department is giving me so much confidence lol. Like I was really flagging before this, I almost canceled the appointment and kept wallowing. But like, she was acting like they never get people like me in their department, she kept referring to me as a "professional." And I guess to some extent, they don't, as I was originally on track to get a PhD in inorganic chemistry, not a BS in hospitality management, but life sends you curveballs lol. I'm happy to get maybe some breaks in this track because I tried so hard in the other. She made it sound like I have basically 5 essential classes I would need to take with them, plus maybe a general or two that they do differently that isn't covered. But with me doing 2 classes a semester, that would land me at barely two years. One, if I do the summer as well. Plus there's a chance I can get a Pell grant, and if not a chance for tuition reimbursement from Kroger. Like. This is an actual thing I can actually do. It didn't feel like it before.

[joeandoliviap]

Joe wouldn't let OH be an influencer. He was in her stories less and less over the years. He never let her out on the field during pre-game warm ups when other players had their WAGs. He still had her working for Kroger.

We don't know the dynamic for sure. Holz could've wanted to stay on with Kroger. We can't say Joe made her.

But you're right he was very uninterested in her social media posts and he kept her at arms length in public. There were a lot of rumors her desire to be an influencer factored into the breakup.

[memoriesofthepark]

False parasol 》 Chlorophyllum molybdites

More false parasols! Found outback of the Kroger. And a fairy ring in the field beyond the ditch.

Southeast Texas, 27 July 2024

[madamlaydebug]

FYI EVERYONE!!!

I was at Wendy's recently, I heard a guy ask for his senior discount. The girl at the register apologized and charged him less. When I asked the man what the discount was, he told me that seniors over age 55 ...get 10% off everything on the menu, every day. (But you need to ASK for your discount.)

This incident prompted me to do some research, and I came across a list of restaurants, supermarkets, department stores, travel deals and other types of offers giving various discounts with different age requirements. I was actually surprised to see how many there are and how some of them start as young as 50.

This list may not only be useful for you, but also friends and family, too.

Dunkin Donuts gives FREE coffee to people over 55. If you're paying for a cup every day, you might want to start getting it FREE.

YOU must ASK for your discount!

RESTAURANTS:

Applebee's: 15% off w/Golden Apple Card (60+)

Arby's: 10% off (55 +)

Ben & Jerry's: 10% off (60+)

Bennigan's: discount varies by location (60+)

Bob's Big Boy: discount varies by location (60+)

Boston Market: 10% off (65+)

Burger King: 10% off (60+)

Chick-Fil-A: 10% off or free small drink or coffee ( 55+)

Chili's: 10% off ( 55+)

CiCi's Pizza: 10% off (60+)

Denny's: 10% off, 20% off for AARP members ( 55 +)

Dunkin' Donuts: 10% off or free coffee ( 55+)

Einstein's Bagels: 10% off baker's dozen of bagels (60+)

Fuddrucker's: 10% off any senior platter (55+)

Gatti's Pizza: 10% off (60+)

Golden Corral: 10% off (60+)

Hardee's: $0.33 beverages everyday (65+)

IHOP: 10% off (55+)

Jack in the Box: up to 20% off (55+)

KFC: free small drink with any meal (55+)

Krispy Kreme: 10% off (50+)

Long John Silver's: various discounts at locations (55+)

McDonald's: discounts on coffee everyday (55+)

Mrs. Fields: 10% off at participating locations (60+)

Shoney's: 10% off

Sonic: 10% off or free beverage (60+)

Steak 'n Shake: 10% off every Monday & Tuesday ( 50+)

Subway: 10% off (60+)

Sweet Tomatoes: 10% off (62+)

Taco Bell : 5% off; free beverages for seniors (65+)

TCBY: 10% off (55+)

Tea Room Cafe: 10% off (50+)

Village Inn: 10% off (60+)

Waffle House: 10% off every Monday (60+)

Wendy's: 10% off ( 55 +)

Whataburger: 10% off (62+)

White Castle: 10% off (62+)

RETAIL & APPAREL :

Banana Republic: 30% off ( 50 +)

