#because the area I’m moving to it is fully cheaper to buy my own home than to rent

[caramiaaddio]

Hey remember how the last year sucked so hard I had to quit my first real job and then no job would accept me for months? Guess who just got accepted by two different jobs at once and got to pick the better of the two which is everything I wanted and more :33333

[akaashisupremacy]

Curiosity

Summary: Hajime Iwaizumi runs into an old friend yet again. Second chances don't come often so will he able to make a move before their time is up?

Iwaizumi x fem!reader/Oc || Read it on A03

Genre : romance, friends to lovers 

The day had gone by quicker than Hajime Iwaizumi thought it would. It was now or never.

It all began last week, when he ran into Hiromi Miura, a friend from college, in a small Vietnamese restaurant in Ginza a month after he moved to Tokyo. As he lined up for a seat, he noticed the figure in front of him was familiar. He tapped her shoulder and waved. Hiromi was so surprised that it took her a moment to realize it was her old classmate.

“Iwa??” she said in disbelief.

They got a seat together to catch up. Normally, Hiromi would be nervous about have lunch with one other man, but she had been on so many failed dates lately that at least she knew lunch with Iwa would not end in disappointment.

“You’re eating here? This place must be legit huh?” he said, remembering that she worked for a food publication. She chuckled.

“Definitely has my seal of approval.”

The restaurant was small and Iwa was rather tall. He could feel his knees touching hers from time to time. She crossed her feet behind her chair so they didn’t have to apologize mid-conversation when they bumped into each other.

“I’ve been meaning to call you by the way. Do you know any good markets around where I live?” he pulled out his phone to show her the area where he was staying, “I’m not too familiar with the area yet, so you’ll have to tell me where is it on the map.”

Iwa lived almost at fringe of the city. His home was located not too far away by bike to one of Hiromi’s favorite wet markets. She took his phone a little more enthusiastically than he expected her to and pinned a location.

Hiromi loved showing people around her favorite food spots. If being a food guide was more lucrative, she would ditch her dayjob altogether.

“Here! There’s a wet market where I’m friendly with the stall owners right here.” she pointed, “It’s about a 15 minute bike ride away from your place. I can help you get good deals. Not too many tourists too.”

And that was how Iwa found himself inside a wet market with Hiromi, on an early Monday morning. On most mornings, Iwa liked to jog and not do chores, but Hiromi had been so enthusiastic about the market that he let himself get sucked in. He tried not to yawn as she waved at every other stall.

“Another market day for work? Did the production team ask for your help again?” tutted an old woman at a vegetable stand.

Did he really look that dressed down?

“No, I’m bringing a friend around, hopefully a soon to be regular. Yamagata-san, this is Iwaizumi. He just moved here.” she chuckled, gesturing at him. Iwa politely bowed and greeted her.

As Iwa picked out some vegetables, Hiromi continued to chat with the old woman, guiding him every now and then to a vegetable that looked fresher than what he had picked out.

“I thought he was a production boy., You know one of those boys that drives your company van and carries your stuff.” Yamagata-san commented good naturally, “Too handsome for a production boy.”

When Iwa was about to pay up, Hiromi disappeared over to the next stall. He sighed and made his way to the counter at the back. Behind the desk, he saw a simply framed black and white photo of Yamagata-san with a candid smile, reaching out to a customer. The background seemed to blur and the old woman was the star. Next to that was a smaller photo of Yamagata-san and…Hiromi.

Was Hiromi some sort of MVP for this stall or something?

“Miura-chan took that photo of me,” said Yamagata-san, taking notice of Iwa, “I told her that I didn’t need such a big photo of myself so I insisted on having one with her.”

“What was the photo for?” he asked, peering again at the two photos.

“She ran an article on the oldest stalls of the market saying we were the heart of the community or something like that. When the story came out, she even gave us a glossy magazine that had my picture on it. She made us sound big and important. She was really grateful that we let her talk about us so she gave us a framed photo of ourselves to remember her milestone by. It was her big solo article I think.”

After hopping from one store to another, sometimes to say hi and others to buy produce from, they settled in for early lunch at yakitori or grill restaurant. The sun was high in the sky. While waiting to be seated, Hiromi bought cool green tea for the both of them.

“This is so good! Damn!” he sighed in pleasure. The drink relieved the sweat gathering at his back. Hiromi grinned in satisfaction.

“Iwa can I ask you something?” she tilted her head towards him.

“Shoot.” Suddenly he felt unnerved and tense. What could this be about? He bit down on the tip of the straw.

Her eyes were with amusement, “Did you not notice that the fruit vendor was making eyes at you?? She’s totally into you and I tried to wingman for, but you just shrugged and paid up.”

“Wait, for real?” he asked, taken aback by his lack of self-awareness.

Hiromi nodded her head vigorously, “That was cold!’

He slapped his hands on his forehead, “Well, I wasn’t really interested in her anyways.” he sighed, his eyes flicking towards her before looking away.

Hiromi recalled a time in college, when a circle of their friends were having lunch together. One of the girls that had a crush on Iwa tried to make a pass at him.

“I would date you if I could, Hajime-kun,” she blushed. Everybody’s eyes turned to Iwaizumi who continued eating and only stopped because someone had nudged him.

“Thanks, I’m flattered,” he nodded. It had taken him weeks to realize that she was trying to confess to him.

“Do you remember that time in colle-“ she began but was interrupted. He was cringing as he remembered the same memory.

“Don’t bring up that lunch incident, Hiromi. I know you’re going to. Just NO.”  he groaned, “I get it! I’m dense.”

Hiromi was trying to restrain her laughter. He could hear her stifle her giggle beside him. She tried not to look at him. He straightened up beside her and nudged her knee with his.

“I wasn’t interested in her anyways.” he said, thoughtfully looking at her.

“Clearly not,” she snorted, browsing through the menu, “You should see what you want to eat before they seat us.”

He placed his hand a little bit behind her and peered over her shoulder. He could feel her arm pressed against his chest. They were seated so closely his nose almost touched the side of her head. She remained oblivious to him.

After they were seated, Iwaizumi finally brought up what he had been noticing.

“How does everyone here have a photo by and with you?” he asked, “Are the photos really required by your work?”

Hiromi looked a little embarrassed. She cleared her throat and sighed, “People like to take. They take stories and never give the people they take from. They take their food and their ideas, which is really not fair.

“It took me a while to earn the trust of the community here but once I gave them a copy of their story, it made them realize I was sincere about wanting to give back to them. The black and white framed photos, that was on me. We had some budget left so I got them their own photos because they’re important even if their job is not glamorous.”

“You’re really passionate about your job huh?” he said. The food had just arrived and they began to rearrange their bowls and plates on the table.

“It’s not my job I’m passionate about, it’s people and their stories. I’m just lucky enough to be paid enough to do this.” she smiled.

“Don’t you feel the same way about your job?” she asked, “You like volleyball so much you turned it into a profession.”

“I do, but I’ve just started in my new job. Passion takes time if not at least a little bit more experience. Maybe by next year, I can feel the same way about my work.”

———————————————————————————

“Thanks for bringing me here.” he said as he loaded up his bike with his morning purchases.

“Thanks for lunch,” she said. Iwaizumi had paid while she was at the restroom to thank her for introducing him to her community market.

Urgency prodded at his back. It was now or never. As she handed him some of his packaged vegetables, he hastily turned to her.

“Can I see you again next week?” he said it so quickly, he wasn’t sure she fully understood him.

“Oh, do you want to try a different market?” she asked, carefully taking out the strawberries from her bag and transferring it to his bag.

“No, no this market looks great —“

“I know right! It’s not the best or most comprehensive market, but it’s a good market if you’re looking to build a community with.” she beamed with pride.

Iwa straightened his back and cleared his throat, “No, like a date.”

She paused and stood to meet his eye. “Oh…I guess this is why you weren’t interested in the vendor huh. I really thought she would be your type! She even plays volleyball.” She looked away while slowly recalling signs from earlier today: the knee nudge, the lunch, his lack of interest in other women in the market.

Iwa could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He forgot how nerve-wracking it was to ask someone out. Sweat was pooling around his temples just standing there.

“Ahh not really, I am actually interested…in you. I thought you might like me too, that’s why you agreed to go out with me today…y’know to test the waters…” he stuttered, “but..ah…turns out you just really like markets. I realized that I should have been more forward.”

Hiromi was simultaneously flattered, mortified and a little confused. She kept quiet. In the back of her mind, she entertained the thought that maybe this was an unofficial date, but she had convinced herself that Iwa was invested in buying cheaper fresher produce.

“It’s ok if you don’t want to. You look uncomfortable,” he said, waving his hands side to side, breaking her out of her reverie, “We can pretend like this never happened.”

She hesitantly replied, “Well, I’m on the weekend and my hours are flexible on Thursday because it’s a reading day for me…” She was praying in her heart that she got her schedule right.

Her reply caught Iwa off guard. Nevertheless, he jumped to the chance to spend a day next week with her.

“That’s great! I’m away next weekend, but Thursday sounds great.” he smiled, looking hopeful, “Let’s meet then?”

“I know it’s kinda early, but I think I have to put it out there that my schedule’s really erratic some days. That’s kind of put some people off.” he shrugged. His schedule was one of his occupational hazards.

“We’re out on a Monday, I think I’m aware.“ she nodded. Although outwardly calm, she was ready to faint. She couldn’t wait to tell Itsumi that she had a date with a seemingly decent guy?

“Oh and Iwa?” her face schooled itself into a more serious expression as he gave her his full attention, “It’s non-negotiable for me. If you want to insist on being able to date other people, I’ll have to cancel next week.”

“I had a small spat with this guy I was dating and I…walked in on second date while he was making out with someone.” she gritted her teeth, heaving a sigh.

“Ok, I won’t see anybody else while we’re seeing each other. Deal?” he couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m not very good at dating. I haven’t been in a good relationships in awhile. I’m gonna need your patience.” she said softly, turning to him, her eyes wary.

“I’m kind of aware.” he nodded, “I’ll make the most of the time you can give me.”

When she left she felt dumbfounded. She had recently sworn off dating and now she was on another date?

“Itsumi, you’ll never guess what just happened!” she called up her coworker.

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

This is part 2 of a series on Iwa living in Tokyo after he moves back from California. If you’d like to keep up with the next chapters (which will include questions to help them fall in love *hint hint*), comment or message!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Series taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan

[mor-beck-more-problems]

The Best Little Pit-Stops in Texas || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan shows Deirdre her old haunts in Houston. You really can’t go home again, but sometimes you leave good behind.

CONTAINS: Houston vibes, softness

When the El Real Mexican Restaurant built itself out of an old two screen movie house, they’d kept the neon marquis intact, equal parts nostalgia and kitsch. In college, when Morgan was wringing out a day’s worth of food from $10 tacos al carbon and endless chips, she had enjoyed making a point of admiring the puns and jokes posted under the neon lights: We’re jalapeno these spicy tostadas! We’re nacho kidding, $5 margs when you order new loaded nachos! When Morgan brought Deirdre there on their second night in town, it read: In Queso You Didn’t Know: Closing Dec 26. We’ll cilantro you again someday. Guess you really couldn’t go home again. “And here I thought it was packed because it’s a local institution,” she mumbled.

They parked across the street between a Half Price Books and a Jack in the Box. Houston was still twilight blue at six o’clock, and she could see the shift changes at the local eateries: aprons going up, textbooks and phones coming out. In the other parking lots in sight and on the eating patios of other restaurants, clubbers strolling for a bite to coat their stomachs before hitting the streets and rainbow flags dangling limp and content from shop windows. Morgan slid into Deirdre’s side as they picked their way along the crawling traffic. She had envied those young people so much, almost in tears with how badly she wanted to be a part of them. She would never know what it was like to be that young and alive and free. But with the woman she loved pressed close, she felt a piece of what she had been aching for. It wasn’t their stuff, or even their numbers, though she did miss knowing that she had enough people who cared about her to fill a room. It was something else, something like the love they grew between each other, but not quite. “I would bring girls out here and get them to buy me entrees I could take home to refrigerate. Even if nothing came of it besides a kiss or an hour fumbling around, it was nice to have a hot dinner I wouldn’t have to cook later. And we were pretty safe out here. Girls didn’t get the same kinds of looks as guys, and this part of town is designated as the gayborhood. As long as you weren’t walking alone and looking obvious, it was fine for me. I’d cover the cheap drinks, obviously. Sometimes with magic counterfeit money but--” she put her finger to her lips. “And if things were going really bad, I could pretend to be really riveted by whatever they were screening up on the wall.” Morgan pointed, in case the projection was getting lost in the organized chaos of evening rush. “Besides having the best tacos for your buck, it was a good spot my dad liked to take me to. Not when it was like this, but when the place first opened and the lunch special had everything even cheaper and we could pass by all the fancy shopping centers on the way home. We can too, it’s really close to the hotel, actually. This time of year everything is decked out in the most incredible lights. It’s like something out of a movie. Anyways--” she smiled thin, not sure what she was trying to get at with all this local geography discourse, “It’s only fair I bring my actual best girl here, while it still exists.” She did feel a little hollow, knowing this would be the only time they were going to be here. None of her childhood homes were still standing, and the apartments she had lived in weren’t worth driving to as far as she could reckon. What else was left of the place she’d been bound to for most of her life but these transient commercial spaces? Morgan frowned as they were seated and the chip bowl was put in front of them. Despite not feeling the November warmth, she had been too preoccupied with her family drama to brood over her life being over completely. Here or anywhere else. What was she planning on doing here besides playing tour guide to her old shadows? Morgan reached for Deirdre’s hand, trying to get a read for how she felt about being here. “How are you doing…?” She asked.

Deirdre’s eyes raked over a labyrinth of people. She didn’t like crowds, usually; noisy, chaotic things. It was a sea to get lost in, a force to feel small under. But there was one tiny delight in that. She could watch the humans flutter about their lives; she would know them, their fear, and happiness and anger, and they would never notice her. All her life, she had been stuck as the observer. Though it was not a role she chose, it was one that suited her. For all the charm that rolled naturally off her tongue, there sat her own fears and insecurities, inscrutable to the fellow watcher. Things changed when she met Morgan, and she wasn’t so much a shell floating through the lives around her as she was someone living for once. “I’ve never really been to a Mexican restaurant before,” she explained on the walk there, “I’ve never really been anywhere, I suppose.” And she hoped that in the quiet of her voice, Morgan would realize just how much she’d given her. It was in that way, that despite the loss that rattled in her chest, she could summon warm smiles and enthusiastic bouts of affection. Her life began with Morgan, after all. She would not let her girlfriend’s end with old, bitter memories. For every reminder of them she could find, she held Morgan closer, kissed her longer, gripped her tighter.

The restaurant’s closing date, announced brightly with a joke in neon lights, wasn’t something she could love away.

She pressed herself firmly to Morgan. It was one part imminent closing, another part restaurant. They never visited any after Morgan’s death; Morgan couldn’t taste anything and Deirdre never ate much to begin with. And though days of stealing fries off Morgan’s plate were replaced with longer walks and frequent picnics, Deirdre wasn’t so oblivious that she didn’t know what this meant for them. What it meant for Morgan now, entering a restaurant she loved, and couldn’t enjoy fully before it would be gone forever. Though Deirdre was caught up in the spectacle of the crowd and the interior, her mind wouldn’t drift from what must have been plaguing her love. The lights above were warm-tinted, strung delicately across the old ceiling, just one scream away from littering the heads of everyone below. “Well, now I’m offended I’m not the only girl you bought drinks for with counterfeit money,” Deirdre feigned a huff, chuckling as her eyes followed where Morgan was pointing. Sure enough there was a movie playing, one she couldn’t recognize or hear, but she was mesmerized by the moving shapes beyond her anyways. Action she didn’t know the plot to, logic she had yet to unravel. There was something odd about stumbling into a movie halfway, played as a backdrop, that she couldn’t put her finger on. By the time they got their table, she still hadn’t quite figured it out. Morgan cut across the table, hand against hers, and Deirdre snapped from her daze. “How am I…” She breathed, incredulous. Then she softened, turning her hand so their fingers could intertwine. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that…?” She smiled gently. “This place is special to you, uneventful dates for free dinner aside...or perhaps, even with those. A place you came to with your father. And it’s…” Deirdre glanced around, then back at the entrance. “I could buy it back, from whoever they sold it to. I could make them keep it open. I’ve tried it before…” She turned back to Morgan. “That old antique store in my town. The place I saved up my allowance for, the place between all the pubs and houses? I tried to---well, it doesn’t matter now, I suppose. It closed. But I could save this place, if you wanted that.”

Morgan heard the quiet notes in Deirdre’s voice, a shy admittance she didn’t know how to read. Would it be better if they had some perfunctory appetizers and left? Was she overwhelmed, or unhappy? Morgan pressed Deirdre’s knuckles to her lips and scooted her chair close so they met nearly side to side in the corner. “I’m...a lot of things, but mostly fine.” She hadn’t been thinking about what it would be like to be here when she called ahead for a table, only that it was already by the Menil Art museum and the Rothko Chapel she’d shown Deirdre earlier and that whenever she thought of the Montrose area, all cramped and flourishing and safe, she always tasted the char of perfectly seasoned chicken fajita meat and the sour tang of tequila on her tongue. From here. It had seemed essential, and she’d never had a bad time there, even when she and her dad guiltily brought Ruth along for their early lunches a few times. Why wouldn’t she make room for something that had always been reliable and good? But now they were here, and Deirdre didn’t like crowds, and Morgan didn’t get anything out of the tortilla chips except crunchiness and pointy ends poking the roof of her mouth. The inside was just like she’d remembered. Rainbows of margaritas, salsas, and November ‘winter wear’ spilled all through the open eating space. The usual cowboy movies and Bonanza specials had been traded in for Christmas-y movies, even though it wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet. Morgan recognized Jimmy Stuart in The Shop Around the Corner at once. He was one of Ruth’s favorites, and this was one of the few films they had been able to agree on. It should have felt like she was falling back into old, comforting steps.

But all the workers would be out of work after Christmas. The red and green paper garland would be thrown away or sold. The building would become something else. Everyone eating here would funnel into other places, some to boring franchises, some to mom and pop places still surviving under the radar. And all the energy Morgan had shed in this place on dates and lunches and lonely comfort outings would be cut loose and aimless, a ghost of their own. And Morgan couldn’t taste anything or smell the full potency of the steaming skillets passing by or even tell how much hotter it was inside. She didn’t know who she felt more sorry for, the El Real or herself.

“You didn’t answer my question, babe,” she said gently. “If this wasn’t such a great idea in practice, there’s plenty of other places we can go and ways we can spend our evening. Or if I can do something-- I’m just checking in, and I don’t want all of this to be about me.” If not out of kindness, then for this: the more she lingered on herself, the more she felt like a ghost herself.

She softened at Deridre’s half-told story, releasing what little determined resolve she’d been holding onto. “You don’t have to do that,” she murmured. “That would be...I mean what would we even do with the place, except give it back to the old owners, I guess…” Which was a thought that did make her happy for a moment, enough that she couldn’t hide it. “I could never ask that, and it’s not like we’d get to enjoy it often…” But that wasn’t the point. The point was to let Morgan get to keep something, some place that had mattered to her. Even the schools she’d gone to were no longer standing as they once were. Was keeping it something she wanted? “Tell me more about that place of yours. I want to know, even if I can never see it. Especially because I can’t see it.”

“I’m worried about you, my love.” Deirdre replied easily, sighing with relief as Morgan scooted next to her. As soon as she could, she took Morgan’s hands in hers, firm and steady. “We haven’t really been to any restaurants since…” As her sentence trailed away, she offered a small smile, her brows furrowed with worry. “Maybe I’m just thinking about it too much. Tell me if I am, but I know how much you’ve lost in your life, and how hard things are now and I just...worry, I guess.” And it was frustrating, that they had to be seated in two separate chairs, half-blocked by a table. Al’s had booths, at least. And pie. “I’m okay. More than okay, really. I get to spend time with you, in your home, and all the places you love. I get to fill and color my understanding of you, and that’s magical to me. Knowing you always is. I’ll be okay, no matter where we go or what we do. But if I can do something for you, Morgan….” Her eyes drifted to the movie again; the action had shifted, new actors showed their faces. She knew less than she did before, and the strange, unnamed feeling crept back into her stomach. She slumped and turned back. “This doesn’t have to be about you, if you don’t want that. You know I like you…” Deirdre grinend and nudged her. “And you know I like hearing about you, but if you just want to eat some tacos and have fun, we can do that.”

In a show of good faith, Deirdre reached across and plucked a chip from the table. And then she ate it, slowly, as if it might bite her. There were a lot of things she had never tried before, and she was embarrassed that tortilla chips existed somewhere on that list. Not drenched in nacho toppings, at least. Though nachos themselves were something she only just tried this year. “These don’t taste like potato crisps, I suppose.” She swallowed, trying to dust the salt from her fingers. “We could give it to someone who wants to run it,” she offered, debating on another chip. “We could talk to the owners, talk to other people. And it isn’t really about visiting it…” Deirdre turned her attention away from the so-called “endless” chips, which seemed like they really did have an end to her, several, in fact, and looked to her girlfriend. She knew that she understood, and so she didn’t elaborate on metaphors and symbolism. “If you want that,” she whispered, “change is inevitable, I know. But sometimes you can keep something just as you knew it, just as you loved it. There’s nothing wrong with wanting that.” The story of her little store, a world of its own mysticism, was one of less hope. “It’s not interesting,” she began, “I-I told you about the old books I bought, haven’t I? The ones my mother burned. I got them from there. It was...well, I wasn’t allowed out, much or at all. But this store wasn’t so far from the farm, and yet not too close either. And the few times I had errands, I had just enough time to spare to duck inside and get lost among the trinkets. The owner never complained about seeing me there, or letting me stay.” She knew some kids who were yelled at for accused stealing, more that turned up their noses at the dust and smell. But the old man never paid her much attention, and that, she figured, was a kindness. “I never visited it much when I started highschool, but I passed it one day and noticed a sign and...I-I thought it was money problems. I stole some cash from the family--they never noticed it was gone anyway--and left it inside for the owner.” Deirdre shook her head, “he just used it to retire. Now there’s a bookstore there. It’s not a...thrilling story. Or one I like.”

Morgan bowed her head. She couldn’t bring herself to lie to Deirdre, and she wasn’t ready to say, no, I’m sad, because restaurants make me sad now, because there’s nothing for me in them and I feel awful goading you into ordering enough to make the effort of going out feel worth it. But Deirdre already knew. Maybe it was just common sense or maybe it was some deeper sense she had discovered from spending so much time with her, but Morgan was certain even hiding her face wasn’t going to fool Deirdre for a second. “Since I stopped being able to taste anything I used to, yeah,” she mumbled. Was she spoiling the evening? Was there a version of them that was already laughing and cuddling and making the most out of the tortilla chips? Watching Deirdre try one for herself almost made Morgan cry. She was trying, even with what she was carrying from the past month and a half, she was trying for her. Couldn’t Morgan try a little more too?

“You might...be right,” she admitted. “I wasn’t really thinking practically when I got the idea. And I’ve missed this place ever since I left so maybe I wasn’t even really thinking at all with my new normal brain. I’ve wanted you to see it for yourself way before I… I could’ve been more thoughtful, more careful about this.” A waiter passed by balancing three cast iron fajita skillets on his tray and Morgan imagined her mother’s disappointed face behind her, shaking her head. You know better.

She kept her fingers locked in Deirdre’s as she told her story. She didn’t speak much about her teenage years, Morgan only knew the story of the boy and his dog, her first kill, and that she took her vows at fifteen and only after was she allowed to go back to school. It seemed to Morgan like those years didn’t really exist, but had been corded and knotted around steps and demands and expectations, and Deirdre herself was tucked away somewhere, too numb and hurt to come out. But of course it wasn’t that simple. Of course she had summoned the will to be kind for someone else as long as it was a secret. She had tried, even then. “Oh, my love,” Morgan whispered. “It was still kind and worthwhile, you know that, right? You know--”

Their waiter appeared, holding his pad awkwardly, clearly torn between interrupting a moment and having to do his job. Morgan flashed him a perfunctory smile and ordered a white chocolate pina colada, the shrimp street tacos, and 2 tamales a la carte, rattling off some alterations that would make it safer for Deirdre. Then she asked for the check to be brought as soon as he had the time, even if that happened to be before the food was ready.

When he was gone, Morgan slid her arms around her girlfriend. “I’m coming up with a plan and I want to know what you think,” she said into her shoulder. “You tell me what else is bothering you, because I know there’s something. And we talk it out or we put it aside, and you tell me what you think about how everything tastes, and we don’t even have to finish if you don’t want to. And then…” She hesitated. “I know nothing is ever going to be the same for either of us, we can’t get those places or those feelings back all the way. But there is a place I had that was like yours. One that we can actually share equally. It’s a little more of a drive, but I want to show you, and be a part of it with you,  if you’re still up to it. But you tell me what’s making you sad or worry besides me first. I’m just gonna wonder anyway. How does that sound?”

“No, it’s not like that--” Deirdre groaned in annoyance at the space between them. Swiftly, she  pushed their chairs together, wooden bottoms clashing and finger pinched between them. She hissed in pain, drawing her purple fingertip to her mouth as her other hand settled for resting on Morgan’s thigh. “It’s not like that,” Deirdre repeated. “I don’t care about practical thinking or--Fates, Morgan, I was just worried about you. Of course I want to visit all the places you love, even if we can’t enjoy them together just the same as we would have some months ago. I’ve just been worried about you.” She swallowed thickly, fraught with concern. Was she thinking about it too much? Maybe it hadn’t even crossed Morgan’s mind until she brought it up. But, no, she knew her girlfriend well enough, she hoped. And how could she ignore small frowns or wilted sentences? Wasn’t this whole town just one big reminder of everything Morgan had lost? Was she okay with playing the tour guide, or did she muster the energy to walk just because Deirdre wanted to see everything? Or was it her mother; the meeting still stuck in her mind? Deirdre swallowed, and remembered that she didn’t need to be the silent thinker anymore, tasked with finding her own answers, she could ask. But the story of the stupid antique store lodged in her throat, her questions jammed under. “Probably not. He didn’t care as much about that store as I did, and he didn’t recognize me when I asked. It was a pointless endeavor and I spent months sick with guilt and worry about the money.” It would have been better if she left it, and slowly, the thought occurred to her about her questions too. Maybe Morgan didn’t want to talk about it or---

How long had that server been standing there? Deirdre shifted in her seat, she hadn’t even looked at the menu. It was by miracle, or the power of how well they knew each other, that Morgan ordered for her. Better, because she both didn’t know how to pronounce anything and didn’t know what she would be mispronouncing in the first place. As she’d learned recently, it wasn’t just acceptable to ask for the best thing on the menu, accompanied by their most expensive drinks. As he left, her eyes fell back on to the movie--in a new place, someone was crying now. Deirdre reached across and popped another chip into her mouth, shocked again by the crunch. She considered Morgan’s plan as she tried to chew respectably. “If you’d like me there, I’d love to go,” she turned to her girlfriend with a small smile, “but it’s not like that. Not for me. It doesn’t matter that I can’t steal the food off your plate while you’re gone to the toilet, or that we don’t do breakfast at Al’s anymore. That doesn’t---I miss it, in a way. But not like that. Not like you’re saying it. It’s not gone for me, it’s not lost. Time spent with you, my love, is always the most precious thing to me. It’s never so much mattered where or what we were doing, as long as you were happy, and I’m with you.” Her attention shifted back to the damned movie, and she frowned as she searched for the words to explain it better. “It’s worse for you, because you know what’s missing. Like a...movie met halfway. There’s dialogue and story and characters and I only know half of it. I’ll only ever know half of it. And the people…” She glanced around the crowd, caught in their own worlds, as humans so often were. “...don’t really care about the movie on the wall. Which is a shame, I bet they’d really get it if they watched it all the way through.” Deirdre sighed, slumped against her chair. “There is something on my mind, but it’s about you. And we don’t have to talk about you if that’s not what you want; if it’s too hard. We don’t have to do that. And it’s not like you’re making me sad, nothing like that at all. It’s just how badly I wish I could...fix it all for you.” She sniffled, suddenly aware that her eyes had begun to water and leak and she turned away to blink it gone. “Sometimes, I love you so much I cry about it, I guess.” Her laugh was shaky, and her humor weak. “Sorry, I’ll just, uh---”

“No, it was. It was still kind. It says nothing about you that it didn’t take, and everything about him, the part that’s wonderful is that you tried…” Morgan whispered, her words coming all out in a rush, slipping in before the subject closed. She fixated on Deirdre, letting everything else fade. The world released itself from her so fast, like it was always waiting to. She followed her gaze and listened to the crunch of more tortilla chips (so addictive, no matter what mood you were in), completely absorbed. Deirdre wasn’t far off and Morgan didn’t know if she was pained or relieved that the wrinkle knot on her forehead was because of her and not some cursed memory or dreadful epiphany. She was sniffing and blinking back tears of her own by the time Deirdre was doing the same. She untangled herself so she could wipe her cheek and the corner of her eyes.

“We don’t have to pretend. It’s okay,” she said softly. “And you’re right. It’s...I used to be in the movie. I was part of the story and everything was loud and close and intense, or, at least that’s how I understood it was supposed to be. Because I didn’t let myself act like anything more than a second string player in my own life because I was so cured and afraid. But even second string people get to have coffee and look at their special someone for a coat because they’re cold, and I’m just...not a part of that anymore. And that’s been true for the last—almost seven months now? But I was getting used to that in White Crest and I at least have people I’m a part of. Well, a couple, maybe—” Her mouth pulled into a grimace as she thought of Remmy and Nell. She pushed them away, this was hard enough already. “But everyone I used to have here died. The places I lived in are gone. Hell, my first elementary school is Costco now! I barely had an existence here, and yet that sad hopeful life seems so far and so much better than whatever it is I’m doing here right now. But it’s not just that. That would be easy. I could just tell you I made a stupid, terrible mistake and I want to go home. But I can’t, because I really do want you to have this. I don’t have a lot of anything, but what I do have feels special, because it’s mine, and I love you, of course I want to give you whatever I can offer. And you have been so deprived and shut away from the world, and look at you now, in the fourth largest city in America!”

The waiter returned with the drink and the food, and flourished out the check. Morgan caught it before it met the table and slid in her card, urging the young man to wrap things up.

“And you’re finally having tacos! Real Tex-mex tacos! And Christmas tamales, I don’t even know why they’re a December tradition, but they are! People look forward to getting bags of these like they look forward to those red Starbucks cups. You’re not just having everyday Houston nonsense, but something seasonal and special too. And I want you to be a part of it and I want to make it good. I didn’t really get to find out where all the good things are in the world when I was alive, but I know these places, I know when my lonely, miserable life was just a little better for having something hot and nice, and being surrounded by tables so crowded or just the right kind of sparse that I could trick myself into feeling like I belonged somewhere for an hour. I just—” She cut herself off and waited for her body to still, for her voice to loosen up again. She wouldn’t pretend to be okay when she wasn’t, but she wouldn’t make them a point of interest in a busy restaurant either. She waited, tears coming loose from her eyes. She waited some more, taking Deirdre’s hand into her lap. At last, with all the control she could muster, she confessed, “I don’t know how to explain the way I want to share all of my good here with you. I want you to be in the movie too, and I want to know where it’s the same and where it’s different, so it all becomes new. I feel like you understand what it’s like to be stuck on the outside, in the audience, a beat behind everyone else. And I want to show you something more and better than that. We deserve that, especially with how much shit is following us back home, if there’s anything left in me that can work my will into the world, I will show you that we can have more than watching from the fringes. And I need to be able to work my will somehow. I was born a witch and I need to know what I want counts for something and what I want is that. But I can’t share something I’m not a part of. And as horrible and selfish as it is, I hate feeling left behind. It shouldn’t even be possible, to be left behind in your own hometown, in a place you love. But I am dead to at least half of my tiny slice of world here, and that’s just what’s still standing. And I hate it. I’m finally brave enough to embrace everything there was around me and now it’s...it’s something I can only get through a screen and I hate it.” She paused again. Waited again. “But there might be something we can save, and share, and someone who would appreciate it. And when you were telling me that story, I just thought, if I can’t be alive or make this as good as I wanted, maybe I can at least save something with you. Something I can almost be a part of.” Her voice lilted up, watery with hope. “I like the idea that doing something outrageous and kind is something that we could do together.” She sniffled and smiled through her tears. “I don’t mean to be such a baby. We can talk about what’s on your mind, whatever you want to tell me or ask me. But you um, you should tell me if you like how anything tastes.”

Deirdre’s brows knit together with concern, brown eyes glistening at the mercy of new tears. She listened, and she nodded, and she opened and shut her mouth like a fish out of water as she tried to find the magic words to send the pain away. How was it, that for as powerful as a declaration of love was, the words ‘I love you’ could be so meager? Love was all she had, and yet, not enough. Her food had arrived, and their check taken care of, but Deirdre’s attention did not stir. She held Morgan’s hand tight, pressed the back of her knuckles to her cheek to take care of any tears, and paid no mind to her own crying. She shifted her fingers and cupped Morgan’s cheek; suddenly, the bustling world around them dissolved in her senses. She didn’t say she loved her, she didn’t want to interrupt, but she spoke it clearly with her body—from the warm gaze of her eyes right down to her legs, twitching to entangle with Morgan. “Houston is the fourth largest city in America?” She said eventually, lamely. And embarrassed by her inability to find the magic words, the restaurant rushed back into feeling and she turned to her food. She needed two hands to eat, just another way this restaurant foiled her; first the chairs, now the fork and knife. She took up the respective utensils in her hands and started cutting into the yellow rectangle on her plate. “I love you,” she looked back at Morgan as she swayed her food, “so much. A lot. The most. More than I know how to say, more than I can fathom. More than you can. Just—“ She sighed with helplessness, giving up on the food. “So, so, much. It means everything to me that you’re here, that you try, that you want to.” She dropped down the fork and knife, and wrapped her arms around Morgan, where they much preferred to be. “I wish I could do more for you.” Deirdre buried her face into her neck. “I wish I could go back in time and pluck you away from all that terribleness. I wish I could fix it now, with just the right words. I wish I could do more than love you. And I know that means a lot already, I know because your love means the world to me, but I just wish there was more I could do for you. I could feel it, when you were showing me around. It was like only a part of you was there, and the other was some place too far to reach—a place I can’t go. And all that time I just kept wishing I could do more, and none of that is your fault, and I promise I don’t blame you in the slightest, but by Death, I just wish so badly.” She sniffled. “You gave me life, Morgan.” And lifted her head up to meet her girlfriend’s eyes. “A real one. A good one. One I’m proud of, one I look forward to, one I can tell people about. And you’re right, I’m not in the audience anymore, I haven’t been for some time now—long before we ever landed here, and even right now. And I owe it all to you, my love. The world is so alive to me, for once. And it means something to me now. And that’s you, you did that.” She breathed with happiness, fluttering a wet laugh. “Is it bad that I almost wish it was half-dead to me too? I don’t want to be any place you’re not, even the world of feeling.”

Loss was inevitable. Deirdre knew Morgan’s life didn’t have to be ruled by it, but it would be stained. An immortal, she would lose everything all over again, all the time. And Deirdre was pained to think about it, as if her own heart had been thrust out. “I’m sorry,” she swallowed, “about everything. I love you. I want everything to be better for you, and this feeling isn’t new. When you were alive and cursed I wanted it so badly I...Fates, even if you were normal, whatever that means, I’d worry about splinters. Curse all the wood, it attacks my girlfriend, doesn’t it know she hurts?” She laughed shakily, pressing her forehead to Morgan’s. “You make everything good, my love. Always. I know your life has been unkind to you, and I don’t know how to make it all better, but we’ll figure it out together. One day at a time. Whatever we can do today that’s good, we can give whatever you want. Do whatever. I love you.” And so she kissed her, fierce and desperate and stopped only when she remembered where they were. Chased by another quick kiss, she turned back to her food and resumed her sawing.

“I know I say it all the time, but just being with you is perfect for me; more than, even. I’m so thankful that you want to share this with me, and I’m so excited for it, but just in case you don’t feel like it...or if you’ve felt like you’re doing a bad job or something...I just wanted to make sure you know the truth: I love you. Any moment with you is good and perfect, and everything I could want and more. All of this has been amazing, every second. That’s that. And, actually, if you won’t think me too dramatic to say it, there was something on my mind—“ Deirdre frowned, interrupting herself. “Why is this so hard to cut?” Bite finally freed, she stabbed it with her fork, astonished at the strangely tough exterior. “I suppose I should taste this first.”

Morgan melted into all of Deirdre’s words and touches so readily she had to stop herself from mewling out loud and climbing into her girlfriend’s lap so they could be as close as she wanted. “I don’t want you to miss out on anything, I want to feel things with you and be...alive. Somehow, just a little more. I don’t want to be where you’re not either, I just don’t know how,” she whispered, clinging to Deirdre as much as she could. If she squeezed enough, she could get the right sense of Deirdre’s back and shoulders, she could press back enough to feel her forehead. “But I am so happy that you are here, and your world is alive. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been wanting that for you, my love. It doesn’t feel like it’s as much as you deserve, I want you to have more, I am so happy that you have this.” She had just hoped that they would be able to inhabit that world together. When Deirdre kissed her she returned with even more fire and longing. She could at least pull and suck and pinch hard enough to be brought a little closer to life. “I love you too, with all I am,” she whispered, feeling lightheaded as they parted.

She was so entranced by Deirdre’s face, the gentleness in her eyes, the devotion in her smile. There was no doubting her sincerity, not after the year they’d had and the honesty they nurtured between each other, but it still seemed like a strange violation of universal order that this love in all its tender, articulate wonder could be hers. So entranced, in fact, that she didn’t realize that Deirdre was about to put the tamale into her mouth, corn husk and all, until she asked. “Oh!” Morgan startled herself out of her crying. “Babe, no, let me help.” She took the fork and prised off the shredded husk and popped the piece into her mouth. The texture was soft and familiar, even hot, still, despite how long they’d spent talking and crying and gathering interested stares. Morgan unwrapped the rest of the tamale from the husk and laid it out. “The husk is just part of how it’s cooked and served. You don’t eat it, babe. Although you could re-wrap the  tamale in it and inch it down as you eat, but that’s more trouble than what it’s worth.” She leaned over and kissed the corner of Deirdre’s mouth, right where she smiled. “But when you try the shrimp tacos, I’m gonna have to insist that you eat them with your hands the way the good mother of earth intended.”

She watched as Morgan unwrapped the food, staring at the revealed insides. That would make more sense, she figured, and chewed the piece Morgan offered her. The flavour was new, but the texture was nice, pie-like, even. “I’ve never had food that required stripping first. It seems like a—“ Deirdre was going to call it a hassle. But then she chewed. Wordlessly, she cut another bite off and brought it to her mouth. She chewed, and swallowed, and went in for another again. “This is good,” she breathed. She hadn’t been expecting bad food, but she hadn’t really been hoping for much at all. She swallowed another bite, eventually putting down her utensils—as if they got in the way of her explanation. “No, this is really good. I—“ Her eyes drifted to the tacos; Morgan had made those a few times, and so she was no real stranger to them. But she had always tried to eat them with a fork and knife. It was how her family had raised her to eat; her mother didn’t like using her hands to eat, she said it was barbarian, like the humans. There was some superiority woven into using a knife to cut into toast, instead of doing what was logical and grabbing it with her hands. But that was her mother, of course. And she wasn’t here. “Right. With my hands. Like how you’re supposed to eat it.” But she’d only just gotten used to eating pizza with her hands. Deirdre contorted her hand awkwardly above the plate, alternating between various claw shapes as she tried to guess at what would be the best way to pick one up without spilling everything inside. “The only thing I’ve really eaten with my hands is fruit, and then only because I plucked it off branches, and it’d be odd to bring a fork outside. But meals, real meals, were always a fork thing. My family enjoys their etiquette.” Which, though she had explained to Morgan once before in less words, she felt like it might absolve her from embarrassment at her display of confusion at the taco. “Which was weird—“ she gave up and turned to the drink instead. “Because all other fae I knew were a lot more wild in their dining habits; they lived in the forest. It’s like my family wanted to be better than everyone, even their own community.” The piña colada was good, naturally. And bolstered by its sweet flavour, she finally picked up a taco and bit into it. “This is also good.” By the time she finished it, her smile had doubled in size.

“What I was trying to say…” Deirdre began, eager to get the words out before the food distracted her again, and it was very distracting food. “...was that I don’t want to be something else for you to lose. I know I can’t help it in some regards but...as long as you want me, Morgan. I imagine I can do that. Even if that’s more than 500 years, I could find a way to stay. If you wanted me to.” And no longer able to ignore the call of tacos and tamales, she dug back into the food.

Morgan dabbed at her eyes as Deirdre went on, occasionally shooting a wave or a thumbs up at a spectator from the surrounding tables. The attention always made them self conscious, and by the time Deirdre had her first proper bite of a taco, the world had rendered them invisible once again.

She itched to take her banshee into her arms and kiss her greasy fingers and carry her off to bed, but the surprising joy in Deirdre’s smile stopped her. Deirdre’s smile was always a little mischievous, whether it was tender or impish, there was a little curve in the corner that hid just how wide it might stretch, like a delicious secret. Even when Morgan made her laugh by surprise, that curve stayed coiled up. But now Deirdre’s smile spread like it had an appetite of its own. Looking at Deirdre enjoy her plate was like seeing her face new. “I guess this means we’ll have to make our own table rules and split the difference,” Morgan said. “I wouldn’t mind picking fruit with you sometime. You must know all the best spots back home.”

Morgan couldn’t help but reach for her banshee as she gave her reassurances. Even more than five hundred years. Even as long as Morgan might last on the face of the earth, Deirdre would wait until they might be together. When Deirdre paused to wipe her mouth between bites, Morgan took her face between her hands instead and kissed her, firm and steady as a promise. “I won’t hold you to that, if only because there’s a chance I’ll never stop wanting you, however many years I last. But thank you.” Kissed her again. “Thank you, my love. Now come with me. I know just the place I want to save with you.”

The bookstore was an hour away from midtown. Morgan cruised through the eight lane freeway with ease, slipping off and taking the quieter back roads when she sensed traffic getting heavy without distress or comment. The night sky blazed orange with light. Even when they’d left the construction zones and the sentinel lines of streetlights on 290, every grocery store, shopping center, and movie-plex had its own cluster of lamps blasting away the shadows. The commercial strip Morgan took them to was small, with no lights save for the ones inside and two flickering orange poles from the city. The names of the shops were all painted on the windows and awning, personal and to the point: Kelly’s Tea Room, Macey Family Fitness, Acre Wood Hunting Supply. The one Morgan parked in front of was named Twice Told Tales.

Like any good second hand bookstore, the charm of Twice Told Tales was in the mess. Wooden shelves, clumsily constructed, bowed and slumped against the walls, their over-stuffed shelves dribbling paperbacks out the middle. They looked like sleeping old men whose shirts had come loose. Toys from the children’s section at the back corner littered the floor: plush dolls and generic blocks from the dollar store, mostly, with the occasional donated Disney princess or superhero action figure, fists raised, ready to light up as soon as you stepped on them. There was an old fashioned bell rigged to the door, chiming happily as they entered. Morgan laced her fingers through Deirdre’s hand and started weaving through the shelves on her old route, fiction first, then fantasy and science fiction, then romance, then the children’s corner, and back up through science, math, and then art and art history. There was no one else shopping and the woman who ran the store was nowhere to be seen, probably doing office work in the back, but Morgan kept her voice hushed all the same, as if she might shatter the place if she spoke too loudly.

“See, my family had this idea to conserve the energy we put out into the world as a family as much as possible. I thought it was because they valued being intentional with your actions, a lot, but it was probably just a way of trying to minimize the curse. Like, how much can you suffer if you don’t have that much going for or against you, right? The answer turned out to be ‘still a lot’, but they tried. And, anyway, the part that affected me was no buying books new. Or many books in the first place. Fortunately inter-library loans are a thing so I wasn’t completely deprived or anything, but getting to have a book I got to love and keep for as long as possible was a…stars, ‘treat’ doesn’t cover how excited I was. Yes, it was a special occasion, only a few times in the year. Birthday and Yule, and maybe one more time if I could prove and argue that I had been really, really good and had earned it and swore up and down not to let it become too much of a distraction.” Morgan sighed, her eyes reflecting the streetlamps like tiny stars full of wishes. “One of the books was Anne of Green Gables, I remember it because the copy was leather bound and there was this incredible, full color illustration of Avonlea inside and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and I’d bring the book to bed with me just to look at the picture and imagine being there. Literally falling asleep with my head on the cover. And I got that one, and any other books from that period of time here and… Frankie!” A young looking tabby, about Moira’s size, leapt down from its roost on a shelf and presented itself for them. Meowing so calmly, it seemed to be offering customer service. “It’s not the same Frankie I knew, obviously, but the lady here just keeps adopting tabby’s and naming them the same.” She looked up at Deirdre, giving her hand a squeeze. Was she really here with her? Did she feel how special this place was? Did she like it?