Bealls: 20% off first Tuesday of each month ( 50 +)

Belk's: 15% off first Tuesday of every month ( 55 +)

Big Lots: 30% off

Bon-Ton Department Stores: 15% off on senior discount days ( 55 +)

C.J. Banks: 10% off every Wednesday (50+)

Clarks : 10% off (62+)

Dress Barn: 20% off ( 55+)

Goodwill: 10% off one day a week (date varies by location)

Hallmark: 10% off one day a week (date varies by location)

Kmart: 40% off (Wednesdays only) (50+)

Kohl's: 15% off (60+)

Michael's: 10% off everyday (55+)

Modell's Sporting Goods: 30% off

Rite Aid: 10% off on Tuesdays & 10% off prescriptions

Ross Stores: 10% off every Tuesday ( 55+)

Salvation Army Thrift Stores: up to 50% off ( 55+)

Stein Mart: 20% off red dot/clearance items first Monday of every month ( 55 +)

GROCERY :

Albertson's: 10% off first Wednesday of each month ( 55 +)

American Discount Stores: 10% off every Monday ( 50 +)

Compare Foods Supermarket: 10% off every Wednesday (60+)

DeCicco Family Markets: 5% off every Wednesday (60+)

Food Lion: 60% off every Monday (60+)

Fry's Supermarket: free Fry's VIP Club Membership & 10% off every Monday (55 +)

Great Valu Food Store: 5% off every Tuesday (60+)

Gristedes Supermarket: 10% off every Tuesday (60+)

Harris Teeter: 5% off every Tuesday (60+)

Hy-Vee: 5% off one day a week (date varies by location)

Kroger: 10% off (date varies by location)

Morton Williams Supermarket: 5% off every Tuesday (60+)

The Plant Shed: 10% off every Tuesday (50 +)

Publix: 15% off every Wednesday (55 +)

Rogers Marketplace: 5% off every Thursday (60+)

Uncle Guiseppe's Marketplace: 15% off (62+)

TRAVEL :

Airlines:

Alaska Airlines: 50% off (65+)

American Airlines: various discounts for 50% off non-peak periods (Tuesdays - Thursdays) (62+)and up (call before booking for discount)

Continental Airlines: no initiation fee for Continental Presidents Club & special fares for select destinations

Southwest Airlines: various discounts for ages 65 and up (call before booking for discount)

United Airlines: various discounts for ages 65 and up (call before booking for discount)

U.S. Airways: various discounts for ages 65 and up (call before booking for discount)

Rail:

Amtrak: 15% off (62+)

Bus:

Greyhound: 15% off (62+)

Trailways Transportation System: various discounts for ages 50+

Car Rental:

Alamo Car Rental: up to 25% off for AARP members

Avis: up to 25% off for AARP members

Budget Rental Cars: 40% off; up to 50% off for AARP members (50+)

Dollar Rent-A-Car: 10% off ( 50+) Enterprise Rent-A-Car: 5% off for AARP members Hertz: up to 25% off for AARP members

National Rent-A-Car: up to 30% off for AARP members

Overnight Accommodations:

Holiday Inn: 20-40% off depending on location (62+)

Best Western: 40% off (55+)

Cambria Suites: 20%-30% off (60+)

Waldorf Astoria - NYC $5,000 off nightly rate for Presidential Suite (55 +)

Clarion Motels: 20%-30% off (60+)

Comfort Inn: 20%-30% off (60+)

Comfort Suites: 20%-30% off (60+)

Econo Lodge: 40% off (60+)

Hampton Inns & Suites: 40% off when booked 72 hours in advance

Hyatt Hotels: 25%-50% off (62+)

InterContinental Hotels Group: various discounts at all hotels (65+)

Mainstay Suites: 10% off with Mature Traveler's Discount (50+); 20%-30% off (60+)

Marriott Hotels: 25% off (62+)

Motel 6: Stay Free Sunday nights (60+)

Myrtle Beach Resort: 30% off (55 +)

Quality Inn: 40%-50% off (60+)

Rodeway Inn: 20%-30% off (60+)