“I’d like it if you never stopped wanting me, I hope you won’t. Because there’s a good chance I won’t stop wanting you either.” Deirdre smiled softly. The food was done, delicious to the late bite, and she welcomed the Houston night air into her lungs. She didn’t know where they were going, she never really did. But it wouldn’t have mattered if she knew the place by heart or in casual passing, her excitement bubbled and overflowed like milk in a pot. Her version of simmering down was trying to read road signs as they blurred past. Morgan drove like she was going home, even in White Crest there was still some double-checking of street names, trying to decide if it was a left or right turn. She peeled off the giant freeway into an exit Deirdre hadn’t even noticed, though she had occupied herself with softly commenting every odd observation—some witty, some nonsensical, some common sense. She wasn’t so much talking to Morgan as she was letting her brain run loose. Beyond them, her pot continued to boil.

For all that she imagined of the place, their destination was better. Their destination was always better. Her eyes danced over every book spine, every dusty shelf. She almost wanted to tell Morgan to walk slower, she needed to commit it all to memory first. She needed to think about where Morgan stood before, what books she touched, and if they were still here for her to run her fingers over. In her awe and excitement, she hadn’t even remembered the name of the establishment. They should go back out, and come back in, let her revel in the chime of the door. How many times did it jingle for Morgan? Could she know? The store was cramped, every inch filled with something. She thought of the massive freeway, and tried to figure how many of these stores could fit in there. Then she listened. She looked to Morgan, and then back around the store. Between the shelves, did a younger Morgan skip with excitement through the sections? Did she look up, brows furrowed in concentration as she tried to pick out the perfect book—the best book. If she only got just one, it had to be good, didn’t it? But how could she pick, faced with options that literally fell off the shelves for her. Deirdre imagined Ruth in the corner, impatiently tapping her foot. Or maybe it was Hector, as excited as his daughter. Did he pick titles off the shelves that he thought his daughter would like? Did he marvel at how something so simple, so inconsequential, sparked such innocent excitement in her? Did he feel guilty? Deirdre turned back to Morgan, just quick enough to catch the expression on her face. Guilt, she decided. He could have made a world where she made that face all the time. Deirdre felt herself wanting to herself, she couldn’t imagine anyone feeling any different. What monsters those creatures must be, that would ever deny Morgan this.

Frankie interrupted them, which was all the better for Deirdre, who knew her eyes were watering. She laughed shakily, turning her head to hide a sniffle. “You’re so happy,” she sniffled again, trying to cover this one up with a cough as she met Morgan’s eyes. “It’s the most beautiful sight.” She greeted it with a kiss, as if thanking her lips for smiling. And another kiss to her temple; for her eyes, which glittered with brilliance. And then another, to her lips again, simply because she enjoyed kissing Morgan and wanted one more. She reached out slowly to the orange cat with a soft smile, letting it sniff her fingers. “I like Frankie,” she proclaimed, the cat hadn’t done anything in particular to earn such praise, but Deirdre had long since forgotten that she wasn’t supposed to like animals. Whatever happened in White Crest, whoever she was there, whatever she was under the thumb of rules, it was as if that woman’s skin had been lifted off her shoulders. She felt free, happy. “So I have Anne of the Green Gables to thank for the fact you’ve read the same old books I have.” Though Morgan had read more, obviously. “How did you pick books out?” She asked finally, pulling one off the shelf for herself, knowing she’d never be able to stuff that thing back in. She flipped through its slightly worn pages; someone had dog-eared a passage, and Deirdre stopped to look at it, wanting to know what someone thought was special there. “There’s so many books,” she continued, “how did you pick? Was it the prettiest cover? Did you read a couple of pages tucked away in the corner?” Show me, she was asking, in much more words. She wanted to know. She wanted the place where Morgan was happy, and the only problem she had was picking a good book, she wanted that world to be the one they knew best—like a full-color illustration of Avonlea. She wanted the gentle strokes, the soft greens, the wide fields and the old-fashioned house that always looked warm and cozy. She wanted to say they could have that. “My mother always thought second-hand books were tacky. Like the humans didn’t even care enough to keep them in the first place. The books I got from that antique store were all previously owned, just like everything else in there. That, itself, was a story. When it was replaced with a bookstore, even if I spent my time there, I never wanted to take a book home.” For various reasons, some that included an angry mother, hateful of personal possessions, others that could be summed up by the dog-eared corner that she pointed to. “People do care, don’t they?”

Morgan wiped Deirdre’s cheek and took her hands once again. “I am unspeakably, dangerously happy,” she said. Laughter bounced on the edge of her lips as she kissed her back. “It’s this place. And maybe a little bit you. Or a lot a bit you.” Frankie padded over to them and brushed against Deirdre’s legs, giving them a polite meow of inquiry again. Morgan scratched the cat’s ears and let it get a sniff of her, beaming as it purred and asked the same as Deirdre. “Frankie likes you too, I think. There’s something about bookstore cats, they just know how to develop an excellent sense of character. Maybe it’s the place.This is a room where things that are lost or unwanted go to belong together and find new homes. It feels nice because anything can have a space here, even people, just by turning up. I think people who don’t get that are just missing out. People do care, yeah…” Her voice trailed off in a whisper, awed and thrilled by the wonder bubbling up in Deirdre. The emptiness and the drab fluorescent lights and the cheap peeling tile under their feet transformed themselves just by being reflected in her face.

Morgan came back to herself with a sheepish grin. “If I can tear you away from your new best friend Frankie, I’d like to show you how I picked out my books….” She reeled her tight into her side and laid their hands against one another, hers on top, guiding it toward the spines. She walked them back to the front of her path, in generic fiction and literature, and hopped onto her toes to steal another kiss. “So, it may be shallow, but I did, to a certain extent, look at their covers. But I also--don’t laugh--tried to feel them. Their textures, their softness, but also their energy. I’d look, and I’d brush my fingers along the spines, up and down and zig-zagging to make sure I got the ones turned sideways too.” She guided Deirdre’s hand as she spoke, teaching her fingertips how to glide over the different shapes and sizes. “I knew I had something promising when my eyes and my hands aligned. Like when you look at someone you love, when you spark inside. If the energy is right, it feels like that, but quiet, it’s just a possibility of that, there’s something inside that wants to become a part of you, but you don’t know if you want it back yet. So then, and only then, I’d pick it out and read a few pages.” She looked at the shelves around them and the steady path of Deirdre’s fingers, and back to her love again. “What feels good to you, Deirdre?”

Deirdre put her book down, she felt guilty for not slipping it back in its place for a moment before her worries—big and small—were swept away by Morgan. “Oh, my love,” she laughed, kneeling down to give Frankie better attention. She was rewarded with the cat weaving between her legs. “You said that about the shelter cats too.” She glanced up, beaming. “And those strays that followed us around that one day. And, just about any animal we come across together.” It occurred to her then that Morgan had never really been speaking to the wisdom of the animals, but of Deirdre’s character. She flushed, and continued to dote on the taby. “But maybe it’s this place. I like this place.” It smelt questionable, like dust and books and something kind of like mold—maybe a byproduct of the Houston humidity. It looked like it’d been robbed; upturned, downturned, spread out like a sloppy storage room. The walls, shelves and floor were as worn as the books. And yet, charming. It wasn’t carelessness that led this store to its current state. It was worn by touch and love, claimed by time, plagued by too many treasures to fit between its shelves. It did need a little saving, a little fixing up, then it’d be just right.

“Mm, I don’t know. Frankie and I are getting along so great.” Her lips curled with mischief, easily awash with eagerness at Morgan’s offer. Even she couldn’t keep up her teasing under the promise to be shown—led—into Morgan’s world. “Okay,” she brushed herself off and stood up. “Show me.” Deirdre smiled and listened. “I’m no witch though. The only energies I feel are death, and I’m not so sure I want to pick a haunted book…” Now, one with a bone stuck between the pages would be nice, but human bookstores usually didn’t offer that. Though she didn’t think it would work for her, she followed Morgan’s steps. She imagined herself as the little girl, beyond excited to have something of her own. What would she pick? Her fingers brushed over the spines of dozens of books; soft, smooth, wrinkled. Some with indented titles, carved into their covers. Others with the embossed kind, some with glitter. All of them wanted attention from her, not unlike the threads of death she could feel at a cemetery. The glory of stories was that she could tug on any one, and be led into something new and exciting—a different world. Books and visions had that in common. So, she waited, she ran her fingers carefully along more books, considering each one. What feels good to you, Deirdre? She paused, fingers pressed to the spine of a humble book. Its title was not long or flashy, not indented or embossed. The book was not thick, though not so small it got lost sandwiched between larger company. What stood out to her most was where her fingers had landed: they obscured the rest of the title, leaving only a red M. There was only ever one thing that felt good to her, every time, without fail. The book was unassuming, but Deirdre grinned as though she found treasure. She pulled the book from its place, flipping it over in her hands so she could look at the cover. From there, she knew she’d chosen the right one. “She looks like you,” Deirdre commented, tilting the book to show Morgan the little girl on the cover. She had brown hair, a blue dress and stack of books, sitting as though she knew more about the world than she ought to—possessed of great, Morgan-esque quality. “Matilda,” Deirdre read. “This one feels good.” Good felt like Morgan, after all.

Morgan squeezed Deirdre as she picked out her treasure and melted with delight just looking at it. “She looks like you,” Morgan said. “Straight hair, dark eyes, and so rapturous and intense in her expression. It’s kinda like your face right now.” She brushed her fingers over Deirdre’s features as she spoke, caressing each corresponding piece of evidence to her argument. Confident she’d made her point, she jumped up to kiss her girlfriend’s cheek again. “Matilda had to hide her books from her parents too, you know. They didn’t appreciate how kind or thoughtful she was, so she--” Morgan caught herself, biting her lip. “If you don’t know the story yet, I won’t steal the satisfaction of the ending from you. But it’s good. My copy was a lot more heavily used than this one, practically falling apart, but it was one of my favorite books growing up. I actually committed myself to learning levitation spells because I wanted to be just like her. And you know--” she brushed her hands over the book cover. “I can feel the good vibes from this book too, even like this. Come on.” She rushed them to the counter and rang the service bell, fighting back delighted giggles. “Hello! Mrs. Benson!”

The woman who came out the back was decidedly not Mrs. Benson. She was around Morgan’s age, with a suburban mom bob and clear frame glasses. “Can I help you?”

“O-oh.” Morgan’s smile fractured and she thanked the universe for her lack of blood flow. “I just um...we’re ready to check out, if that’s okay. I’m sorry I yelled I just, I used to come here a lot. I didn’t know Mrs. Benson super well, and I guess she had to retire eventually, but she was a really nice old lady and I was just hoping to say hi or something.”

The woman’s face broke into a laugh. “Morgan the Gorgon! I’m sorry, that’s so inappropriate of me, but it’s you, right? It’s me, Shelley! We had Chem together!”

While Morgan remembered that name being chanted at her as she was chased down the stairwell and pelted with cans and paper balls, she didn’t remember Shelley, exactly. Was she and academic rival? Had she been someone Morgan had tried to impress with tarot readings and custom crystals? The high school girls blurred together, and the innocence of that time mingled with the pain, like indigestion flaring up in your throat after swallowing a cheesecake. “Hey!” She said. “How--wild! Seeing you here! What made you pick up the torch for this old place?”

“Well, my mother, bless her heart, doesn’t have a head for business, but the last thing Memaw wanted was for the only used book place out here to get bought up or disappear. Lucky for me, I managed to learn a thing or two from her before she passed.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Morgan murmured.

Shelley scoffed. “She’s smiling down from heaven at us. I mean look at us. Look at you! That’s a high fallutent city girl if I ever saw one. Both of you!” She reached out to take Deirdre’s hand and shake it, reintroducing herself as if the last minute didn’t count on account of not being personable enough. “Memaw would be so pleased,” she went on. “You were her favorite of all the regular kids.” Shelley nodded towards an exposed wooden post filled with polaroids and printed pictures of smiling children through the ages. Only two had managed to get frames on them, one that was clearly a younger shelley, posing with her grandmother, and one that made Morgan gasp: unmistakably her. She clutched Deirdre’s arm tight. The girl in the picture was so cringingly embarrassed, not just at the occasion (The Best Reader of the Year award, which amounted to a cheaply printed certificate from Office Max and a free book) but at her own happiness. The promise of a free book, a gift that had been earned in the structure of rules and work had filled her with so much excitement. It was as certain as a spell. Better, even, because she hadn’t even needed to believe, she just had to max out her library card reading more than the other kids and report everything to Mrs. Benson. It didn’t occur to her until she saw the apathetic faces in the gathering that this wasn’t a very enviable achievement. But by then it was too late, and however much she tried to stay aloof as the other eleven and twelve year olds, she failed, miserably. “That’s me,” she whispered. “Deirdre, it’s me.”

“Simpler times, huh?”

Morgan nodded, her attention still stuck on the picture. The attempts to make a slightly oversize shirt look cool, the sweatshirt tied around her waist, the permanent stains on her thrift store jeans. It was all so wrong and brought her so much trouble then, but from here, she just looked like a child. A girl still growing, twisting herself crooked trying to get something right.

“Would you like this gift wrapped or anything, ladies?” Shelley asked.

“But that sounds like you,” Deirdre argued with a soft whine. She eyed the cover again, unable to see anyone but Morgan, with her books, underappreciated for all the intelligence and kindness that existed within her. But Deirdre’s argument leapt out of her in a yelp before it had formed, swept away by Morgan. She laughed her surprise, placing the book on the counter. Though she’d been reading more with Morgan around, she had never felt excited to read a book she picked out since she was a child. She ran her fingers along the fraying edges and thumbed the pages. In a different world, she might have been embarrassed to be reading a children’s book. In this one, she was thrilled. Deirdre bounced on her heels, grinning as she waited.

Her smile gave way to one more tense, more confused. No one told her what a Memaw was, but she managed to put it together herself. She shook Shelley’s hand, momentarily considering snapping a finger for her revisiting of a clearly tasteless nickname, and introduced herself quickly. “Deirdre,” she managed, before Shelley was off to the next thing. Her eyes followed Morgan’s, and Deirdre nearly forgave her for mentioning the gorgon thing. “It’s you,” she whispered back, reaching up to pluck the picture off its nail. Matilda was fine in her cartoon form with her long hair and book pile, but this was the real Morgan. Deirdre’s grin grew back. “Can we get a copy of this?” She asked, interrupting Shelley. “Or keep it, I suppose.” She turned to Morgan, asking silently for her opinion. “It’d be nice if Morgan could be up on that wall forever, reigning over all the other children. But original photos have a particular charm.” She continued to smile at her girlfriend, held close to her. “What do you think?” She whispered, exhibiting great restraint in simply squeezing her arm instead of kissing her like she wanted. There was another question, about how much exactly Shelley should know about their relationship, or if Deirdre should make it a point that she came out of this interaction thinking they were just really good friends. “Don’t worry about gift wrapping it,” she finally addressed Shelley’s question, leaning across the counter. “I did want to ask something about, hm, donations.” Her eyes trailed over the peeling tile, the chipping paint, the books overflowing into disorganized stacks. Then it settled on the emptiness; book stores were not the most popular visit during the night, but she could almost reason it wasn’t the most popular visit full stop. “For the store.” She offered Shelley a bright, winning smile. “If Morgan wanted to put something forth, in her name. She could do that, couldn’t she?”

“If you want it it’s yours!” Shelley said. “All the kids in those pictures are old like us or moved away. Not much to appreciate. And I’m running out of room for the new kids…” Shelley went on longer, explaining who these children were and how often they came and what her ideas were for posting their pictures, but Morgan didn’t hear. She picked up the framed photograph, fingers brushing over her frizzy hair and her sloppy oversize shirt tucked into her stiff jeans. She didn’t wear grunge well, but at least the 90’s were kind to her Goodwill wardrobe.

“Thank you, Shelley,” she said. She tucked herself close to Deirdre, leaning her head on her arm as she broached the subject of donations. “We would,” Morgan tacked on. “It could be anonymous, of course, but what my girlfriend is trying to say is that we would like to give you something toward keeping this place open for another generation or two, and maybe even a facelift, or a more advantageous location?”

Shelley’s eyes widened at the mention of girlfriend, but Morgan forgave her when she didn’t comment. Shelley gestured to a donation jar, admirably half full but not exactly promising for the long term. “We’re always accepting donations at Twice Told Tales. Check is fine, if you, uh, ladies are feeling extra generous.”

“Perfect!” Morgan said. “But what would it take, do you think? Would sixty thousand help you guys out? Or a hundred thousand?”

Shelley blanched, trying to figure out if Morgan was being serious. “Are you...Well, it would certainly go a long way, a very...if mean, if you’re serious, then...I could check the books and give you a more comprehensive estimate, but I couldn’t possibly…”

“We’ll start with the book--” Morgan fished seven dollars out of her wallet and handed it to the woman. “Keep the change. And I’ll set you up with a hundred thousand now, and you can email me about what’s best for the store.” Morgan happily wrote out a check and stuffed it into the jar. “And, well,” Morgan looked hesitantly at Deirdre, trying to ask for her approval in advance, “If you don’t mind, babe, I’d like a plaque or something, with both our names on it. You can call us donors or patrons, I don’t really care, but I want people who come in here to think of Deirdre too when they think of this place.” She stuffed the check in the jar. “Can we make it a deal? A little extra funding for the store in exchange for its continued upkeep and care, along with a little recognition?” Her eyes flitted to Deirdre again, adding emphasis on the deal. They could make this different. They could make this one good thing stick, and for once, a legacy didn’t have to be something shrouded in pain and suffering.

“We?” Deirdre blinked, eyeing Morgan. She didn’t correct her, or argue, but in her silence she asked if that was okay, if Morgan was sure. This place was special to her, and it would be kept alive through her kindness. Deirdre thought herself an accessory, at best. But when Morgan didn’t correct herself, Deirdre stood up straighter and nodded. “We would,” she repeated, and pressed a kiss to Morgan’s temple as she so desired. If Shelley had any real issue with it, she certainly couldn’t after their hefty donations—and maybe that was a justice of its own sort. “Think of…” her voice caught, and she looked at Morgan for the second time with confusion. “A-a plaque would be nice,” she swallowed. Nervous not because she disagreed, but because the generosity of it, the thoughtfulness, had made her heart warm in a way that always startled her. “If that’s good to you, Shelley.” She smiled, “it sounds perfect to me.” All she had on her was a few hundred she planned on paying for the food with, and so she simply stuffed that into the jar, careful to avoid the cheque. Her gaze fluttered to the different places their plaque could lay; on the wall where the picture once was, by the door, in the corner where people would wander to read. They would know this place was special, if they didn’t get that already. They would know two women cared deeply about it. This place was good already, it didn’t need their money for that. But it would be better because of them, and it wouldn’t face financial struggle in a way so many other businesses fell victim. They could leave good in their wake. “You know, Shelley the smelly—” Deirdre grinned; and maybe some petty revenge too. “Did they ever call you that in highschool? Terrible name, really. Anyways, I know you have a lot of great ideas for this store. So why don’t you figure out how much they all cost and we’d be glad to finance them. The next time you visit your grandmother, will you put some extra flowers in for us too? Tell her we said thank you? I know she’s already been able to rest easy with her store in such good hands.” Her gaze raked one last time over the tiles, the walls, the shelves and the messy books; whenever they returned, there was no telling what this place would look like. Her heart throbbed for the scenery to be lost, but not all loss was bad. Some of it was merely change—like the tides of life and death.

Deirdre pulled closer to Morgan. They could save something, they could make it good, and she kissed her girlfriend, free. She repeated, “do we have a deal, Shelley?”

Shelly nodded, stammering out her agreement. She was so stunned, the dig at her name didn’t even phase her. “Yes, that’s, sounds great. Deal!” She didn’t have any sense for the magic threads wrapping around her words or the delight that burned through Morgan as the agreement was sealed.

“You’re a good woman, Shelley,” Morgan said. “Thank you for letting us help. You take care now, alright?” Her voice drawled softly as she picked up the old parlance of her childhood. She spared Shelley one more smile, more than a little satisfied with her own magnanimousness. She left on Deirdre’s arm, keeping her cool sense of superiority until they got back to the car. When they were safely inside, Morgan took Deirdre’s face in her hands and kissed her hard. “I love you. Thank you for doing that with me. I know it’s just one little store, but it’s part of my home now it’s a little bit mine and a little bit yours too. Something good is ours.  Not the worst way to end the night, right? How do you feel…?”

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” Deirdre breathed as they parted. “You didn’t have to, but I’m so glad you did. It’s a special place, it really is.” She reached for Morgan’s hands, eager to take them in her own, tight in her grip. “I feel happy,” she confessed, unafraid of what it meant. To them, happiness was a dangerous thing, even as often as they felt it. They knew how easily it could be taken from them, how the robbing of it could come disguised as righteousness. But there, right then, Deirdre was happy despite it all. If Ruth was somewhere, scowling at her daughter for such flagrant displays of selfish delight, Deirdre hoped she could see how much they didn’t care. “Thank you,” she repeated, “for everything, for all of tonight. For bringing me to the restaurant, for showing me this store...for letting me come along for this trip, even. I’ve loved seeing your home, Morgan.” She grinned, reluctant to part but aware that at some point, they really had to get back to their hotel. Not for rest, but because there was love she simply couldn’t share stuffed at the front of their rental. “Fates, I’d be fine if you had more planned, but I’d really like to take you back to the hotel…” She leaned across and kissed Morgan earnestly, in a way she thought might make Shelley blush if they were still inside. Parted, she grinned with a tease. “...to do some chaste reading.” She waved their new-old copy of Matilda around. “And to make love to you, either-or.” Deirdre leaned back into her seat, gripping Morgan’s hand. Whatever laid beyond them, and back home in White Crest, they’d done good here. And with luck, they could do good elsewhere. A legacy that was more than loss and pain was suddenly something Deirdre wanted, and something else she felt like she could have. She had Morgan to thank for that, she had Morgan to thank for a lot of things. “I love you,” she smiled; for now, those three words would have to carry the weight of it.