Sleep Inn: 40% off (60+)

ACTIVITIES & ENTERTAINMENT ;:

AMC Theaters: up to 30% off ( 55 +)

Bally Total Fitness: $100 off memberships (62+)

Busch Gardens Tampa, FL: $13 off one-day tickets ( 50 +)

Carmike Cinemas: 35% off (65+)

Cinemark/Century Theaters: up to 35% off

Massage Envy - NYC 20% off all "Happy Endings" (62 +)

U.S. National Parks: $10 lifetime pass; 50% off additional services including camping (62+)

Regal Cinemas: 50% off Ripley's Believe it or Not: @ off one-day ticket ( 55 +)

SeaWorld, Orlando , FL : $3 off one-day tickets ( 50 +)

CELL PHONE DISCOUNTS :

AT&T: Special Senior Nation 200 Plan $19.99/month (65+)

Jitterbug: $10/month cell phone service ( 50 +)

Verizon Wireless: Verizon Nationwide 65 Plus Plan $29.99/month (65+).

MISCELLANEOUS:

Great Clips: $8 off hair cuts (60+)

Supercuts: $8 off haircuts (60+)

NOW, go out there and claim your discounts!! Remember YOU must ASK for discount - no ask, no discount.

I Know everyone knows someone over 50 please pass the one on!!!

COPIED AND PASTED

[annoyangle]

this is an odd question, but whenever I become lucid in my dream, it somehow turns into a nightmare, yet not? I ruin my own dreams, how can I stop? Curse my horror/slasher media loving self. - Radio anon

THAT JUST MEANS YOU NEED MORE PRACTICE. THE POSSIBILLITIES IN THE MINDSCAPE ARE ENDLESS, BUT WHEN YOU GET IN THERE AND START MESSING AROUND, IT'S ALMOST INEVITABLE YOU'RE GONNA MAKE A BUNCH OF MISTAKES AT FIRST. THE SUBCONSCIOUS, THE """GROUND LAYER""" OF THE MINDSCAPE, IS LIKE A BIG WET SQUISHY SPONGE, EATING UP WHATEVER YOU 'FEED' IT DURING YOUR WAKING DAYS TO BECOME A RICH, FERTILE WORM-RIDDEN "SOIL" THAT DREAMS CAN SPRING FROM!

SO IF YOU'RE HAVING A COUPLE TOO MANY WAKING WATCHES OF, SAY, "FREDDY KROGER'S NIGHTMARE ON MAIN STREET 3: TEEN GIRL SQUAD" THEN YOU GOTTA MIX IT UP AND TRY SOMETHING WITH A LOT MORE FUZZ, RAINBOWS AND CUTENESS! GO TO BED LISTENING TO SOME CHANTING MONKS, OR A LOOP OF SEV'RAL TIMEZ! TO KINDA LEVEL OUT THE PLAYING FIELD IN YOUR HEAD, YOU DIG? BUT THE KEY IS JUST TO KEEP AT IT. REMEMBER: IN A DREAM YOU'RE IN CONTROL, UNLESS I'M IN THERE, IN WHICH CASE YOUR BRAIN IS MINE, SUCKER!! HAHAHAHAHA!!

[pr3ttymurder]

Being southern and queer is crazy, because the trees and the horses and fields make me feel at home, it's the place I belong. But seeing people proudly walk the streets in MAGA hats with no shame, and preach hate in the Kroger parking lot, makes me feel like I don't belong, makes me hate my home. Kentucky I love you, I love the bluegrass, I love the horses and distilleries. I just wish my state and it's people loved me back.

[rinwellisathing]

Get to know my OCs: Friendship dynamics/ who is whose bestie?

Wyll and Sentry: although Sentry can be a bit odd and off putting, he and Wyll are nearly the same age and did actually play together as children when Sentry was free of his chores in the temple, though Sentry has very fuzzy memories of this and Wyll doesn't recognize him all grown up. Still, their dynamic really isn't much different meeting again as adults where Sentry views Wyll as the leader of the group and initially defers to him on many things until Wyll notices and starts nudging Sentry towards making some decisions and backing him up on them. Wyll's friendship definitely helps Sentry resist Bhaal in the end.