[shivae]

Sweets and Spirits was a short walk around the block, a small candy store that also sold a variety of craft beers and wines. There was an old fashioned candy shop set up at the front of the store for children and those young at heart. In the back was a bar that served up a variety of drinks. The shop was open, but no one was allowed inside.

Clover stood outside her shop. She was the youngest of his mother’s friends at somewhere in her fifties, a woman who immediately became friends with Bog’s mother because they were both short and had red hair. Clover was a perfectly nice woman, but when she got together with his mother, they harassed him relentlessly like a pair of mother hens instead of just one.

With a sigh, Bog walked up to her, still holding Marianne’s hand. He forgot he was holding her hand until Marianne leaned against him and placed her other hand on his arm. And he stood there, his mind going blank. Bog stared at Clover, swallowing hard.

“Bog?” Clover peered at him with a smile, unsure what to make of his stricken expression. “Your mother just left. She told me to tell you she’s on her way home.”

“Oh, okay,” Bog whispered, nodding his head slowly.

“I have something for you.” Clover smiled at them. “Wait here.”

Bog sighed, slowly shifting his eyes to look at Marianne as Clover went through her door, the bells over her door ringing. He found himself looking directly into Marianne’s lovely brown eyes, their warmth fixed on him. She was smiling, her cute lips set into a gentle curve, the dark plum lipstick she typically wore enhancing them. For a moment, he realized she was looking back, and he wanted to look away, but he didn’t.

“I’m sorry about whatever it is my mother’s up to.” He made a face at her and looked away as the bells rang again on Clover’s door. Clover held up a bag that clearly contained a couple of boxes and a bottle of wine. Bog scowled at Clover as he took the bag. “What’s in the bag, Clover?”

“Sweets for the sweet,” giggled Clover. “Why don’t you two head home and find out.”

Bog closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, grimacing. He wanted to give the bag back to her and leave, but Marianne heard what Clover said. It seemed rude to return something that was clearly intended for her.

“Let’s just go back to your house,” stated Marianne, winking at Clover.

“Here, this is yers.” Bog turned, pulling his hand out of Marianne’s and thrusting the bag into her arms, unable to look at her. “Go on home. I’m going to run into the grocery while I’m out. Ye don’t need to come with me.”

Marianne pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes at Bog. There was no way she was letting the last hour go to waste. Today was the day. He didn’t see her face as she stepped up next to him, jaw set with determination. “I’m already out. I’m going with you. Maybe I’ll see something I need.” Bog nodded, beginning to walk.

-=-=-=-=-

Bog scowled. Why was his mother trying to mess up his life? He was happy with how things were. His best friend in the world as his neighbor. Knowing she was nearby always made him feel so good. On the days he saw her in person, he was dumbstruck by her presence. That was as far as he would ever get. Moving any further would lead to him disappointing her.

He tried to push the thoughts away as they walked through the automatic doors and into a busy grocery store. Too many people. There were too many people, and it immediately stoked Bog’s need to hurry to the paper goods aisle and grab a couple more packages of toilet paper and leave. He ignored Marianne as she stubbornly tried to keep up.

Then he was there, stopping at the end of the aisle so abruptly, Marianne ran into his back and almost knocked him down. “Sorry!” Marianne giggled. Bog sighed, glancing down the empty aisle, completely empty and crowded with disappointed people. Disappointed short people.

There were six packages of toilet paper in a row, on the top shelf that he could see, that no one else could. He scowled at all the people, then stormed down the aisle. He reached up and without a second thought, snagged a package off the top shelf, turned, and dropped it into the closest cart. The woman pushing the cart gave him a relieved smile and said thank you.

Marianne watched Bog with a smile as he walked down the aisle, grabbing the packages that were out of reach and dropping them into nearby carts. When he got to the last one, he hesitated a moment, then dropped it into a woman’s cart who was shopping with a small child. He offered her a slight smile as she thanked him, then returned to Marianne.

“That was nice of you,” she stated as he walked by her.

“I have enough,” grumbled Bog, not meeting her eyes. There was nothing else to do. They should go home, but another idea came to mind. He knew he was being needlessly rude to Marianne and needed some way to make up for it, like making that delayed lunch he invited her over for. Not just sandwiches, something better. Maybe grill something?

Bog wandered to the back of the store, heading to the meat counter. Chicken could be done fast. Maybe pick up potato salad to go with it? Bog went through a mental list of things he usually made to go with grilled chicken thighs. Salad? Risotto? Ramen? With a single-minded focus, Bog walked into another busy area of the store and noticed the shelves were empty. Not just a few shelves, but every shelf.

The store had been cleared out, and Bog stopped walking for a moment, shocked. This wasn’t a normal part of his life or anyone’s life in this town. The shelves were always fully stocked unless the cooler was broken. Bog took a deep breath, the scene making the first real sensation of fear rise up within him.

“Bog, are you okay?” Marianne whispered, reaching out to take his hand. Bog instinctively curled his hand around hers, suddenly feeling grounded.

“I’m fine,” Bog mumbled, spotting a few packages of meats in one of the aisle coolers. “Looking for something I can make for ye for lunch.”

“Sandwiches are fine,” stated Marianne, worrying her lower lip, noting all the empty coolers.

“No, they are not.” Bog stepped toward the remaining packages and saw why they were left behind. People were grabbing the cheaper meats, and only the more expensive cuts were not taken. What was left to choose from were t-bones and ribeyes. He could afford them, but it felt awkward to buy something so expensive for Marianne. But why not? It was what was available. The brief sensation of fear returned, bringing with it an urgency to be with Marianne longer. “T-bone or ribeye?”

“What?” Marianne stared into the cooler. “Sandwiches are fine, Bog.”

“Ribeye it is.” Bog scooped up a large package, squeezing her hand. “I promised ye lunch, and we are not sharing with my mom.”

“Sandwiches are fine!” Marianne persisted, a look of panic crossing her face. “It’s too expensive.”

“N’no. It’s not,” muttered Bog. “I’ I would like to, to treat ye.” The stammer returned, exasperating Bog. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them, and tried again. “Marianne, just let me.”

“Okay.” Marianne nodded and smiled. “Thank you.”

-=-=-=-=-

They walked home with an uncomfortable silence between them. Marianne began going through a conversation, a very serious conversation she wanted to have with Bog. How was she going to do it? Just tell him? Bog, we’ve been friends for years. Have you ever wondered if we could be more? No, that wasn’t the way to go. They never talked about relationships. Bog listened to her rant about her ex, joining in on mocking him, but he had never expressed any interest in her like that.

What if he really wasn’t interested in her? If he wasn’t interested in her, then why did she keep catching him looking at her? He didn’t flirt with her. Ever. Even in the comfort of their homes while playing games, definitely not face to face, Bog never said anything that was remotely flirtatious.

Marianne sighed heavily, and Bog tilted his head in her direction.

“I don’t want things to be w’weird between us,” Bog stated suddenly, looking away. He took a deep breath. “Ye, ye are my best friend, Marianne. I d’d ‘don’t want that to ever change. We need to just forget what my mom and her friends were doing.”

“What were they doing?” Marianne stopped walking, noting they were almost home. “I want to hear you say it, Bog.”

"S’ say what?” Bog began walking quickly, trying to get away from the conversation.

“Bog!” Marianne ran after him. “Look at me!”

“I can’t!” Bog grimaced, breaking into a run. “No!”

“What are you, five?!” Marianne chased after him as he ran to his house, not about to let this go. “You promised me lunch!”

Bog ran up the steps to his house, stopping at the door. He stood there, facing it. “Marianne, ye need to forget it. Please. Don’t do this. We’ll go inside. I’ll make ye lunch, then ye go home, and we do what we usually do.” Marianne stepped to his side, staring at the door with him.

“I’ve got a great idea,” giggled Marianne. “If it’ll make you feel better, let’s have a huge argument, one loud enough for your mother to hear so she’ll never try this again.”

“Stop giggling, or it won’t work.” Bog smirked at her, liking this idea. “I’ll sneak a steak into yer backyard later.”

“Yeah, as long as I get that steak, you insisted on buying me when I told you not to. Can’t let that go to waste.” Marianne whispered to him. “Okay, ready?”

A pained look crossed Bog’s face. “I don’t mean any of this.” He took a deep breath.

“Bog! I can’t believe you tried to kiss me! What are you thinking!” Marianne beat him to it, shrieking like she was truly angry, clenching her fists. “What even gave you the idea to try that!” Bog’s jaw dropped, frozen in place. “Don’t ever talk to me again!” She turned and stormed down the steps, leaving Bog standing there, his mouth still open. He couldn’t respond, watching her walk to her house and slam the door behind her.

After a few minutes of silence, the front door of his house opened, and Griselda peered through the door, her face whiter than normal. “Bog?” she whispered in a horrified tone. “What’s going on?”

“Mother.” Bog turned to her, still stunned. He wasn’t faking it. Marianne’s words cut deeper than she could have known, even though he knew she didn’t mean them. She inadvertently crushed him, and the shock of it began making his eyes water. That was what she went with. An attempt to kiss her? Something he would never have tried in reality. He repeatedly swallowed, his throat tight and stomach turning in knots.

In stunned silence, Bog walked past his mother and went to the kitchen to prepare the steaks for grilling. He had nothing to say to his mother, shocked into his thoughts. Marianne didn’t mean what she said. She just said it for his mother’s benefit. They were just words. They were not meant to hurt him.

But they did.

Straight to his heart, those words circled and tore. Why? Because he had fantasized kissing her and occasionally, that’s where the daydream went. That she would be horrified he wanted to kiss her or touch her in any way. Marianne didn’t know that. She was just saying words.

Words.

They were just words.

She didn’t mean them the way they sounded.

Bog repeated the thoughts, trying to soften the blow. Marianne would never intentionally hurt him. They were just friends. She did not mean what she said. He fought the twitching in his face, feeling his lower lip tremble with the effort. The last thing he wanted was for his mother to see him actually cry about something, and he heard her standing in the doorway.

He hunched over, tucking his chin down as he moved around the kitchen in a frantic pace, unwrapping the steaks, laying them out on a baking sheet, and seasoning them quickly on both sides. He put his thoughts into preparing them, leaving them out to warm up to room temperature. When he was done, he walked stiffly to his room.

The fury came when he closed the door and stood in his neat and tidy room. This was his mother’s fault. Bog clenched his hands into fists and stood in front of the door, head down, trying to calm himself. She couldn’t leave well enough alone. She had to meddle. His relationship with Marianne was good where it was. Only now, she said what she said, and she would not have said it had it not been for the position his mother put them in today.

Bog took several deep breaths, eyes closed, then he looked up, through the window that was directly across from his door. Their homes were mirrors of each other, and Marianne’s bedroom was across from his. They actually had their computers set up against the wall so that when the curtains were open, they could see each other when they gamed.

Marianne was standing in her window, smiling at him, giving him a thumbs up now that he looked up. For a moment, he was confused, then he nodded, smiled back, and returned the gesture, the angry heat fading.

They were just words.

She didn’t mean them the way they sounded.

[judythemoonicorn]

I’m 33 years old. That’s over three decades of being alive on this planet. More than that, I grew up throughout a major technological revolution - which in turn resulted in major world-wide cultural evolution. The internet changed a lot. A lot a lot. More than people even ten years younger than me may realize.

But that’s not me bragging, that’s me marveling at the amount of change I’ve experienced both personally and socially. 30 years ago my neighborhood was primarily white with a peppering of latinos (Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, etc.) I lived (and continue to live) on the edge of the border between the North and South sides of my area (Northside is/was primarily slavic/baltic; Polish in the majority, Russians, and a peppering of others and Southside is/was primarily black and latino).

I didn’t see an Asian person in person until I was past 10 years old. Or at least I don’t remember seeing one before then. The only reason I remember that specific meeting is because I was running a lemonaide stand with a friend and a group of chinese (?) people randomly passed by, asked what we were doing, then laughed at us and walked off.

Anyway.

If you were to come to my neighborhood today things are vastly different. I now see asian people on a daily basis. There are germans, french, italians, indians, koreans, japanese, chinese, taiwanese, and god knows I don’t know all the possible places people have come from. My neighborhood is so diverse and busy now I don’t think my younger self would know where she was.

I emphasize this because, again, back then I wasn’t exposed to a great amount of non-whites. I could probably have counted on my hands how many POC classmates I had throughout gradeschool in my tiny, tiny school (my graduating class was 5 students including me). When I moved areas and went to High School, that school was primarily white (Italian) as well.

It wasn’t until my life went to shit and I moved back to my hometown with my mom and I switched schools (for the 4th time) I ended up in a primarily black/latino high school just a few blocks away from where I lived. Which, I should point out, a black child services woman didn’t want to send me to to begin with and acted like I’d be missing out or something if I went there or that I somehow “deserved better” than that place.

It was the first and only high school I went to where no one bullied me. People were kind and deeply interested in me and my drawings that I’d work on all day. I didn’t make any deep friendships; I found people treated me more like a curiosity all things considered, but people were amicable with me. Even if they weren’t always with each other (a LOT of fights broke out in that school, and it was the first one I’d been to that had students pass through a metal detector every morning).

Then it happened. The day came when a bunch of people were looking through my sketchbook and marveling at my work, and the girl holding the book turned to me and said something along the lines of “you don’t draw black characters?”.

I can’t say exactly what I felt at that time. Kind of shocked, kind of embarrassed. The thought had honestly never once occurred to me. Was I even allowed to do that? I’m ‘white’ after all. There’s a lot I’m not allowed to do, or I’ve always been told I’m not allowed to do, when it comes to POC. My father was/is pretty damn prejudice against just about everybody. I never saw the need to be, but my exposure was also very small to black families and their home and social cultures and the like. How could I, a Polish/Lithuanian girl who at that point in my life had practically no friends or real social relationships and a still blossoming access to the internet, be allowed to draw a black character?

Did I even have the right marker colors? (I only seriously took up digital art after I turned 18, before then I colored with alcohol-based markers like Copic and Prismacolor.)

It felt like a door opening. I was given permission to draw a black character. Someone had asked me why I wasn’t already doing it, and now I felt I had to. I remember very specifically buying a magazine where it had a photoshoot of some kind in it of Beyonce - who I felt and still feel is extremely beautiful. Plus she was the current hotness at the time so she seemed a natural fit for reference. I was studying for the GED at that point in my life, in a small ramshackle classroom where I was one of two total white kids surrounded by mostly latino guys and gals. People constantly asked me why I was there. I used “big words” (I still can’t believe someone said that to me...) and I was “really talented”. Life doesn’t really care what color your skin is.

Anyway, so I picked a picture I liked and went to it. I was nervous. Drawing the actual figure of the character wasn’t the hard part. Coloring her skin was. I didn’t have many brown colored markers, and markers were expensive for a young woman with no income. I’m talking sometimes $5 a marker. Prismacolor was cheaper and easier to get, but the color quality varied. I had tons of light-skinned colors. Only one brown I felt suitable for a black person.

Long story short on that one I created a character I really quite liked, and I was met with approval from my peers as well. It felt good. But I still felt I was missing the grand picture.

What did it mean to be ‘black’? In a physical sense, I mean. If I was meaning to portray the physical then surely it was more than just a skin color. Even I knew back then that I couldn’t just slap a darker skin color on a random face and call it a day. Half the time that’d just be a really tan ‘white’ person. I was so worried about not having the right marker color back then perhaps in part because it would be the only thing that distinguished the character I was creating as black. I was only drawing generic anime faces back then. What made the character read as ‘black’? There had to be more to it.

I think after that I started to take it as an observational fascination. There was a teacher at the GED program who was a tall, lean black man who played in a jazz band as a saxophonist, and I would stare at him the whole lesson (probably a little too much). He was perfect in my eyes for what I was looking for and what I hadn’t been exposed to growing up. The shape of his nose, his cheeks, his eyes, the gloss of his dark skin under lights; the way the palms of his hands were lighter than the rest of his skin struck me as romantic. I wanted to hold them and stare at them and study the lines I could so clearly see compared to my own pale hands. I never had a crush or anything like that despite the way I tell it, it just felt like an epiphany. Here I had someone to actively study. A model. Someone who was a mentor to me and I didn’t have to go through the social hoops of being a family friend or something.

Color was important. Absolutely important. But so was structure, attitude, body language, the shape of the face and the joints of the hands. The whole body had quirks to it that rang him as human just like me, but different unlike me. It’s hard for me to fully put it into words when I’m trying to describe it from a purely artistic sense. In the normal freaking world people are just people. But like I said before; when you want to recreate or portray the physical in a drawing/painting/whatever, there’s a whole other layer to it all. It’s like the real world is a photograph - very exact and to its own point. An illustration needs to capture the soul of a moment and all the elements that come with it.

There is a way to draw a woman that portrays her as a woman. To give hints to her personality and all else that she is. It’s like that. I needed to know what made a POC what they were beyond picking the right shade of red-brown.

And I say all this, I emphasize all this, because oh my god I see so many posts on Tumblr calling out ‘white people’ on their lack of ability to properly color black or brown characters. Or they call out whitewashing, or they call out characters being ‘too ashy’, and the accusations fly because holy shit a white person who’s been white all their life doesn’t know how to draw black people. Can you even believe?

I’ve literally seen images that feature extremely, purposefully washed-out color schemes getting railed against because one of the characters is dark skinned but the wash-out makes them look ‘white’. I remember that time Beyonce did a photo shoot and the lighting and makeup made her look very light-skinned and people called her out for whitewashing herself.

Maybe I don’t understand. I fully admit that. I’m only a simple, not-that-professional artist trying to understand the world. But I do want to believe there’s a lot more to being who you are than how you were born, who you love, or what color your skin is. When I see someone like Beyonce I see Beyonce. I don’t see a black woman. I see a woman who happens to be black. But maybe this, too, is ‘privilege’... And maybe there are things I can accept for the sake of artistic expression without the weight of racism or bigotry weighing on my mind and soul. I have to acknowledge that, too.

I sure mentioned Beyonce a lot. Jeez. Her and Rihanna are like the two most beautiful women in the world in my opinion though. And I often have Naomi Campbell on my mind too because she was a muse for Naoko Takeuchi when doing an illustration of Setsuna/Sailor Pluto. So.

ANYYYYbutt... As a closing thought, I have to wonder how different my thinking would be if I were a young artist today with all this access to resources and tutorials and every color under the sun with digital art. And a lot of people talking down to me about how awful I am as a white person for not knowing how to shade darker skin. There’s a lot of posts like that. Hm. Tumblr is a weird place.

[totallyrhettro]

Territorial, chapter 6

Word Count: 2059 Rating: This chapter: G. Overall story rating: explicit Warnings: None Summary: After finally realizing their shared love for one another, all internetainers Rhett and Link had to do was live happily ever after. Unfortunately, as it turns out, that’s a lot harder to do in a world of werewolves. Notes: Takes place 1 year after Animalistic began. Still no wives; Rhett and Link are in an established relationship. This is a sequel to that fic. You don’t have to read that first, but it is highly recommended.

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“Wood floors are easier to clean.” Link argued. Rhett nodded, feeling his position in this conversation quickly weakening. It was the last day of their week long vacation and they were headed out to breakfast to a different restaurant. They were hoping to avoid bumping into the Lowells if possible. While they drove the long road towards town, they were discussing what to do with the flooring, now that they had finished tearing up the old carpet.

“True,” Rhett admitted. “I just don't like cold floors, and you know how I like to walk around the house without socks on.” He liked to wear as little as possible in fact, when he was at home, and this small farmhouse was like a home away from home. He was planning on wearing very little whenever they stayed there.

“We can buy rugs, then. Nice, big, area ones.” It was a reasonable compromise, but Rhett still wasn’t convinced. He, as Link knew well enough, could be very stubborn once he set his mind on an issue. Still, he didn’t really want to argue and ruin the last day of their vacation.

“Maybe,” he shrugged, looking out the window. Link sighed quietly, a soft smile on his face. They could discuss it later, and the fact that they would be talking about it later gave him a strange, light feeling in his heart. It was just so… domestic. So normal. He had hoped someday for the two of them to be having such discussions while working on their dream home together. While the old farmhouse was far from what he had dreamt of, it was still wonderful. At the very least, it could be practice for whatever future still lay ahead of them.

The house they currently lived in together the rest of the time had been Rhett’s solo estate for many years. After Link had been infected with whatever crazy virus that made him a werewolf, he moved in with his lifelong friend, mostly out of necessity. It was in the basement of Rhett’s house that they changed every month, Rhett having constructed a safe room for their wolf selves with the help of Theo. It was cheaper to own one house between them anyway and Link’s house didn't even come with a basement. Still, the decisions of decor and design had been chosen years ago when Rhett moved in, and short of doing a complete makeover, there wasn’t much that could be done to change that. There were many times when Link still felt like a visitor to the place, even though his boyfriend did his best to make him feel at home.

“You wanna help me pick out the bedroom wallpaper?” he joked. Rhett cocked an eyebrow at him before realizing the levity of the conversation. They were deciding on how to decorate the house they bought to stay at while they became werewolves three nights a month. A strangely common conversation about a definitely uncommon situation.

“As long as we can go shopping for throw pillows after,” Rhett asked, putting on a voice. “I can’t possibly sleep in a bed without at least a dozen heart shaped pillows.”

“We’ll see.” Link held his straight face only until he met Rhett’s smirking grin. Then they both burst out in giggles. It was nice to know that despite the shared canine affliction, and their freshly altered relationship, there were somethings that would probably never change.

The restaurant, not much larger than their usual breakfast spot, was called the Night and Day Cafe. It was a very small mom and pop’s place, with a seating capacity of no more than probably thirty people. Rhett liked it because they had the largest pancakes he’d ever seen, each one the size of a dinner plate. They called it the ‘mancake’, which amused Rhett to no end.

“Yeah, I’m a man, Link,” he quipped. “Manly men deserve manly sized pancakes.”