Shadowheart and Jaina: although Jaina has often had difficulty getting along with Elves and humans, Shadowheart (and to an extent, Astarion) are exceptions. In Shadowheart Jaina finds a kindred spirit, kind to children certainly but not afraid to speak harshly behind the backs of adults who are arrogant, irritating, or otherwise bothersome. Not to mention being a fine drinking buddy. On top of that, Jaina understands what comes with being chosen by a complicated goddess, as a chosen of Umberlee herself. Although Jaina certainly thinks Shar is far worse than The Bitch Queen. Also Shadowheart can't swim and as a born and raised islander, Jaina can't let that stand and any good teacher needs their students trust and who would one trust more than a best friend?

Lae'zel and Octavia: although their friendship does not look typical to Istik eyes, Lae'zel is fiercely protective of Octavia and used to protect her from bullies as a child while she was developing her magic. While Lae'zel may not have much patience for weakness, she does understand and respect Githyanki culture more even than many of her own people and she could see the strength of Octavia's mind and calculate how essential she was becoming as she grew and learned. By Githyanki standards, Lae'zel's behavior is filial and doting towards Octavia, even if others see it as over protective and chastising. Octavia for her part respects Lae'zel and is grateful to her.

Halsin and Kroger: two intelligent healers and men of science happy to have a platonic friendship and share notes. Kroger is put off by potential partners of much larger size and being used to being misinterpreted and othered for things he didn't pick up on, he is clear and concise with relationship specifications and boundaries, this makes it refreshingly easy for Halsin to know exactly where he stands and befriend Kroger and likewise for Halsin being upfront and honest with Kroger. The two enjoy comparing notes and anatomical drawings as well as field research and Kroger is always fascinated to hear about plants and animals from Halsin. Kroger is also learning to whittle which has been very good for his shattered nerves.

[bestussmm238]

Buy Verified Binance Accounts

[onyxbird]

I just encountered some impressively shitty website design. 🙃

I've been checking to see whether locations in my area have the new Covid-19 vaccine yet, happy to see some upcoming appointment slots become available for a nearby chain pharmacy and frustrated to see that location then vanish from the list of options as that date got closer. Late yesterday, it occurred to me that our local Kroger grocery store has a pharmacy that might also do vaccines, so I checked and was delighted to see that, yes, they had lots of appointment slots open for this weekend!

So today, I got back on the website to try to schedule a slot.

I had already noticed some hiccups in Kroger's main website thinking I was in a different city than I am and not providing an obvious option to search by zip code, but the vaccine scheduling interface asks for location separately, so this didn't seem like a huge problem. (Oh, how naive I was.)

First, I pulled it up on my phone and selected that I was looking for Covid-19 and flu vaccines. Unfortunately, I soon hit a date-of-birth field that would not let me type the date, but instead wanted me to select it from a little calendar pop-up. The calendar pop-up of course defaults to the current date, and shows one month at a time, so I would have had to page back, month by month, to reach my year of birth. Not being an infant, that was problematic.

Next, I tackled it from my computer again, which let me type the date and get past that. I got all the way to the appointment selection process, which again populated a whole list of appointment times for my local store and others. I made a choice, clicked the appointment time, and...

"This location does not offer COVID-19 Vaccines at this time." 😡

The fact that I was looking for a Covid-19 vaccine was literally the first piece of info I provided in this process. Why the fuck was that location ever presented on the list of appointment slots if it doesn't offer that kind of appointment?!?

[kwiki-trends]

Joe Burrow and Olivia Holzmacher: A Look at Their Relationship

Joe Burrow, the star quarterback for the Cincinnati Bengals, has not only captured the hearts of football fans with his impressive on-field performance but also sparked curiosity about his personal life, particularly his romantic relationship. This fascination has centered on his long-time girlfriend, Olivia Holzmacher. A Deep Dive into Joe Burrow and Olivia Holzmacher's Relationship

Joe Burrow's relationship with Olivia Holzmacher has been a topic of interest for many. The couple's story began in 2017, marking the start of a long-standing and stable partnership that has withstood the challenges of a high-profile life in professional sports. The summer of 2023 saw a surge in engagement rumors, which only heightened public interest and speculation. Who is Olivia Holzmacher?