“Then manly men will get manly sized bellies,” Link retorted, sipping his second cup of coffee. Rhett leaned back and gazed down at his stomach, trying to picture his naked torso in his mind’s eye.

“I’ve actually lost a bunch of weight since the, uh… thing.” He patted his belly to emphasize his point. “Never gotten so fit without working out. I’ll never have to go to the gym again.”

“Like you went to the gym a lot before.” Rhett frowned and looked his friend up and down.

“I worked out.” He flexed his arm a few times to demonstrate.

“Occasionally,” Link added.

“Just because I didn’t do tae bo with you-”

“Hey, tae bo is a great way to work out. That Billy Blanks, man. He’ll get you working up a sweat.”

“I can make you work up a sweat,” Rhett said, speaking quite a bit softer. Link nearly spit out his coffee.

“Geez Rhett.” He glanced around, wiping his mouth. “Don’t talk like that in public. What’s wrong with you?”

“Oh come on, Link. There’s no one in here ‘cept us and the waitress, and she don’t care.”

“I care. We agreed not to tell anyone about… us.” In fact they’d had a very lengthy argument about the whole thing months ago. They decided it would make things too complicated, between being in a new relationship and Link freshly bitten.

“Maybe I don’t want to hide anymore. We have to hide so much from the real world. I don’t like hiding my feelings for you. I don’t want to lie to our friends or fans any longer. I just… I don’t think I can take it.” Link sighed. He understood the feeling completely, and really he couldn’t find any good reasons not to come out and at least tell the crew about them. Well, about the dating and living together part.

“I just don’t know if I’m ready-”

“How you boys doing?” Rhett and Link looked up to see the waitress, an older woman with curly hair and a kind face, standing next to their booth, a jug of coffee in her hand. He name tag read Darla. “More coffee for you, dear?”

“No, thank you, I’m good.”

“I’ll have some,” Rhett piped up with much more of a smile than his companion. He held up his half empty cup which the lady filled immediately.

“Here you go, sweetie. And uh, are you two together?” Link froze, but Rhett, without missing a beat, laid his fingers over his boyfriend’s nearby hand. He straightened up, sure and proud before answering.

“We are, actually.” The waitress blushed, slightly, and stifled a giggle.

“Well that’s nice, dear, but I was just wondering if I should put your breakfast on one tab or two.” Rhett’s face fell, embarrassed and a bit flustered. Link stepped in, but didn’t pull his hand away.

“One check will be fine,” he offered. As the waitress headed off to ring them up, Link gave Rhett a sly smirk. “You’re paying, by the way. I think you owe me one.” Still ashamed by his earlier behavior, Rhett didn’t have it in him to disagree.

Quietly he finished up his meal and was just setting down his now completely full mug as the waitress came back with the check. He was finding it hard to look her in the eye and kept his gaze down as he pulled out his wallet. Link tried not to look too smug as he watched Rhett’s discomfort.

“You boys look familiar. You live around here?” the waitress asked, trying to make conversation and release the tension. Unfortunately that just made the internetainers more nervous.

“Actually, uh-” Link began, but Darla interrupted and a look of recognition crossed her face.

“Oh, I know!” Rhett held his breath. “You’re those nice boys who bought the old Ackerman farm, up on route six.” The two men tried to not look too relieved and Rhett even managed a sincere smile.

“That would be us,” he confirmed. “Just bought the place a few weeks ago. Been fixing it up this weekend, actually.’

“That place used to be real nice. I remember playing in the fields as a little girl, though Farmer Ackerman didn’t know that.” Darla chuckled at the memory. “Oh it’s a fine place, lots of open space for little ones to run around.” She was still smiling as she went to run Rhett’s credit card, but neither Rhett nor Link could think of anything to say in response to that. Whether either of them had ever thought about children, they had never discussed it with each other.

It wasn’t until they were back in the car and driving to their quaint little home away from home for the last time this month, that Rhett brought up the subject himself.

“Do you…?” He tried to bring it up, that is. “I mean, you want, uh, kids… right? We never really… talked… about it so I just wondered…” Link felt his mouth had gone a bit dry, and he licked his lips subconsciously.

Well,” he began, “I guess I just always thought I’d have them someday. Didn’t you?” Rhett nodded. It was almost a staple of southern life. Grow up, get married, have kids. Of course he always wanted to do those things, either way, but then he hadn’t always been a werewolf.

“Sure, yeah. Little McLaughlin’s of my own? I thought it would be great, I just never…”

“Never what?”

“Well, being in love with you, and all… I wasn’t sure I’d ever have the opportunity.” Link moved his hand over to rest on Rhett’s leg, warm and comforting. He understood completely. “Do you think we ever will?”

“I… I don’t know, Rhett. If it was just us... the normal us... I’d be fully onboard. We could adopt two, maybe even three and be one big happy family… but…”

“But?” Link sighed.

“It’s different now. You know? We’re… well we’re… I don’t want to say we’re unfit parents but, as werewolves? Our lives don’t exactly make for a safe living environment for kids.” It was Rhett’s turn to sigh, but he nodded all the same. He was already worried about hurting someone, a friend, a family member… Link. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he ever hurt a child, let alone one of his own. It would destroy him.

“I guess you’re right.” Looking out the window, Rhett watched the roadside trees pass by, one after the other. He had been so certain this morning that things were slowly working themselves out. Link was getting better at maintaining his hybrid form, their work on the farmhouse was coming on nicely and their YouTube business was truly thriving. Now, as he slumped in the passenger side of their silver FJ cruiser, he realized that it just may be that something he always took for granted as being in his future, may never happen.

He never realized just how much having children of his own really meant to him.

Link was feeling much the same way. Even though he was trying to be practical, telling Rhett it would be dangerous for them to adopt children, he too had wanted them for a long time now. A few boys and girls to share his name and raise with his spouse, whomever that would be. A family, a real one like he had never had himself, growing up, but when every few weeks he and Rhett basically turned into ferocious beasts, he couldn’t risk it. Neither of them could. It wasn’t safe... for anyone. Being a werewolf, in his book, meant kids were probably never going to be an option.

As the two of them walked into the farmhouse that they had called home for the past few days, it didn’t seem to be as warm as before, nor as inviting. Neither spoke a word, heading off in different directions of the house - Rhett to the kitchen and Link upstairs - both feeling like there was much to say. Both feeling like there was nothing left to say. The building was quiet, and as Link sat down in one of the unfurnished bedrooms, he thought it sounded much too peaceful. Suddenly, the pleasant serenity of calm and quiet held no satisfaction for him. Suddenly all he wanted was to hear the patter of tiny feet, and the giggles of innocent youth.

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[mwcowan]

Mark & Georgia’s 2018 Philippines Trip

Here we go again, another trip, another blog. For those of you familiar with our recent Road Trip blog this will be of a different sort because it’s going to be a different sort of trip, a mix of business and pleasure. We’ll be based at Georgia’s mom’s house in Manila, making a series of short trips here and there over the next month. Hopefully it will result in some interesting thoughts and photos.

Day 1:  Graeagle to Sunnyvale to San Jose to SFO

Seems like I was driving all day, although it was a pleasant drive until I got close to the Bay Area into all the traffic. I’ve really gotten used to the “traffic” in Graeagle, where it’s unusual to see more than 3 cars in town. At Georgia’s suggestion I drove straight to EBR for a visit with my old colleagues and to check up on how things are going there. Quite well it seems, with a number of development projects underway, what we engineers like. But everyone seems to be really stressed with all the clinical and regulatory related tasks on their plates now. That’s what I knew would be coming with the US clinical trial, and I’m even more certain I picked the right time to retire.

Took an hour in that lovely traffic to drive from EBR to Georgia’s sister Dinah’s house (all of 12-13 miles) and another hour to drive to SJC and back for Georgia to return her rental car (she had flown there last week). An hour to pack Georgia’s stuff and back on the road to SFO. In our Road Trip blog it was noted that Georgia has trouble packing light and this trip is no exception.

The box weights 69.5 pounds (carefully titrated as the airline limit is 70), the black suitcase is about 55 pounds, the red carry-on is acceptably light. Not shown is a backpack. Yes she has problems packing light. OK, to give her a break, since we’ll be in Manila on Thanksgiving, the box contains a frozen turkey, ham, and all the fixings for a proper Thanksgiving dinner, things that you can’t get in the Philippines. Plus a LOT of other goodies for her mom, our snorkel gear, etc..  She got her standby cleared quickly, got her ‘luggage’ checked with a few stares from the baggage handlers, and was soon off to her flight to Hong Kong.

With my flight to Tokyo in the morning, I overnighted at an inexpensive motel near SFO,  one that turned out to be unexpectedly nice. At least I wasn’t itching in the morning.

In case you don’t know, in the interest of national security we don’t fly together. That’s not really it… Georgia flies Cathay Pacific since she gets family privileges from her sister Vinee, a CP flight attendant. Georgia pays a ridiculously low fare for business class. I fly United since I spent so much time with my butt in their seats for business travel I can buy the cheapest economy fare and use my miles to upgrade.

Day 2: SFO to Hong Kong (Georgia) and Tokyo (Mark)

Both of us had very bumpy flights, on mine the seat belt sign was on most of the time, and the flight attendants were told to buckle up multiple times. Didn’t stop me from eating and drinking my way across the Pacific though; I arrived in Tokyo fully stuffed. Georgia reports the same on arrival to HK.

Flying in the front of the plane is the only way to go; I fear the day when my miles run out. Georgia may have to take a job with an airline so I can get family privileges. Anyway, she’s continuing on to Manila this afternoon while I’m overnighting in Tokyo at another airport hotel and flying on to Manila tomorrow morning. The flight with a 19-hour layover is a lot cheaper than one with a short connection, saving much more than the cost of a hotel. That’s a good enough reason but I admit to being a travel wuss, I like having this break to get cleaned up and rested. No reason to hurry!

Day 3: Tokyo to Manila

Easy travel day to Manila for Mark; couldn’t sleep so got up early and went to the airport (a 2 min walk from my hotel) and had breakfast at the nice ANA lounge. Smooth flight to Manila but with the usual holding pattern on arrival. I’ve never flown into that airport without doing at least a few circles. I think the airport planners are the same people who planned the traffic control in Manila.

Speaking of Manila traffic, shortly after I arrived we needed to drive Georgia’s mom to meet with the family attorney to have some documents notarized. Off we went to Alabang, one of Manila’s districts, with Mark driving and only a vague idea of where we were going… after many calls to the attorney we finally decided we’d never find the meeting spot and just parked and told him where we were. He knew the area well and was able to find us. By the time we headed back home it was dark, which makes driving in Manila even more terrifying. People all over the place, motorcycles, trikes, and jeepneys pulling in and out and stopping wherever and whenever. Feels like you’re inside a video game. Luckily we got home before we ran out of lives; Mark quickly headed to the fridge to grab a much-needed San Mig.

Sorry for not having more pictures, but there havn’t been many photo opportunities up to this point. Things will pick up in a day or two.

Day 4: Manila to Tacloban

A couple errands this morning then back to the house to pack our bags for a 3-night trip (nice light luggage this time!) then to the airport for a quick flight to Tacloban on Leyte island. A couple days of business to conduct here and in Catbalogan on the nearby island of Samar. You probably remember Tacloban from the 2013 super-typhoon Haiyan (Yolanda in the Philippines). Tacloban was the center of devastation from this storm. The city was all but destroyed; nearly 6000 perished in this city alone. Flying in we could see one of the reasons the storm wreaked such havoc – the city and territory surrounding it are very level and low-lying, stretching flat many miles until the mountains are reached. Besides the winds which removed nearly every roof in the city, storm surges of up to 20 feet did the most damage, including completely leveling the airport we flew into. We didn’t know what to expect, but were pleased to see a strongly recovering city and meet a few people whose strength, determination, and pride are readily apparent. There are still a few reminders of the storm, we saw 4 or 5 abandoned, gutted, roofless buildings, but almost all traces are gone and the city has been rebuilt, at least on the roads we passed.

In a striking contrast to Manila, traffic here is very civilized. Our taxi driver actually stopped and let another car enter a roundabout before him! To regress a bit and explain Manila traffic, in the US we drive (most of us at least) by the lines on the road and by rules where for every situation the right of way is defined. Right of way in Manila is determined by which car can squeeze a millimeter in front of the other. Georgia has remarked that it’s a great waste by the government painting lines on the roads as no attention whatsoever is paid to the lines, the number of lanes being defined by the number of cars, trucks, and motorcycles that can possibly squeeze side to side within, and often beyond, the edges of the roadway. It can seem like total chaos, but carnage and catastrophic accidents are minimal as traffic speeds using these principles are generally reduced to a crawl.  Vendors in flipflops can walk in between and around cars without fear of being run over as they can move faster than the cars can.  It surprisingly works as long as you’re in no hurry to get somewhere.

A side note... if you like a glass of wine or two, finding it can be challenging as the Philippines is not at all a wine-drinking nation. Interestingly enough, grape cultivation and winemaking were brought to California by the Spanish Catholic priests and followed the path of the missions. Yet with 300 years of Philippine colonization by the Spanish, grape growing appears to have been unsuccessful here and wine can be difficult to find.

Normally we don’t worry about it and settle for a cold San Miguel. This evening Georgia was craving a glass before dinner so we asked at the hotel desk where we could find a bar or restaurant that could help us get a fix, and we were pointed to a place across the street.  Georgia was excited when the menu had a small wine list, including two Cabernets and a Merlot. She asked for one of the Cabernets; the waitress said she had to go check if they had it. She came back shortly and apologized, saying they were out of that wine. Georgia asked for the other Cabernet. Sorry we’re out of that one too. OK, what about the Merlot? Sorry ma’am, we’re out of the Merlot too. Do you have any wines? No ma’am, we’re out of all wines. Amusing to us at least as this is a recurring story – we’ve even seen nice restaurants in large hotels in Manila, with impressive wine lists, unable to produce anything but a Barefoot Bynum red. Maybe Georgia goes to work for an airline, and Mark starts a wine import business. We finally got a lead for a nice Italian restaurant, which had a good selection of Italian wines. An excellent dinner and Georgia finally got her wine! Another thing you wouldn’t expect here is great Italian food – we both feel that we’ve found some of the best outside of Italy, in restaurants started by Italian ex-pats who have been captured by Filipina wives (or vice-versa)! I can understand that. 😊

Day 5:  Tacloban to Catbalogan

This morning’s business was a meeting with the local head of the Philippines Land Bank. This is a government-chartered organization obtaining land and re-selling to farmers. The income from the farmer’s loans funds the acquisition of property. The subject transactions here are about 165 hectares (400+ acres) of family-owned property in Catbalogan, much of which has been settled on by squatters/farmers. This is the type of land the Land Bank is trying to get, to officially distribute to the squatters and make them legal taxpayers. The family has been trying for many years to deed the property over and receive payment. Many frustrating years, always being told that this document or the other is needed; when that’s produced there’s always another. And then the next time they go back, the official they were working with isn’t there any more and no one has any recollection of previous actions.

The meeting went well, it seems that the government is making an effort to centralize and simplify these things, for example going forward this can be handled through the office in Manila rather than having to travel to Tacloban. According to the official very little is left to do before this can be completed. Georgia warns that we shouldn’t count on this assurance yet.

Now we’re tourists for the afternoon – our driver picks us up from the Land Bank and we head towards Catbalogan. We’d hired a driver and car for the day to take us around on our errands and then deliver us to Catbalogan, about 110 km from Tacloban. On the way he drove us through one of the areas hardest hit by the typhoon, a low-lying seaside area of shanty homes. You may remember seeing post-typhoon pictures of a large freighter sitting on land quite a way from the water – rather than removing the whole thing they left it in place, some 300 meters from the water, built some structure around it and turned it into a memorial for the Typhoon victims. Strange to see a freighter in the neighborhood but a fitting tribute.

The disturbing part of it though is the neighborhood. The whole area was completely swept bare, but it’s been rebuilt as it was, with poorly constructed shacks of wood and tin. That’s how the people lived before, and what they know, but it’s a shame that the government didn’t help relocate them or at least build more substantial homes.

We drive over the San Juanico bridge which links Leyte and Samar islands, the longest bridge in the Philippines, built during the Marcos regime. Current president Duterte plans to build a longer one (mine’s longer than yours!) linking Luzon to Visayas but it hasn’t been built yet. Following the bridge is a winding 2-hour drive up the mountains and back down into Catbalogan.

Catbalogan is a city “in the provinces”. I’d heard that term before but wasn’t sure what Filipinos were referring to – the meaning is similar but more polite sounding than our euphemism “out in the boonies”. It’s a busy city, but very remote and without many of the amenities you find in the larger cities. We’re booked at the most expensive hotel in town: a “deluxe triple room” with private bath is $34/night. The room is cozy with a double and a single bed and not much space to move around, but the hotel is spotlessly clean, due we think to the army of OJT (on-job-training) helpers from a local high school. At least 20 of these always-smiling faces are constantly cleaning and re-cleaning, each one stopping to give us a warm greeting whenever we appear, coming or going.

To me, Catbalogan is the “city of trikes”. Manila has a lot of trikes, but this city is totally clogged with them, and they’re all in (slow) motion all the time. Both motor- and human-powered, passenger trikes and delivery, they’re everywhere. Colorful, each has been customized by its owner, with the owner’s name and often a favorite bible verse or a personal testament to the glory of God emblazoned on front or back. Some busses and delivery trucks are also on the streets, but few private cars. Why would you need one? A noisy and bumpy ride on a motor trike costs 8 pesos (about 15 cents) to take you anywhere in the city. The pedal trikes are the economy ride, only 7 pesos. We go first class!

You can play a quick video of a trike ride in Catbalogan here:

https://photos.app.goo.gl/3SMSh43GFNhmnvf79

Day 6:  Catbalogan

Business day #2 with visits to the Registry of Deeds (task is to get the deed to the property annotated with the names of the new settlers), then to the Department of Agrarian Reform (task unknown). Conference with Georgia’s sister in the US and back to the DAR to ask for a map of the new property division. Both the ROD and DAR have promised to have the documents ready tomorrow morning so back we’ll go.

While here in Catbalogan we’ve been “taken care of” by a family that is linked to Georgia’s by a long friendship. Third-generation daughter Bayan has been helpful getting us to the various appointments; today we met Lola (grandmother) Noling, the family matriarch, at her electronics and appliance store she’s been running for 65 years. She’s 87 and going strong, no hurry to retire. We were chatting in the store and asked if they knew a place that had good Tomalos – a Filipino take on the tamale with rice “masa” around a pork filling, coated with peanut butter, then wrapped in banana leaf and steamed. With typical Filipino hospitality, it seemed only minutes before table and chairs were pulled out and Tamalos and Lumpia appeared for us to try. Different, delicious, and RICH! Georgia and I couldn’t quite finish a whole one. And also in true Filipino fashion just as we were putting our forks down we were asked what we’d like for lunch. Oh jeez, didn’t we just finish lunch? Lola Noling definitely wanted to take us out so we agreed to dinner, we’ll meet her at the store around closing time.

Dinner was at a nice restaurant right on the harbor, with Lola Noling, daughter Collette (Bayan’s mom), two of her sons Bong and Jun, Bayan, and a few more family members. A feast of delicious food, more than enough beer, hilarious conversation with her sons trying to speak English and me trying to understand Taglish – it was one of those amazing times that leaves you with a smile, a warm heart, and a new family.

Day 7:  Catbalogan to Tacloban to Manila

Georgia thinks I’m writing too much. Maybe I’m trying to find things to write about in the absence of any real interesting travel. I’ll keep it short today.

Two more appointments this morning. First back at the DAR to pick up maps of the property. This visit was successful. Then an appointment at the Registry of Deeds to meet with the registrar whom Georgia had an appointment with yesterday but she wasn’t in the office. She was most helpful (not) explaining the number of documents that still needed to be completed and 2 new cities we would have to visit to get this done. One step forward, 2 back.

We took a shared ride van back to Tacloban, through rain most of the way. The highlight of the day was a 30 minute trike ride from the van terminal to the airport, in the rain. Remember, these things don’t have doors – Mark held an umbrella out as a door/windshield and managed to stay pretty dry. His luggage tied to the back of the trike didn’t fare quite as well.

Day 8:  Manila to Nasugbu

Finally! Today we made the 2 ½ hour drive from Manila to Nasugbu, the location of Kawayan Cove and our house-to-be. This is the third time we’ve made this drive ourselves (no driver) and it’s starting to seem familiar, at least when we get out of Manila and onto the Cavite Expressway heading south. Today I got very much the same feeling as when I drive from the Bay Area to Graeagle, with lots of traffic and the associated stress until we reach Auburn, about halfway there. After that it’s an enjoyable drive through the mountains and pine forests the rest of the way. This was very similar – through Manila, Cavite, all the way to Naic it’s a lot of traffic and those ever-annoying trikes. Past Naic you enter the mountains, tropical jungle rather than pine trees, and all the traffic, trikes, and stress disappear. Finally we get our first view of the Batangas coast, and get that peaceful feeling that we’re getting close to home.

We’re staying for three nights at Punta Fuego, a members-only golf and residential club just up the coast from Kawayan Cove. Luckily one of Georgia’s brother-in-law’s parents are members here and can make reservations for us at one of the club’s guest “casitas”.

Lovely place with a lot of different beaches and nice amenities – we looked at properties here but as this is one of the older developments along this coast all of the better lots are already taken, and we had our hearts set on an ocean view. Not to mention the prices, and the monthly dues, and all that…

Tomorrow we get to see our house for the first time!

[goddamnitaisha]

Hey dear @asreoninfusion,

remember a time before you were a popular blog Sefikura BDSM Kink Queen? 

When you were too afraid to make a blog? And were too afraid to message me because you worried you would annoy me? Before we met in real life. 

Hahaha you sent me anon messages in a time I received multiple anons a day. I had to give you a nickname because I wanted you to sign your posts. I gave you name options, you chose the name anon-sundown. I wanted you to continue talking to me, because you were cute enough to be adopted. You suggested writing about your funny life experiences.

Now, I kept all these messages for years. READ THEM BOTTOM TO TOP. You might want to copy them and put them on your own blog.

Love,

your friend Aisha

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago You couldn't actually see the driver; all that was visible were two hands sticking out through this massive bunch of bananas, clutching the handlebars with a white-knuckled grip, and a little face peering round the edge.