Olivia Holzmacher is more than just Joe Burrow's girlfriend. She is a Senior Process Specialist and Analyst for Kroger, with a notable career of her own. Despite the pressures of Joe's NFL career, Olivia and Joe have maintained a strong and enduring relationship, gaining admiration from fans and followers. Public Image and Social Media Presence

Olivia Holzmacher is active on social media platforms like Instagram and Twitter, where she shares snippets of her life with Joe Burrow. Her posts include a mix of personal and professional content, highlighting her achievements and their shared moments. This blend of photos and anecdotes provides fans with a glimpse into their life together, further fueling public interest in their relationship.

Through social media, Olivia and Joe present a picture of a supportive and loving couple, managing to keep their bond strong amidst the demands of fame and professional sports. Read more..

[arpov-blog-blog]

..."The goods these prisoners produce wind up in the supply chains of a dizzying array of products found in most American kitchens, from Frosted Flakes cereal and Ball Park hot dogs to Gold Medal flour, Coca-Cola and Riceland rice. They are on the shelves of virtually every supermarket in the country, including Kroger, Target, Aldi and Whole Foods. And some goods are exported, including to countries that have had products blocked from entering the U.S. for using forced or prison labor.

Many of the companies buying directly from prisons are violating their own policies against the use of such labor. But it’s completely legal, dating back largely to the need for labor to help rebuild the South’s shattered economy after the Civil War. Enshrined in the Constitution by the 13th Amendment, slavery and involuntary servitude are banned – except as punishment for a crime.

That clause is currently being challenged on the federal level, and efforts to remove similar language from state constitutions are expected to reach the ballot in about a dozen states this year.

Some prisoners work on the same plantation soil where slaves harvested cotton, tobacco and sugarcane more than 150 years ago, with some present-day images looking eerily similar to the past. In Louisiana, which has one of the country’s highest incarceration rates, men working on the “farm line” still stoop over crops stretching far into the distance.

Willie Ingram picked everything from cotton to okra during his 51 years in the state penitentiary, better known as Angola.

During his time in the fields, he was overseen by armed guards on horseback and recalled seeing men, working with little or no water, passing out in triple-digit heat. Some days, he said, workers would throw their tools in the air to protest, despite knowing the potential consequences.

“They’d come, maybe four in the truck, shields over their face, billy clubs, and they’d beat you right there in the field. They beat you, handcuff you and beat you again,” said Ingram, who received a life sentence after pleading guilty to a crime he said he didn’t commit. He was told he would serve 10 ½ years and avoid a possible death penalty, but it wasn’t until 2021 that a sympathetic judge finally released him. He was 73.

The number of people behind bars in the United States started to soar in the 1970s just as Ingram entered the system, disproportionately hitting people of color. Now, with about 2 million people locked up, U.S. prison labor from all sectors has morphed into a multibillion-dollar empire, extending far beyond the classic images of prisoners stamping license plates, working on road crews or battling wildfires.

Though almost every state has some kind of farming program, agriculture represents only a small fraction of the overall prison workforce. Still, an analysis of data amassed by the AP from correctional facilities nationwide traced nearly $200 million worth of sales of farmed goods and livestock to businesses over the past six years – a conservative figure that does not include tens of millions more in sales to state and government entities. Much of the data provided was incomplete, though it was clear that the biggest revenues came from sprawling operations in the South and leasing out prisoners to companies.

Corrections officials and other proponents note that not all work is forced and that prison jobs save taxpayers money. For example, in some cases, the food produced is served in prison kitchens or donated to those in need outside. They also say workers are learning skills that can be used when they’re released and given a sense of purpose, which could help ward off repeat offenses. In some places, it allows prisoners to also shave time off their sentences. And the jobs provide a way to repay a debt to society, they say.