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago But the favourite two-wheeler incident was the banana man. People would often cart around huge amounts of food or stock for the local shops they owned; this man was transporting bananas. A /lot/ of bananas. To this day I have no idea how he managed to balance them all on there, but it is safe to say there was significantly more banana than man.

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago We used to see all sorts of insane things on two-wheelers. Across the road from the Croc Bank there lived a man who would regularly drive a fully grown goat around on his bike, with the animal casually draped over the back. One time we saw two men driving along with an eight foot length of PVC pipe... lengthways. They were holding it /across/ the bike, taking up almost the entire road and forcing everyone to swerve all over the place to avoid them! (Fairly standard driving for India, then.)

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago Let's have a non-animal related story for a change. In India they were big on their motorbikes - or two-wheelers, as they call them. They tend to be a lot cheaper and more accessible for most people, so they made up about 40% of the traffic. And the amount of stuff people would cram onto those things! It wasn't at all uncommon to see a family of four or five squashed onto the one bike.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago One other thing the macaques used to do - and I have no idea where they learnt to do this, if it was instictive or they had learnt it from someone - was floss their teeth. The zookeeper would pull out a strand of their hair and hand it to the monkeys, and they'd start flossing! That soon became an integral part of the feeding show, getting them to clean their teeth afterwards for the visitors to see. We were often the ones doing that, so it's a good thing both my mum and I have very thick hair!

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Even if they weren't playing with the hose, most of the monkeys would still stop and stare while you cleaned, then try to imitate what you were doing. My mum once brought in a little toy broom to give to them while she was sweeping, see if she could get them to copy her and do some of the work! (They weren't buying it.)

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago In the complete opposite of the spider monkeys, the macaques loved water. The cleaning always took twice as long as it should have, as the monkeys would come and play in the spray when you were trying to hose down the floor and rocks. On more than one occasion a zookeeper (usually my mum) was caught playing skipping rope with the monkeys and a stream of water.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Cleaning their enclosure was always a two person job; one to do the cleaning, and the other would stand there with a hose, keeping the monkeys at bay. Fortunately, the macaques monkeys were much friendlier. You had to make sure not to get too near to any of the babies - the mothers were very protective of their young - but other than that they were quite happy to have company in their enclosure.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Most of the time the spider monkeys would grudgingly accept an intrusion at feeding time. They weren't pleased that someone was in their space, but they knew that they got food out of it. Even so, they could be vicious buggers, so the zookeeper would always carry a water pistol in with them. If the spider monkeys got too close or too aggressive, you just squirted them with the water pistol and they would back off!

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago At the Hunter Valley Zoo in Australia there were also monkeys, although these were part of the zoo rather than the local wildlife! We had two species; macaques and spider monkeys. The macaques were a big friendly group, playful and generally very nice. The spider monkeys, on the other hand, were not. Their enclosure was /their/ territory, and hoo boy, they did not like their territory invaded. Oddly enough, the only thing they liked less than having someone in their territory was... water.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago Fortunately, he missed the food. But he did knock over a bottle of milk belonging my little sister (who was very little then). Somehow he managed to set it spinning right around, squirting milk out in every direction at everyone while we dove for cover. Having very successfully got our attention, the goat then hopped back down and made for his balcony, only to run straight into the closed glass door. We let him out there just to get some peace!

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago He's obviously gone for my apple cores, sticking his head into the bin to get at them... but then his horns had got caught, and he couldn't get himself back out past the swing lid. So he just pulled the whole thing off. and then, flailing around like a mad thing trying to dislodge the lid, charged upstairs and jumped right up onto the dinner table.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago One final piece of background information; I like eating apples. I used to sit at the computer in the front room downstairs, happily munching away, and throw the cores into a little bin with a swing lid just by the desk. This is relevant. So, the goat sneaks into the house. The family is all sat down for dinner, minding our own business, and the first we know of it is hearing a huge ka-clop, ka-clop, ka-clop as the goat comes absolutely flying up the stairs with a bin lid stuck around his neck.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago As it turned out, we needn't have worried. The goat's reaction to the big scary dogs was to headbutt them, full in the face. The German Shepherd was the one scared of the goat! After the goat had grown a bit and become too big for the balcony, he was relocated to a nice little shed outside. But he still believed the balcony was /his/ balcony and his home, and thus would regularly sneak into the house and charge upstairs to try to get back there.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago When the goat was just a little thing, it used to live out on the balcony on the second floor of our house. This was because we also had two dogs, an Australian Cattle dog and a fully grown German Shepherd. The former was about twice the size of the goat, and the latter three or four times bigger. We introduced them regularly, but didn't want them to share the same living space until the goat was a bit more grown up and less likely to be intimidated by the big scary dogs.

anon-sundown answered you: a day ago rp-sephiroth asked:

Hahahahaha, I loved the story of the goat. It made me really happy on a less than happy day! xD You're so full of good things, I can't imagine why you still hide. Over the past few weeks you've come across as a pretty rad friend. xD <3 Yes, you make me happy!

Ahhh, thank you! I’m so happy I can make you happy. ^_^ I have another tale of the goat for today’s silly story.

anon-sundown asked rp-writer-aisha: 2 days ago Oh! And just out of curiosity, how are you making the keyblade? I cosplayed Aqua one time and made Stormfall for her. It came out... okay, I guess, but a bit fragile. Someone leant on it and snapped it. orz So anyway, I'm interested to see what method/materials you're going to use. :)

anon-sundown asked rp-writer-aisha: 2 days ago I know what you mean about the self-acceptance thing. v_v And for me it never seemed reasonable or fair to expect anyone else to like you when you don't even like yourself. (This thinking is a significant part of why I'm always so terrified to talk to anyone new; it just seems so rude to impose my shitty self on them. orz) But I like you, and I'm sure the other people you mentioned who send you messages like and accept you too! It's probably not worth much, but there's that at least. ^^'

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago Then the goat came trotting along, looking pleased as punch with himself, with three or four cigarettes hanging out of his mouth. Ah, of course. The builder took off after the goat to try and get them back, but alas, it was too late for the cigarettes. They were chewed to pieces and covered in goat slobber. And the poor builder never did get to have a smoke that day.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago The goat was also around. And goats, as you may know, will eat just about anything. On this particular day, 'anything' was the builder's entire packet of cigarettes that he had left out. He came asking us if we knew where his cigarettes had gone, and for a good while we were all searching around the area he'd misplaced them, scratching our heads.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago Originally, Avoca Drive was bought as a plot of land, and my mum and stepdad had a house built on it. We moved in as soon as we could, with just a few finishing touches like carpets to go down and a concrete path to lay outside the front door (the latter of which meant we had to climb out a ground floor window to get out the house for a day or two while the concrete set, that was fun). So there were a few builders around, just finishing up whatever they needed to do.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago While we were in the same house as the wombat incident (henceforth to be known as Avoca Drive, if I need to reference it again) we also owned a goat. And this goat-- oh Goddess, this goat. It was a donation from another family; they had won the goat in a charity auction, raising money for African villages and 'Give a Goat' sort of projects (hence why they were auctioning a goat, I suppose). But they discovered after the fact they didn't have the time/space to look after a goat, so it came to us.

I perched on the back of the sofa (up out of reach of marauding wombats; I wasn't taking on that thing either) and laughed at everyone. Eventually my brother joined me up on the sofa, and the wombat was led away to its overnight bunk in the cupboard under the house, where it the proceeded to keep everyone up all night trying to dig through the foundations.

anon-sundown asked you: 2 minutes ago He tried to shake the wombat off, changing direction and speeding up. The wombat only sped up after him. They ended up running round the room in panicked circles with my brother shouting for mummy. Mum swept in for a rescue attempt, but was not very successful. They /both/ ended up running round the room being chased by the wombat.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 minutes ago Now, this wombat had been trained at Taronga Zoo to follow people around, so the zoo keepers could easily get it to go where they wanted. So when we let it out to have a wander in the front room it began to follow around my brother. He was only ten at the time, and not terribly pleased by the large hairy creature tailing him at a distance far to close for comfort.

anon-sundown asked you: 5 minutes ago Okay, so back when we lived in Australia (as my stepdad is Australian; everything is always his fault), he and my mum owned a zoo in the Hunter Valley, several hours drive north of Sydney. We had acquired a wombat, a transfer from Taronga Zoo. Since our house was directly along and right in the middle of the route between Taronga in Sydney and the Hunter Valley, it was decided the wombat would stay a night at home to break up the journey.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago We eventually got the noodles back after my mum went and yelled at the monkeys, though it wasn't terribly effective until the monkeys hissed back and scared my little sister. Then my mum actually got angry with them, and she is rather scary when angry. The monkeys dropped the jar and ran off, and thus victory was ours.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago One time the door to the house was left open and two monkeys broke in. One stood guard at the door while other darted into the kitchen, jumped up on to the counter and proceeded to raid the cupboard. They made off with a jar of pot noodles and took to a nearby tree to try and prise the thing open (without much succes).

[bidsfor]

via Real Estate

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“I can’t make the numbers work!”

“My housing market is too expensive!”

If you ever find yourself saying any of these statements to yourself – or to your significant other who has told you to “put your money where your mouth is”, or “stop talking about it and just do it” – get in touch on with a look at some of the high-level strategies I use to solve this common problem for many new investors.

I live in California where there is a housing shortage, and single family homes go for $500,000+. Many properties in the San Francisco Bay Area are over $1 million! But there is a model you can use that will give you high cash flows even in an expensive market if you do it right.

I’m talking about the student housing rental market. By investing in local college towns, you can (in most cases) double the usual rental income on a property. For example, one of my properties earns $3,110 per month in rental income, but according to Rentometer, the house should only be allowed to rent for an average of $1,530 per month.

Before you get started, there are a few key points to focus on to create your own student housing system.

Buying the right home in the right location

Finding high-quality tenants

Have a system for managing the house and its tenants.

I already covered finding the right home and location in my previous article. Read on for the other two keys!

More about student housing from Bids For

Finding quality tenants

Find out where your target tenant hangs out. For college students, you can use campus bulletin boards, Craigslist, or Facebook groups.

You want to create an ad highlighting the benefits of staying in one of your bedrooms, from a student’s perspective. The proximity to the campus, fully furnished rooms, a safe neighborhood and ample parking are things that students consider highly. So I try to offer all these benefits in my rental.

Something as simple as installing a garage spot or camera, for example, gives students and their parents peace of mind when they decide to stay at your home.

As for viewing the house, you can let your previous year’s tenants do the screenings for the new incoming tenants. Sometimes students are fine with just getting a video walkthrough or photos of the house before signing a lease. About half of the students who sign a lease with me don’t need a personal tour once I explain that tours are limited, but we have plenty of photos and video walkthroughs.

Leasing for individual tenants

I make an individual lease for each tenant. However, I recommend that you check with your city planning department first to see if room rentals are legal in your city. In my city, room rental is allowed as long as you register a business license with the city and pay the city tax on that license.

In general, the lease will be very similar to a whole-home lease, except you’ll only be charging for a bedroom and utility bills will be shared equally among all tenants. If a tenant leaves a little earlier, the landlord may have to cover the portion of that tenant’s utility bill for that month. Fortunately, this can be deducted from your taxes, as it would be considered a business expense.

I structure all my leases as one-year leases, starting in mid-August of the current year (when school starts) to mid-August of the following year. Students may sublet during the summer months and when they do not live there. Before subletting, the other tenants must agree to the chosen sublet.

There are a few key differences between a normal lease and a rent per room that I’m talking about in advance.

If damage to home or furniture occurs in a common area, I make it clear that I will deduct the repair costs equally from all tenants’ security deposits, unless everyone agrees that only one tenant has defaulted.

No house parties are allowed. Each tenant is entitled to “a quiet enjoyment of the property”. It is up to tenants to resolve problems and conflicts through open discussion.

I do not allow pets. Pets unfortunately pose an allergy risk to the other tenants of the property – current and future. If a tenant insists on having a pet, they must get a signed written agreement from every other tenant stating that they know there will be a pet in the house and that they are okay with it and that they will not be liable to the landlord if an allergic reaction should occur. happen to them or one of their guests.

Where possible, I try to get a parent to co-sign the lease. The only time I don’t need a co-signer is when the student has significant financial aid or loans to cover both tuition and housing.

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Dealing with tenant conflicts

Two words: tenant empowerment!

When there is a dispute between two tenants, I tell the complaining tenant that they should first talk to the other party personally and develop a workable plan. Then implement that action plan.

If there is still a conflict after that, they can come back to me. But nine times out of ten I hear nothing from the complainant. Either the problem is solved, or they have learned to coexist despite the problem.

If the face-to-face conversation and action plan doesn’t work, I quickly call one of the parents who signed the lease, discuss the complaint and ask them to help us correct it. After that I never had any more problems. Although they are a last resort, the parent is usually an authority figure who can resolve the situation.

Rental to couples

I like to rent to couples because I can generally charge higher rent for the shared bedroom. My rule of thumb is to increase the rent for the bedroom by 30% and then divide by two to get the rent per tenant.

For example, if I normally charged $670 for the bedroom, I would charge about $870 ($670 x 1.3) instead. So each person would pay $435 per month ($870/2). I then receive $200 more rent per month, which is $2,400 per year, enough to replace a broken water heater or cover an unexpected repair.

Whatever you do, you should maintain a 3:1 person to bathroom ratio. The maximum number of people you want to share a bathroom is three. After that it gets a bit crowded.

Keep in mind that bringing in a couple puts you at risk of them breaking up. In that case, the lease may have to be renegotiated or one of the partners may have to move. But in general, you shouldn’t have a problem with rent payments as most students still stick to their agreements regardless of relationship status. But if necessary, the option of subletting can also come in handy.

How much can you earn with student housing?

This is the real reason why I invest in student housing: it is a win-win situation for everyone. First, students get much cheaper housing than on-campus housing — about half the price. And as a landlord, you can double the total rental income on the property. In fact, everyone has a lease for at least one year, so you don’t have to worry about turnover and cleaning up every few days like with short-term rental properties.

Here’s the brutal, no BS breakdown of my cash flow on a few properties.

Fulton Street house

This was the very first house I bought. I added a fourth bedroom and reinvested the cash flow and some W2 earnings to pay it off in full in a few years.

I bought it in 2016 for $262,000. During that time, my investment property interest rate was 3.625% with an origination fee of $1,125. I chose to pay it off early to increase my cash flow on the property and didn’t overuse myself.

In general, I would recommend using your money as much as possible if you are just starting out. After you have a few rental properties in your name, start paying off some of them so that you are in a stronger position if a housing accident were to occur.

taxes Insurance Rental income cost Cash flow $284.64 $47.83 $2,420 $307 $1,780

Estimated Rental Income per Rentometer: $1,555 per month

Actual rental income: $24.20 total

Bedroom rent: $490, $610, $650, $670

Current cash flow: $1,780 per month

Cash flow if made, only estimated Rentometer rent: $1,555 – $284.64 – $47.83 – $307 = $915.53 per month

Difference between estimated rent (as a whole home) and actual rental income (per bedroom system) = $1,780 – $915.53 = $864.47 per month

Living in California has also given me quite a bit of appreciation for this first property.

Valuation since purchase = $130,000 over 5 years = $26,000 per year = $2,166.67 per month

West Churchill house

Here’s the most recent rental I’ve bought – my fifth rental. I closed it on May 28, 2021. And by the time I closed it, I had already signed leases for all five bedrooms from August 2021 to August 2022. Total rent: $3,440 for this one rental.

Monthly Mortgage (Principle + Interest) taxes Insurance Loan term (years) interest Rental income Estimated cost Total PITIA Cash flow Cash flow when paid $1,202.33 $355.53 $38.50 30 3.375% $3,440 $833 $1,596 $1,010 $2,213

Estimated Rental Income per Rentometer: $1,537

Actual Rental Income: $3,440 total

Rent Bedrooms: $620, $630, $650, $660, $880 (pair paying $440 each)

Estimated cost after the first year: $400 per month (~$4,800 per year)

Cash flow after first year: $3,440 – $1,596 – $400 = $1,444 per month

Cash flow if made, only estimated Rentometer rent after first year: $1,537 – $1,596 – $400 = –$459 per month (Yes, that would mean negative cash flow!)

Difference between estimated rent (if the whole house) and actual rental income (per bedroom system): $1,903 per month

Using the per-bedroom system, I was able to turn what would have been a negative cash flow holding into a very positive cash flow holding.

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[eminperu]

Dreams Money Can Buy: The economics of a pay-as-you-go vagabond lifestyle

Since my last Facebook post about another jaunt across the world, several people have reached out to me asking the same question: how do I “fund my lifestyle” (copyright Emma). It dawned on me that A) lots of folks are looking to travel the world but B) are not sure how to do that realistically and responsibly. As an additional obstacle, people—even the vagabonds—often get weird and cagey when asked about their finances. Luckily, I’m 100% comfortable letting you know that I’m pretty poor and I’m still living what Cardi B and Chance might classify as close to—if not my best—life. I’m happy to share my strategies for the nomad life as someone who has never considered planning a strong suit and whose butt gets all itchy at the sound of the word “budget.”  This is definitely not a how-to, but a how-I-do guide that hopefully can offer one perspective to those who, like me, dream of being homeless and financially insecure—I mean, wanderlusters.  Naturally, each point is organized by subcategory titles borrowed from legendary and timeless songwriter Aubrey Graham. Started from the Bottom (now we’re still near the bottom)

Okay, not exactly the bottom, but not far off. I did have some savings before I started traveling, and I think that cushion was pretty important for my peace of mind/not dying famished in the streets. I set a (admittedly pretty arbitrary) bottom line that I would be comfortable—not thrilled, but not fully catatonic—to have when I returned to a more “traditional lifestyle.” I put that amount in a do-not-touch savings account. Luckily, I haven’t really had to dip into this kitty very many times. Though, again, I’m admittedly no financial wizard, I would estimate over the course of the last year I’ve netted about -$2,000. To me, this year, the amount of time I spent not working, and the amazing experiences I have had were worth significantly more than that figure.

God’s Plan/Controlla

You can plan your travels in advance to varying degrees, but it’s crucial to be honest with yourself about how much uncertainty you can stomach without anxiety sucking all the joy out of the cool stuff you’re doing. I’ve had people tell me, “Oh, it’s so crazy how you can just hop on a plane and not know where you’re going next. You’re flying by the seat of your pants!” Two things: 1) I hate pants. 2) More often than not, I do plan at least my immediate next move in advance. This isn’t so much a due my discomfort with uncertainty, but rather how frustrated I get when I’m forced to spend substantially more money on a ticket/room because I couldn’t commit in time. As a general rule, I plan international travel at least a month in advance and try to get things settled for big within-country trips a week before I leave. I make sure to search airline sites directly, especially for within country travel, and I don’t hesitate to call booking sites instead of reserving online to see if if they can cut me a deal—they’re out here looking for that commission. That being said, the best practice is to seek advice from people who have visited or, better yet, live in your destination. Not only can they steer you towards the right locations/companies/etc., they can also advise you when it might be more economical to book real time in-person as opposed to beforehand online (this happens quite a bit, especially in less-developed countries. Trip Advisor is not always your friend, yo.). Plan as much in advance as you need to in order to feel comfortable and excited, not overwhelmed and anxious, for your trip.

Hold On, We’re Going Home

Building off my last point, for me, having a space to unpack my borderline-hoarder amount of clothes and plug in my electric toothbrush is crucial to my mental health. Who doesn’t love a nest? Though a lot of people move intermittently between destinations, I was pretty settled in Lima. Before flying in, we booked a month in an Airbnb. I easily found a three month room to rent on Facebook/Craigslist, and used the same method to find two of my jobs (oh, sidebar—look for and join ALL online Expat groups as soon as you get to a country. Go to a language exchange and ignore the creepy older dudes who try to get you to “teach them English” and look for other expats who are probably new to the area, too). I also knew I was setting up base camp somewhere with an incredibly low cost of living, and that was intentional (Meygan’s intention, not mine, but still).

Mob Ties

This will be a small section, as it deviates from the financial focus of this piece, but I think it’s important: be proactive ASAP in making friends. It’s so, so easy in any city with a large expat population (again, join the Facebook groups).  Expats are prone to be quite outgoing, likely share your interests, and probably have lower friend standards than you’re used to! Living abroad is like college, and all the other expats are your new floormates. There will definitely be some weridos, but you’ll sift through them and find the gems. Plus, traveling with friends makes things cheaper, so this section is totally relevant. (Nailed it.)

Hotline Bling

This one is straightforward: Make sure your phone is internationally unlocked and get a prepaid SIM card immediately in each country you go to. I’ve never needed to pay more than $20 a month for talk/text/data (you’ll only really need data) and it is PLENTY (how many of you are looking at your Verizon bill and fuming right now?). International plans don’t make sense in the long run and scrambling from Starbucks to random hostels for WiFi is not a good look.

Nice for What

One of the benefits of living abroad is that as soon as I moved, people started hitting me up to visit and/or meet them places. I’ve had the opportunity to visit magnificent destinations with magnificent friends, some of whom I hadn’t seen in years. If, like me, you’re overwhelming popular and well-liked, you have to be realistic and honest about where you can and cannot travel. Whilst on a budget and trying to function in day-to-day life, sometimes merging plans with friends looking to vacation is just not feasible. Compromising is great; it’s also valuable to let the homies know that this isn’t just a trip for you, it’s your lifestyle (did you just throw up a little bit as you read that? Me too. Sorry). I got super lucky and my friends who came and visited me in my more permanent location—Peru—didn’t force me to go to Machu Picchu 96 times! Every country has a bunch of cool stuff to do, and they were more than happy to meet in Colombia, hop on a jungle excursion, or otherwise with plan something that was in my budget/I hadn’t already done.

In addition to being realistic with my budget and with other people, I had to be realistic with myself, which involved some reprioritizing. I haven’t really bought clothes in the last year. I didn’t make my usual music festival rounds. I wasn’t planning to see my family for Christmas. My shoes, which have amassed an innumerable amount of miles, are essentially all falling apart. Time and time again, I chose experiences over things and I couldn’t be happier with that decision.

Nonstop

Having a job, regardless of the wage, always makes me feel better about spending money. You can make money in a variety of ways, but here’s a hot tip: TEACH ENGLISH ONLINE. I AM NOT KIDDING YOU I WOULD NOT HAVE DONE WHAT I DID THIS LAST YEAR WITHOUT IT. There are a myriad of companies (I’m with VIPKID—lemme talk to you about it and get some $$ for helping you apply) that allow you to set your own schedule and teach online from anywhere with a strong WiFi connection. I taught every weekday in Peru from 6:30 am to 9:00am (and an occasional weekend evening) and was done with my workday by 9:15 in the morning. I was also able to teach when I came back to Kansas, when I was home in California, and when I was traveling, Plus, I get money for referring you desperate plebs.

Let me tell you why VIPKID is infinitely better than getting an in-person job (even teaching English) abroad:

The hours and location are 100% flexible. I can open my schedule weeks in advance or the night before, and I can teach fifteen classes in a row or one single class.

There is no lesson planning. Prepping for teaching is an evil succubus that lures you in and steals your time and also several parts of your soul. The VIPKID platform offers ready-to-use lessons that have a universal structure. I don’t even glance at them before I start teaching. It’s the most low-maintenance, easiest form of instruction I’ve ever been involved with.

You don’t need to worry about getting a work visa. For all the work I did in Peru, I was paid cash under the table, as getting a carnet de extranjera (similar to a green card) is time-consuming, expensive, and difficult. I'm not 100% sure, but I feel like this is the case in most countries.

Yes, I make $20-$25 an hour, which can make you feel no ways (real Drake fans will catch that Easter egg), especially if you’ve been making a steady salary in a a place like New York or SF (let’s not get into it here, but all the more reason to advocate for not paying/treating our teachers like trash). However, it’s consistent money, I can do it anywhere, and $20 goes real far in most places outside the U.S.

The Catch Up

That being said, the side-hustle is EVERYTHING. Proofreading, translating, tutoring, working remotely, waitressing, bartending—anything that doesn’t require a lengthy application process and set hours is ideal. While I was back in the States, I very quickly and easily got a temp job working in my mom’s radiologic imaging office; I got to experience an entirely different line of work and gossip and eat donuts with the girls in the front. I absolutely loved it.

Apps like Grabr or housesitting apps are also excellent ways to make money doing stuff you’re already planning to do. Grabr allows travelers to sign up to bring things to people in their destination country that take too long or are too expensive to ship from their country of origin. This utilized two of my strongest skills—ordering items from Amazon and packing a checked bag weighing exactly fifty pounds. On my trip from the U.S. to Peru, I made over $300. Did I bring a kitchen scale and finely ground white electrolyte powders through South American customs? Yes! Did I assume I’d be going to Peruvian jail? Maybe! Honestly, I was more concerned about the giant car part leaking oil that I brought through TSA in Kansas City (thought about leaving a “This is not a bomb note”—decided against it). The point is: it might have taken a little time, some research, and a bit of aplomb to find opportunities like this, but luckily I had all those things in spades. Disclaimer: Use your judgment. Don’t do weird stuff.

Also, in all honesty, got a pretty cute tax refund this year, seeing as I made a significantly larger sum of money in the half of the year when I was full-time employee in California than when I was a part-time degenerate in Peru.

All Me

As resourceful and savvy as I’m feeling after writing this, I have to come clean. This might be a bit of a bummer for those fiercely independent amongst you: I did not even come close to doing this without a ton of help from my ridiculous circle of incredibly generous family and friends (HAHA GOTCHA, IT WAS NOT ALL ME. SEE? SEE WHAT I DID?) My list of people to thank would surely earn me the wrap-it-up music at the Oscars, but I’ll try anyway: My parents helped my broke ass get home so I wouldn’t be alone for Christmas. My friends from all across the world and all phases of life let me crash with them for weeks at a time (and gave me cute clothes that “looked a little weird on them,” made me banana flaxseed pancakes, and did my laundry). My brother and his smokeshow wife bought me flights and let me move into their giant British mansion to be their nanny (they don’t have kids). My saint of a mother literally gave up her bed and shared her tiny apartment with me, advocated for me to get a job that meant her doubling her workload, and let me eat all her food while standing at the refrigerator like a teenage boy. People have given me advice, contacts, hotel points, and miles. Gratitude will forever be the brush with which the memory of this year was painted.

All in all, I’ve had an overwhelmingly positive, life-changing experience with the joys far outweighing the stresses. It’s not hard to do, and I hope this very Emily-specific example can be of some help to you. Remember, you too can shirk all your responsibilities and run away to a foreign country! Even if you’re 25 sitting on 25… cents.

P.S. If you liked this post, please send me shoes.

[arplis]

Arplis - News: Emily Bowser, back with that bathroom I promised you in my bedroom reveal last week (catch up: intro here, makeover here)

SO! Welcome to my airplane-sized bathroom. Okay, that’s a little obnoxious to say. I’m sure plenty of people live with smaller bathrooms. Let’s call it economic? My whole house is very economic. There isn’t one space that isn’t used. There’s no “bust through this wall and use that empty space between the bathroom and hall closet,” because that space is where the fridge is in the kitchen. The closest during this renovation that we got to adding space was when we took out two closets in order to make our bedroom big enough to fit our bed AND a dresser, but even then, we lost two closets! I’m here to talk about how we completely renovated without (completely) breaking the bank and got creative with what we had to work with, both with $$ and space. This room is a total #ipaidforthis inside and out! Let’s get into it! First, I thought it would be helpful to show the layout oft he house, since, after the last blog post, there were a handful of curious commenters: Neither the home nor the cats are to scale above, but it does the trick. As you can see above, this is the one and only (teeny) bathroom in the house. Side note: Kudos to Sara, who was somehow able to take pictures of this space because apparently I could NOT. I didn’t take these pictures thinking that they would be on a blog for a lot of people to see one day so my apologies, they are crooked and dark and not terribly in focus. The bathroom is off our hall and in the center of our home (read: no walls that face the outside). You may be surprised by this because isn’t that a window? Why, yes it is! A window that looks directly into our laundry room! The original home didn’t have the master bedroom or the laundry room (“room” may be an overstatement). We think the laundry room may have been a small porch because the door that leads to it from the kitchen appears to be original. The laundry room is very small, however, on one wall there is a window and a door that has a window in it so a lot of light comes in. The bathroom window is directly across from that wall so the light goes through the laundry room and lights up the bathroom pretty nicely. The window is made of obscure glass, so you can’t see through it and even though it’s not particularly pretty, I made the decision right away to keep it because it was a natural light source. Side note here that there are SO many decisions you have to make right away when you are doing a bigger renovation like we were. If you are a person who likes a lot of time to think things through and talk them out, this part may be particularly hard on you. The reason being, once demo starts, you better know what’s getting knocked out because if you change your mind later, it will cost you and for sure, there will be things you hadn’t thought of or things that come up because of the demo. The window staying or going was one of those things. The second reason I didn’t touch the window was because it was simply cheaper not to. In a perfect world, I think I would have taken the window out and done something creative along the top of the same wall, like a long and skinny window that was more interesting architecturally. That way the light could come in while giving me more wall space for a decent sized mirror and shelves. I don’t know, I didn’t let myself think about it too long because it wasn’t an option. Along these same lines, all of the plumbing fixtures, although we replaced all of them, were kept in the same places so that we didn’t have the extra cost and also, WHERE ELSE COULD THEY GO? There are only so many options in a 32-square-foot space. About the Demo: As you can see, there was chair rail height tile that continued into the shower and I probably could have lived with it, I mean, with a toothbrush and bleach to the grout (which was a lovely shade of orange throughout). The floor tile is the same that was in the rest of the house. It was damaged, many of the tiles cracked and obviously it was something we weren’t going to invest in keeping. We were ripping the tile up off the floor anyway, so why not go ahead and rip the tile off the wall too? Turns out it was a good idea because there was a ton of mold hiding behind those tiles. We took out all the plumbing fixtures. The toilet here got moved to the back house because it needed a new toilet and if someone was getting a brand new toilet then IT WAS GONNA BE ME. The pedestal sink was also in fine condition but I wanted to try to find something that would have even a little bit of storage. I gave the sink to my contractor and he used it in one of his other personal projects. The tub was trashed unfortunately because of damage from the demo and the mold. For those of you who will for sure ask, I didn’t throw the vintage corner storage cabinet in the dump. No, I paid $100 for it to be fixed because I neeeeeded that storage and it fits perfectly in the small amount of space I have between the window and the wall. When the workers were installing, they somehow dropped and shattered it so my contractor sent it off to be fixed and I never heard about it ever again. When you owe someone $80,000 (if you don’t know why, you probably missed my “buying an income property” post, read that here), it is kind of hard to be like “YEAH BUT WHERE IS MY MIRROR, RON?!” On Choosing Finishes: Tile: As I discussed in the master makeover post, choosing tile was as simple as “what do I not hate that doesn’t cost a fortune?” Answer: subway tiles ($2.30/square foot) and black hex ($5/square foot). A little on the boring side? Kinda. Did I wish I could have afforded fancier tiles? At the time: yes. Now, I don’t know. My house is economic so I feel like it makes sense that the finishes are, too? I am one of those people that always picks out the most expensive thing in the store. My soul child is fancy AF (wallet, not so much). If I had been able to get whatever I wanted for this space, I feel like it wouldn’t have fit the house. I live in a box, one that doesn’t have a lot of architectural character, and the kinda boring finishes we ended up with make sense for the house, if that makes sense? I like it feeling more like a minimalist space whose character comes from the art or vintage pieces I bring into it. I wouldn’t have minded doing the same chair rail height tile situation again, because it makes cleaning up a bit easier and protects your walls from water (and let’s be honest, other bodily fluids) but I didn’t care enough about it to spend the money on the tile or the labor. I did tile the shower walls all the way up and onto the ceiling. I had lived in many a rentals and noticed what the constant condensation would do to the area right above the tiling in a shower. I’m glad I did it. Plumbing Fixtures:  First and foremost, I found a toilet, but not just any toilet. It’s the toilet of my dreams. Well, my economic dreams anyway. This toilet, hands down, is one of my favorite things about the house and I’m going to tell you why. I wish it was because it has a dual flush and therefore conserves water, but no, to me that’s just a bonus to the fact that IT DOESN’T HAVE THOSE WEIRD LEG THINGS THAT COLLECT PEE RESIDUE AND HAIR. This toilet is so easy to clean and I give it 5 stars based solely on that. It’s also not expensive. I will pay $299 (the price when I bought it) all day long to not have to get on my knees with my mouth all too close to the lid of the toilet, and awkwardly use my pointer finger through a rag to try to get in the crevices to remove bodily fluids that are most likely NOT MINE ANYWAY. Pro tip: buy all your fixtures and appliances during Black Friday sales. I even bought all my kitchen appliances and Home Depot waited to ship them out until I was ready for them. I have a funny story about the mental state of a person in the process of buying a house vs. that of one that OWNS the house. As I’ve mentioned in this post, I was in escrow from May until October of 2016. That’s a long time. It’s also fair to mention that I didn’t get to see the house much before we actually owned it. There was a renter here that was in the process of moving out so we couldn’t bother him. That said, the idealistic side of me that was excited about becoming a homeowner remembered the house very differently than the day after I actually owned it and saw it naked for the first time (the house, not me). The house was naked in that it wasn’t full of the renter’s stuff and it was naked metaphorically because the rose colored glasses I was wearing were suddenly more like a cheap pair of glasses, smudged and scratched, found in the bottom of an unused purse in the back of your closet. The reality of a $630,000 mortgage and an undetermined amount of money to be spent on the renovation changed my perception. Is this what they call buyer’s remorse? In the five months of being excited about being a homeowner, I did the thing you’re not supposed to do but couldn’t help myself: I bought stuff for a home I didn’t yet own. One of those things was a vintage dresser from the flea market that I wanted to turn into a sink for this bathroom. The dimensions of the dresser are 21.5” deep, 31” wide and 35.5” tall. What actually barely fits there: a sink that is 13” deep and 24” wide. Maybe that doesn’t seem like a lot but believe me, in real life, it is insane and laughable that I thought this piece of furniture (that now lives happily in my living room) would fit in this space. If you could see it you would understand me, as a person, fully. After realizing we definitely would not be able to use it (immediately), I had to pivot, quickly. There was no time for sourcing a very specific piece of vintage furniture. HELLOOO IKEA. We bought the Hagaviken sink with the Hemnes sink cabinet that we later painted my favorite green and changed out the knobs. The faucet is from Amazon and actually works great. They no longer sell the sink cabinet in the size we have, but they do have the Godmorgon which I honestly don’t know why I didn’t get. I would have much preferred to have a floating sink (easier to clean—sensing a theme??). I have a lot of opinions on this sink. It’s nice to have the storage. I fit a surprising amount of stuff in these two slim drawers. The depth of it would be fine if it were for a space where people just used it to wash their hands, a powder bath off your mudroom, for example. HOWEVER, washing your face is the most obnoxious process one could think of. I’m going to put this in the same box as “black floors” and “my cat, Puck”—they aren’t for everyone and by not for everyone I mean, “don’t have them unless you don’t mind cleaning, all the time” (we can talk about my cat Puck’s strange addictions in the comment section). Here follows my nightly routine: wash face, dry face with a small washcloth (kept in the top drawer of the sink, folded Marie Kondo style DUH), use used cloth to wipe down the top of the sink, the wall behind the sink, the front of the sink cabinet, the inside tops of the drawers, and finally, the floor. Every. Single. Day. I’m not kidding. You would think I was washing my face like a Clean & Clear ad from 1995—everything is soaked. There are two positives to this situation: 1. I dry my face with a clean towel every day which is good for your skin because of the bacteria that is on our everyday towels and 2. My sink and bathroom floor get a wipe down every day and therefore look cleaner throughout the week. *Rose colored glasses, put back on.* One of the only—maybe THE only—“must haves” on my husband’s buying-a-house list was that it had to have a tub. There was no budging on it. He’s a bather which I find slightly disgusting (because he doesn’t shower first or sometimes at all). But, whatever, he likes to do his creative thinking in a bath and doesn’t demand a lot, so a bath we would have! Plus, if we can ever afford children, a bathtub would be helpful. We bought basically the same tub that was in there, a run-of-the-mill alcove tub that we got somewhere in the valley for $300-ish. It’s 58” long, by 28.5” wide by 13” deep so a grown human can barely fit in it and have water covering them, but it gets the job done I guess. We put in two inserts for shampoo, soap and what have you and I’m very glad we did but I have a question: Am I supposed to put shelves in these things? They are entirely too tall. If I could do it again, I would make them a more reasonable size. In 2016, matte black plumbing fixtures were still weirdly hard to find and if you did find them, they were $$$. We ended up with this one in wrought iron and it was only $270 when we purchased it. I wasn’t stoked on it but I will say, it works well and we haven’t had any issues. This one is more modern and definitely what I would buy now. It’s also by Moen so I would assume also good quality and an even lower price point than the one we bought is now. Something else I wish we could have invested in is a matching tub drain, but alas, we used the stainless steel one that came with the tub. To shower door or not to shower door?? My contractor tried to convince me I needed a shower door and that water would go everywhere and it kinda does, but it was an extra expense and, you guessed it, impossible to keep clean. I bought a matte black tension rod, matte black shower rings, a hemp canvas shower curtain (hemp is antimicrobial and does better in moist climates) and a liner that has suction cups that *mostly* work to help any leakage onto the floor. All in all, it cost me $143 and saved me years of wiping down glass panels. Another positive to shower curtain vs. doors is that if you do have kids, it’s much easier to have the whole space open rather than having a glass wall in front of half of the tub. I can’t believe I have this much to say about 32 square feet! Moving on. Storage. If you will allow me to don my rose-colored glasses when the corner mirror was destroyed/disappeared, I had to make do, and as making-do usually does, I was inspired. I saw an opportunity in my window box (22”x22”x4.5” deep) to add shelves and create storage space. I simply bought a piece of wood and some smaller square wood dowels (0.5”x0.5”), cut the wood to the appropriate length, screwed the dowels in from the sides with 2 screws to hold the shelves and placed the shelves on top (with a little wood glue between to keep them from slipping). At first, I put a small tension rod with a sheer curtain over it so that I didn’t have to look at the clutter of misc bathroom stuff but I found that the stuff, along with the curtain, blocked too much of the light. While musing about it on Instagram stories, an acquaintance (shoutout Shadi!) told me I needed to just lose the curtain and make the things on it prettier and I took her advice. This meant I needed to decant and find some minimalist products that I wouldn’t mind looking at every day of my life. In my search, I found Public Goods which has the most simple packaging and simple ingredients to match. I figured if I didn’t like the products, I could just reuse the packaging because at their price point, it was just as, if not cheaper, than doing a run to The Container Store. Turns out, I do like most of their products (I have a lot) and no, they did not pay me to say that and yes, we can talk about it in the comments. All of the things on “display” are things I use most, if not every day. A great thing about having limited storage is that it’s hard to keep stuff you don’t really want to have. The little containers with cork are Saxborga and the glass container holding my reusable bamboo cotton rounds is H&M Home (similar). I decanted mouthwash into the Korken from IKEA, pulled obnoxious labels off of my nail polish remover, and even decanted ibuprofen. My husband shaves his head and he always needs a mirror to see the back of his head and he somehow misplaces them?? It’s a mystery. My pretty way of solving this problem was to buy a vintage mirror with a handle and a hook for the wall so I never have to hear “WHERE IS THE MIRROR??” ever again. No room for towel bars (at least not if you want art!), but these Turkish towels dry fast so hooks are just fine. I regret not thinking about lighting in this space. If you don’t specify things, contractors will always do the standard without asking. I came over one day and he had installed recessed lights, one in the shower area and one in the middle of the wall, closer to the window. If I had been thinking before they closed all the walls up I would have had them run electrical over the mirror, but alas. The recessed lights are SO bright and my husband and I are both super sensitive to bright lights. We retroactively put dimmers almost everywhere and will here eventually but immediately upon moving in, out of necessity, threw these string lights up from Target (similar) and they have just kinda stayed. The naked lady art was $20 from the Melrose Trading Post and came framed (WIN). The wood frame was also a welcome addition to the other wood/warm accents throughout the space. We bought a perfectly small wooden stool from a local neighborhood store (here’s a similar one in two sizes) so that he would have a surface to put a book, a candle, a mug of hot tea or whatever else he needs for his romantic tub time alone. The smaller art is MaryAnn Puls framed in a Ribba from IKEA. I was toilet paper holder-less for over a year before I found this maker on Etsy and I’m glad I did. Let’s talk about clean butts. Pretty sure that’s the only time that’s been said on this blog. If you have a keen eye, you will notice that I own a Tushy. I wanted to take the opportunity to give a review of their product. I became obsessed with bidets when I moved into my grandmother’s house for a year to plan my wedding 10 years ago. She had a Toto and you could say that there was the Emily before she lived with a Toto and the Emily after. For bidet aficionados, you know that the Toto is the top-of-the-line bidet. They range from $500-$2,000 so you can see why this bidet had me second-guessing if I really should get married and move out of my grandmother’s home. In truth, there were MANY things about my grandmother’s home that made me never want to leave, but the bidet was up there on that list. 2010-2018 are considered the dark years for me. The years I lived without waking up in the middle of the night to a welcoming warm seat on a cold night, years without the confidence that I was squeaky clean no matter what time of the month it was (PERIOD POSITIVE OVER HERE). Then, Erik (upholstered-my-headboard-while-I-watched Erik) got a Tushy and told me I should, too. With the low price point of $69 for the non-heated (water, not the seat) and $99 for the heated, I opted for the heated. Here is what I have to say about my purchase: I love having a bidet and I 100% would buy it again. However, I would buy the $69 model because the water never really does heat on the other model unless you run your sink water until it gets hot, which is a huge waste of water. One knob would also be easier to clean than two. The place where the bidet connects to your seat is very hard to clean, let’s just say my cleaning supplies for this product includes a Q-tip. So this should be thrown into the box of things to pass over if you’re not a clean freak. However, if you don’t mind a little extra cleaning, are a firm believer that showering every day is probably not good for your sebaceous glands but still want your underbits fresh, want to conserve toilet paper use, this is a good product for you. Unless you can afford a Toto. I can’t give you accurate labor cost because everything in my house was happening at the same time and my contractor didn’t break it down by room, unfortunately. But here is a breakdown of all the things in the bathroom (rounded up): ***photography by Sara Ligorria-Tramp Don’t miss other posts in this series: Makeover Takeover: How EHD Stylist Emily Bowser Tackled Her Awkward Master Bedroom | Reveal: Emily Bowser’s Bedroom “After” is Unrecognizable From the “Before” | DIY How-To: A Step-by-Step for Making Emily B.’s Wrap-Around Velvet Headboard   The post MOTO Reveal: Emily Bowser’s 32-Square-Foot Bathroom Is Packed With Small Space Hacks appeared first on Emily Henderson. #Makeover #Reveal #Makeovers #Bathroom #Moto

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/emily-bowser-back-with-that-bathroom-i-promised-you-in-my-bedroom-reveal-last-week-catch-up-intro-here-makeover-here-1

[a-path-beyond84]

I think this article makes a bit too much of specific circumstances just after the trough of the worst recession since 1937.  It references a mainstream economist worried about jobs, which was reasonable in 2010, but now the job market has more or less fully recovered.  

Unemployment in May was down to just 4.3%, which outside of a brief period in 1999 and 2000 was the lowest on record since the 1960s.  The number of unfilled positions has risen to record highs, nearly 6 million, higher than it was in December 2000 at the tail end of the tech boom.  Wages are rising, and incomes for married couple households with two incomes have never been higher - if you and your working spouse earned $100,000 in 2015, then you were in the poorer half your demographic’s income distribution.  

I understand that training people for new lines of work isn’t simple easy for them, but I think in a modern, developed economy that is probably unavoidable.  Note that the author argues against free trade not only between other nations, but even within the United States itself.  He’s right, but that’s not exactly a costless proposition.  Free trade does provide increased competition, but it also reduces various input costs.  It does not seem probably that economic activity would be higher with reduced trade opportunities.     

In Capitalism, the availability of jobs is controlled by the whim of monopolies and large employers. History has clearly shown these companies will readily close down factories and offices in one area to open new ones where they can get cheaper labor.

This isn’t accurate.  The vast majority of American jobs are created by small businesses, not large ones, the availability of jobs is driven by the business cycle.  

The ability for a single employer to devastate a large region gives that employer the ability to control its economic life, and even its government.