While most critics don’t believe all jobs should be eliminated, they say incarcerated people should be paid fairly, treated humanely and that all work should be voluntary. Some note that even when people get specialized training, like firefighting, their criminal records can make it almost impossible to get hired on the outside.

“They are largely uncompensated, they are being forced to work, and it’s unsafe. They also aren’t learning skills that will help them when they are released,” said law professor Andrea Armstrong, an expert on prison labor at Loyola University New Orleans. “It raises the question of why we are still forcing people to work in the fields.”

[dogwhizzer]

taking marvin falsettos on a field trip to the mega krogers cheese bar/wine section

[moonspower]

😍 : What does your OC find irresistible in others?

✨ @starfoam. meme. still accepting!

vi just really loves men that know what the fuck they're doing. for example: he has the craziest crush on chef marco pierre white. he's the chef that trained gordon ramsay. he's the one person that made gordon ramsay cry because he's that much of a hard ass in the kitchen and vi finds shit like that hot?? he likes men that do what they do and they're the best at it with no one coming close.

he doesn't care if your skill is bagging groceries while you work at kroger, it's sexy if you're the best god damn bagger in that ho. if your thing is fixing washing machines or collecting stamps from around the world? dazzle him with your finesse. extra points if it's in a field he's unfamiliar with. teach him something new. show him some shit he's never seen before in his life.

[bslack12]

Roland-Garros and the Palais Garnier

The second Wednesday of the term was quite a long one. I woke up and immediately readied myself for an adventurous day. Having the morning and afternoon to myself, I had already booked a tour at Roland-Garros, the sight of the eponymous tournament colloquially referred to as the French Open. The journey pushed me passed the Boulevard Périphérique and onto the edges of the Bois de Boulogne.

After emerging from the Métro at Porte d'Auteuil, I wandered around towards Le Parc des Princes, home of Paris Saint-Germain. After wandering around the circumference of the stadium, I made my way up to the hallowed grounds. After a nice haul at the boutique, I met my tour group and got to see some wonderful sights. We went to the top of Court Phillipe-Chatrier, looking onto the amazing red clay court as well as the entire complex that spawned from the beating heart of French tennis. We then went down to the media area (a nice sight to see given my line of work), which is quite a bit nicer than the facilities at the Boone, or let a lone Rupp Arena or Kroger Field. After a trip through the locker room, we then made our way courtside and it was spectacular. Years of seeing the court on TV were finally in my face and it was one of the best experiences so far. The grounds are truly a temple to the sport and after seeing the outside of the All England Club last summer, it was especially cool to go inside.

After my tour ended, I had a nice lunch at a brasserie before heading into the Bois de Boulogne for a nice afternoon hike. I started inside the Hippodrome d'Auteuil, which had an infield full of other sporting fields to go along with the steeplechase track at its exterior. It was cool to see how Paris had combined the space to be useful when it is not racing horses. I then went into the forest for a nice hike that transported me into a world that felt miles removed from the metropolis of Paris.

My walking adventures were not done, as I headed to a Metro stop about a mile away to get a train to Trocadero, where I headed down to the Seine and down the Champs de Mars. It was littered with construction and Bastille Day preperations so it was not the same as picutres, but it was still a nice sight to see.

I journeyed back to Maison de Mines for a quick refresher before the night's class at the Opera, where we would see a ballet, L'Histoire de Manon. The building was spectacular and filled with a level of decadence that the famed French opera and ballet deserved. However, I wish I could have seen the facade and removed the looming construction. I quite enjoyed my first ballet performance, as the music was spectacular, the theatre was the perfect place to marvel at luxuries, and the skill on display was impressive beyond belief.

By the end of the day, I had racked up over 17 miles of walking and seen some of the best sights of the trip.

[christianitywithouttheinsanity]

I don't know whether to laugh or cry at this one. On the one hand the Bible does say that if God cares for the birds of the air and the lilies of the field then They'll care for our every need... But I don't think "don't worry about what you'll eat and what to wear" means God is meticulously watching the ingredients in our refrigerators or listening to our prayers for a good parking spot at Kroger's...