Outside of small towns, this doesn’t appear to be true.  It simply isn’t the case that a single large employer could devastate Texas or New York or even a moderately large city like Milwaukee.  I agree it can be a problem for small rural towns a long way away from major cities, but is the solution really to prohibit free trade and business between individual cities?

The value of our currency is controlled by banks that charge usurious interest rates while creating special financial packages to enrich each other.

Usury is not related to the rate of interest (which may or may not be unjust) but the type of loan.  A mutuum loan cannot licitly charge *any* interest (i.e. where the recourse for being paid back falls on the borrower alone).  A commercial loan and a non-recourse mortgage are not properly understood as usury, whereas student loans and credit cards are, because the former are backed by a specific asset (those of the business or the home) whereas the others are backed by personal pledge alone.  

Banks do control the value of currency, with the Fed setting the overall pace, but the value of currency has been relatively stable.  Inflation has been low and positive for many years now, and some positive inflation might help with wage adjustment through money illusion (i.e. with 2% inflation, you can hold wages flat for 3 years and reduce your wage bill by 6% and avoid layoffs, since workers hate nominal wage cuts, 0% inflation might lead the employer to fire some employees rather than cut wages - see chart below which shows huge proportion of wage changes at exactly 0%).  

Many people are forced to invest their retirement funds in that great gambling institution called the stock exchange.

People are not forced to do this, but rather choose to do so because returns in equities are highest.  Would distributists make investing in stocks illegal?  What investment would they choose to replace equities for retirement saving?  Moreover, buying stocks is not gambling, but rather investing, taking ownership shares in businesses and receiving a share of the future profits through dividends and capital appreciation.  Sure, stock prices go up and down (and are uncomfortably high right now), but if you invest over 40 years it’s difficult not to make a nice return as you buy in at both low and high periods.  

Considering the recent great failures of our banks and markets, is it any wonder that even the large businesses are hoarding their assets? 

This is an illusion that was admittedly a prominent concern back in 2010, the notion that big businesses were hoarding cash.  All assets must be held/hoarded by someone.  If large businesses put that capital to work, they would have to sell those assets to other entities, and those other entities would now be accused of hoarding assets.  The growth in hoarded assets largely reflects an increase in government and corporate debt, which when purchased by businesses show up as assets.  More here for a description of this phenomenon in detail.

That great boondoggle mislabeled as a “stimulus package” poured billions of borrowed dollars into the very banks that led us into our current crisis, leaving not only us, but our children and future generations of tax payers to cover the bill.

The stimulus package, ARRA, was separate from TARP, or the bank bailouts.  The bank bailouts were actually capital investments by the federal government that, combined with the other bailouts (e.g. AIG and auto manufacturers), have reduced the government’s debt by nearly $100 billion as of 2017, as the government made a profit on its investments.

ARRA may have been unwise or unnecessary, and perhaps there are other costs of TARP (e.g. there might be an increase in moral hazard, the idea that banks might behave in a more risky manner if they expect a bailout), but future taxpayers were better off from TARP.  

Imagine instead being economically independent. What if you owned your job, either independently or cooperatively, instead of a huge company? 

People can always start their own businesses, or if they work for a public corporation they can buy stock (though I wouldn’t recommend it).  Isn’t that a lot of risk to bear if your independent business fails?  Wouldn’t it not only mean the loss of income, but also most of your assets as well?  

Are we abolishing large corporations?  What about people who don’t mind working for them, and who wouldn’t want their assets tied up in a business that might fail?  

What if the goods and services you need for your daily life were produced locally by people who also owned their own jobs. 

It depends.  Diversification reduces risk.  What if the local economy crashes?  Can I move?  Is free trade prohibited, or are there exceptions if the producers of what I need are no longer operating?  One of the biggest problems of the Great Depression was that banks weren’t allowed to have branches throughout much of the country, so that it only took a few business failures to destroy a town’s banking system.  

Imagine if the government was required to provide a stable currency. 

I’m not convinced that 0% inflation is better than 1.5%-2.0%.  This article merely asserts it as if it were a good thing rather than defends the claim.  

Imagine if there were still dozens of car manufacturers across the country who worked together on innovating new technologies, instead of the “Big Three” who bought out their competition. 

Is technological progress in the auto sector too slow?  I’m actually quite amazed at the pace of progress in that sector.  For example, a 2016 BMW 340i 6 speed sedan is about the same size as the 1998 BMW 540i sedan, it is more comfortable, has better technology, better sound system, is faster, gets better fuel economy, handles better, brakes sooner, is probably more reliable, and the 340i base price of $46,795 actually costs less than the 540i which was $55,678 - not adjusted for inflation either.  It actually just costs less.  

What about economies of scale?  The R&D, for example, of dozens of small car manufacturers would have to be spread across a far lower number of cars, and what about free trade?  What if the best cars are in New Hampshire?  Can I buy them if I live in Texas, or do I have to make do with relatively mediocre Texas vehicles?  

The overall national economy would be more stable because each local economy would be stable. The failure of one company would not have the ability to devastate an entire region. The common man would be economically free because he would own the means of producing his livelihood. This is what Distributism aims to achieve.

I see a lot of assertion and not a lot of demonstration.  This is my problem with full-throated distributism.  There’s a lot that needs to be fleshed out, and often times I see claims I feel have limited support, or for that matter are simply false (like the bank bailouts being a net cost to taxpayers).  It really needs an Adam Smith or Karl Marx type character to come along and address these things.  

My preference at this time is still to improve things at the margins for capitalism (especially with respect to debt and usury, cracking down on slave labor in foreign countries, etc.)  

[thesuperwallflower]

Buying versus Renting

It’s been a week since Jay and I started discussing this tedious topic. We have been looking at several social media posts about houses for sale, condominium units for rent, available rent-to-own units, and so on. It’s enticing to see them sold out on social media at impressively affordable prices, with promotions that are too good to be true: free appliances, ten percent off the total price, no downpayment, and everything else that makes you want to jump on the chance and sign that contract as soon as the site visit is done and over with.  We narrowed down the factors that we needed to consider as to whether it’s better to rent or own.  First, proximity. I have been away from my family far too long, and the thought of living farther away when I’m already married surprisingly frightens me, as opposed to what other couples want when they settle down and find a place of their own. Jay’s work is at a business district, and as soon as I go back home, I’m thinking of finding a job in the same area, which obviously requires both of us to consider looking for places in the metro.  Second, availability. Most of our options are around Manila, San Juan, and Mandaluyong, which are cities surrounding our work locations. Most of the units we’re looking for must be accessible to commonly used forms of transportation such as MRT and buses. Townhouses are quite far,  though, as most of the affordable ones are in San Juan and Quezon City, with access to near LRT stations and jeepneys. 

Third, price. Most of the 30-square-meter, one-bedroom units in the metro offer easy, flexible payment terms that range from 3.5 to 7 million pesos. Townhouses are offered at a similar price range, with the downpayment at a twenty percent minimum. Agents for most of these options offer assistance when interested parties apply for housing loans from government agencies or banks.

Lastly, capacity. At the moment, we (mostly Jay) have raised adequate funds for unit reservations, ten percent downpayment for condominium units, but barely enough for twenty percent required payment to the bank for a housing loan approval for townhouses. The monthly fees may seem feasible, but to acquire a million-peso loan as an initial cut out of the four-million loan for the total house cost feels herculean and redundant. 

With those in mind, Jay started looking around, checking out all those houses and units we saw posted on social media. Here’s what we found out.  Some agents would post payment terms in a manner that makes potential buyers feel it’s easy, affordable, and in Filipino terms, “abot-kamay” (within reach). 

Some, on the other hand, would ask for a move-in cost of around a hundred, then ask you to pay a few more bucks every month (around 20-30), then on the 12th month, you’d have to pay quarter to half a million, then do it again on the 24th month, and another on the 18th, and another on the 36th, until you’re completely buried in debt and eventually have no choice but give it up, sell it, or have it rented to someone else. 

Some owners of townhouses would sell two-floor, 40-50-square-meter houses at the same price and you’d definitely want to check them out. If you choose bank financing, up-front, you’re going to have to pay 20 percent of the total cost of the house and live comfortably with the monthly fee which you’ll pay to the bank at 1.60% interest or higher. Then again, how else do you get the million-worth downpayment but through another loan? 

All things considered, this must be partly our fault that we did not start looking into this as early as we started dating because of course, we did not want to turn each other off by looking into the farthest possible future of getting married, buying a house, and raising kids, did we?

In an article written on Asia property in 2018, there’s an undeniable increase in interest rates for real estate through the years 2013 to 2018, understandably due to the rising number of office spaces, gambling centers, and companies for outsourced industries, all situated in Metro Manila. 

There’s an apparent increase yet again in the interest rates of real estates in the first half of 2019, due to factors like supply and demand, economic growth, and inflation. Speaking of supply and demand, the spike is brought about by the number of foreign settlers in the country, who could not buy houses and land as the law prohibits them from doing so, hence working around the law legally by taking advantage of ownership of freehold real estate through property developers, with the property developers, in turn, taking advantage of the influx of immigrants. This being said, there’s a foreseeable shortage of available real estate properties in the first half of 2020. (Spectrum Magazine, 2019)

Jay was informed by one of the agents he spoke with about this condominium building that has already been pre-sold to immigrants. Funny enough, they may have probably stayed in the Philippines only for a few years and yet manage to buy living spaces much easier than do most of us. Then again, it’s definitely not their fault that we can’t buy a place of our own, and maybe, out of frustration, I’m merely passing the blame or making useless excuses. 

Going back to the question at hand, last night we had another grueling discussion on the pros and cons of renting and owning. 

Pros of Owning

Investment. The first couple of years may feel burdensome, as you have to crawl your way out of paying for your place, but it’s ultimately a great idea to own something that builds equity and increases value with time. In one of Jay’s visits to a house we were interested in buying, we were able to get a glance at the property’s land title. What is currently valued at 4 million was once bought by the owner in the 80′S at 40 thousand pesos.

Pride in Ownership. It certainly does bring a sense of fulfillment to actually own something, albeit the fact that partially, it’s yours and the bank’s (if it’s not fully paid). It is an achievement to work hard for something and see a tangible product of your daily struggles at work. 

Privacy. Nothing beats the security of knowing that the place is yours and you can make changes with it without people getting in the way. 

Cons of Owning

Long-term financial commitment. Most properties lock buyers to a 15 or 25-year contract of payment if they wish to pay the property as a cheaper monthly rate. This means more effort on saving up for emergency funds and more effort into finding other means of earning money. 

Ties to the community. Owning a property makes it more difficult for owners to move out, find a location more suitable to their changing needs. Options to get out of this problem would be to rent out the property to others (which kind of defeats the idea of buying your own place). 

Maintenance costs. As though association costs, mortgages, and other fees aren’t enough, when something needs to be fixed or renovated in the property, the responsibility is shouldered by the owners themselves. 

Being “house-poor”. To keep up with mortgages and debt consolidation, some owners borrow on top of their existing loans, which ultimately leaves them nothing. 

Pros of Renting

Financial flexibility. With minimal and short-term financial commitments that come with renting, tenants can plan their budget easily for utilities, rental costs, and other expenses. Should they encounter financial troubles, they can easily work around their finances because they are not tied to a fixed, not to mention overwhelming, mortgages. 

Good for newly-weds. Couples who just got married may surely have a lot on their hands especially when it comes to handling finances. It would probably be best to start the first years of their lives with as minimal financial conflicts as possible. 

Maintenance costs. The problem of fixing and costs of repairs are not for the renters to worry about. The landowners shoulder this responsibility, thus making more room for renters to allot money for other expenses. 

Moving around. Because renters are not tied financially to their rented residence, they do not have to be tied in one location, and based on their preferences and changing needs, they can move around and find other living spaces as they deem fit. Because of this, they can also be flexible about their career, as they can change work locations whenever they feel the need to. 

Cons of Renting

Possibility of rising rental costs. Since properties increase value over time, some landowners may opt to increase rental fees.

No ownership. Long-term rental costs amount to the same value of the property sans the ownership. 

Sources: Investopedia, Smart Parenting, iMoney

At the end of the day, it’s about cutting losses. Why do we need to own? Do we even need to own anything? For how long are we going to pay for something that will never be ours? Which option will leave us fewer things to think about and help us live life more?  What choice will make us use more of our time, resources, and efforts for the things that truly matter?  After lengthy discussions, we have yet to arrive at a decision. It’s all open-ended, it’s frustrating, it’s exhausting, but at least I don’t have to go through this alone.

[midorichan10]

Moments I have witnessed intense KnB fans in Japan

Upon request here’s my post of personal experiences I’ve seen or been in that show how Japanese KnB (mainly Akashi) fans are that you probably won’t see too often back in your home country.  *If you are one of these fans, I’m not saying stop doing it or you shouldn’t do it, but just be responsible and don’t neglect other priorities and don’t inconvenience others...and be reasonable. Also these are things I’m not used to seeing so for me it’s quite eyebrow-raising. Thanks. 

Fans with multiple and intense ita-bags (bags with character merch usually dedicated to 1-2 characters)

Many people cover every inch of their bags with badges/straps of a character and I’ve seen some intense Akashi ones. Also they many have duplicates of the same badges and I’ve seen people who have like THREE bags they take to J-world or an event.  *(I also have my own itabag and I know other Tumblr users have their own as well. And I can say, those are normal and I wouldn’t classify them as the ‘crazy’ bags I’ve seen)

Fangirl logic in Japan as said by someone in an interview: The more you spend on rare merch of a character you like the more you love them, or something. Hence why girls collect 50 duplicates or more

Girl spending over $600 on Akashi Newstyle badges

Last year they had NewStyle badges which were from a lottery/kuji at certain arcades. You could choose who you wanted so buy the time I got up to try all the Akashi ones were gone. The Akashi badges in particular were VERY expensive on auction. A two-badge set went on average at the time like $60. It would’ve been cheaper but there was this ONE girl (same girl because the username was the same) who kept BUYING THEM ALL OR WINNING ALL THE AUCTIONS. I had the auction pages saved (since I was keeping an eye on them while I was bidding) and I calculated the total of the ones she won and it went over $600....

I eventually got my own set for $90........

Also pretty sure I’ve seen the acutal girl because she had like 40 New Style badges on her bag and these weren’t common badges compared to the usual KnB ones from J-World......she also had 3 intense Akashi bags and I see her frequently..

Fans spending TONS of money to get a high rank in Cross Colors.

There is no hack or cheat people literally do spend hundreds of dollars to get a high rank for a 5 star Avatar in Cross Colors. I’ve seen the same people try one event after another so it’s not like they save up for months and then go all out. Fans do this for other game apps too like Ensemble Stars. 

Girl hyperventilating at the site of an Akashi lifesize cardboard cutout (I’m not exaggerating, she was holding up the line to take pictures)

Girl hugging a Kuroko cutout as if she was embracing him romantically and looking into each other’s eyes. (not the typical let me take a picture with him because I can sort of thing)

Fans being over the top seeing a guy in an Akashi mask/costume at J-World.

I just wanna say first of all, even his hands are gloved and since it’s a mask, he can’t talk. Think of it like Mickey at Disneyland or any other mascot

I’ve seen a girl actually trying to strike a conversation with him and all he could do was stare back and nod and gesture her to move on because she was holding up the line.

I’ve seen another girl jumping up and down in front of him showing off how she got the Akashi movie clearfile. Again not much of a reaction from him. 

When I got a picture with him, there were girls peeping at him from behind the backdrop like some stalkers.....it was really unsettling....

When he walks around J-World, he ALWAYS WITHOUT FAIL has a herd of fangirls following him trying to take pictures of him, and I know some of those girls are J-World regulars and already have a pic with him. One time the guy was going back to the staff area but they had to do one last round of pictures because the girls would’t leave him alone. 

This is probably a thing in multiple fandoms and even back at home but KnB stageplay tickets selling out within 10 min. And a lot of those tickets were bought merely to just be resold at a much higher price. And that was just for the first play.

People going to Jump Festa and sleeping overnight in line when you’re not supposed to but guess the staff allowed it anyway....I went at 3:30am so I could get a shot at the limited KnB Merch and I barely got them...

I’ll also add people buying KnB merch not even for themselves but for the sake of selling. How do I know? For example the Oreshi Puni Puni doll is limited to only two per customer and then I see on auction the same day one seller selling two of them. Unless they asked their friend to pick it up too so they could sell for money but I feel that’s still pretty bad and unfair to those who actually wanted it.Also seen people sell like 40 KnB Jump Festa keychains...which by the way sold out.  

GIrls (specifically girls) shove you and knock you over to get in line for the goods even when staff members are there demanding you line up calmly and no running. I had one girl fully jab me in my arm with her shoulder to get ahead of me. 

Last year’s Jump Festa had an exclusive Akashi wall scroll that sold out in less than 30 min despite the limit they set per person. The original price was about $32. I found one on auction for $100 and bought it right away. Sad thing is, that was the cheapest. Later when everyone else decided to put their own scrolls up for auction they went super high like $300-500 if I remember. I remember one auction it was a fight between three buyers and then it got down to two buyers and they kept outbidding each other and the auction got extended for 2 extra hours because they wouldn’t stop bidding. (Yahoo auctions only end if there are no bids in the last 5 min otherwise they automatically get extended for another 10 min). Ending price was at almost $700, or if not it WAS $700 depending on the currency exchagne rate. 

Girls trying to compete with you on how much goods you have

My friends and I were at J-World just chilling at a table resting and these two Japanese girls walk by and one of them points at my Akashi bag and shows her friend. They weren’t in my line of sight but my friends who could see them from our table said that the other girl sat down and started pulling out ALL of her Easter Akashi merch ranging from badges, straps, putting on her decked out Easter Akashi lanyard, and displaying them on their table. I was just sitting there talking and my bag was just casually on a chair because we had space for it....I wasn’t trying to start anything. And it was very clear that she had more merch than me anyway so I don’t get why it was necessary to show that she is clearly the “winner.” 

Jealous fans who won’t stop staring at you

Example of this was when my friend and I were at a KnB Cafe. There was a mini game the staff did halfway through where you try to match the same picture as them and if you’re in the top 5 (I think) you get a special sparkly holograph coaster of a random character. My friend managed to be one of the lucky ones but the coaster you get is random. My friend luckily drew the capsule that had the Akashi coaster so she gave it to me. Once someone picks that capsule the staff doesn’t put it back in the box so in other words no other winner can get an Akashi coaster. One Akashi fan across the room kept creepily staring at me after that because her friend also won a coaster but because the staff came to us first, her friend had zero chance of getting Akashi. That girl kept staring at me for awhile and it was quite unsettling....

Fans declaring they love Akashi more than anyone else

I actually saw someone’s profile on Cross Colors that said that....

Last year for Valentine’s, the Jump Store had a lottery campaign where if you tweeted a picture of a Valentine’s Card you got from them and tagged it with whatever hashtag it was, then you can be entered for a KnB poster lottery of your choice. One girl literally made an account just for this on twitter and spammed every hour a post so she could try to get the Akashi poster. Now that’s not the worst part. Each post had some sort of sentence of her declaring her love for Akashi and how she loved him more than anyone else in the world (she actually said ‘world’). How she only thought of him ever since she “met” him 3 years ago. She even jokingly said as a reference to Akashi’s phrase, “If I don’t get that Akashi poster I won’t forgive you Jump Store lol” at least I hope it was a joke. 

If you just google image search 赤司部屋 (Akashi room) you can see how dedicated some fans can be into decorating every inch of their room with Akashi merch....literally every inch....though I’ve seen rooms like that for other characters too and other series. 

You’d think fans would be happy that you like the same character as you right? Or everybody in Japan is nice? Well, sadly for Akashi fans that’s not the case a lot of the time. When it comes to showing off merch on twitter fans seem pretty chill but when it comes to actually getting the goods and in person, well.....good luck....

So that’s my report of personal experiences of crazy KnB fans within my 3 years of Japan. I really wished I was making these up but I don’t think I ever could. Here’s to hoping none of you guys have to experience these XD;

[chloecorvid]

For freshman going into art school: the bare bones recommendations

So ya chose to go to an art school... That’s great! 4 years of coffee and easy mac with a tin of paint thinner are in your future, friend! 

But what do you actually need for an art school? Do you need the master set of pastels and oils or do you just need a pencil? Honestly... It depends on the school. 

BUT!! From my own personal experience at the Kansas City Art Institute, I’m going to make a list of things to bring and what not to bring (at least on move in day). 

HERE WE GO!

The dorm.

Every college is different on how their dorms work. Some are communal (like KCAI) some are single room apartments. But these basics should help you know what to buy and what to leave behind 

( NOTE: every college has a different guide on what to bring and what not to bring. Please adhere to your school’s rules to avoid fines.)

YES list--the things you absolutely should bring

-mini fridge (2.5 cubic ft is good, if you share with your roommate you can go bigger)

-microwave; you OR your roommate. no one needs 2 microwaves.

-string lights. for when ya wanna see your desk but your roommate’s asleep.

-small trashcan. bring a pack of trashbags--draw string is the best.

-shower caddy/bag with flip flops. shower shoes are expensive, flip flops work the same. 

-house shoes. for those cold days and walking to the bathroom.

-a small shelf/storage ottoman/storage seat. You want to have space to store your dry foods and textbooks, but you wanna be able to have a seat other than your desk chair. 

-shoe organizer. whether it actually holds your shoes or not, this is great or organizing things. socks, cleaning supplies, hairspray and febreeze are off your desk and out of your closet. 

-door mirror. you can get some pretty good ones for cheap at walmart or target. be sure of your door dimensions first though. 

-2nd phone charger/long phone cable. for charging your phone in bed or at your desk. you never know how far away the outlet will be. 

-fairly new power strip. just to be safe and to plug all your stuff into. 

-body pillow if you don’t like cold walls. 

-a notebook for each class that involves reading or note taking. you might think you can use a binder for all your classes, but easier organization and lighter backpacks are always good. also keep a highlighter and pen with each notebook. it’ll be well worth it, trust me. no one likes losing pens on exam days. 

-at least 2 rolls of quarters (about $20). laundry. it costs $. at KCAI my laundry usually runs at $3.25 because i add a little more drying time. 

-some sort of storage for your desk that isn’t super heavy. I’m currently using both a plastic crate from walmart for books and a cardboard box to keep stuff away from where I work. 

-water filter pitcher. water purity is different everywhere, and even though the water may be clean, a lot of people get sick their first week in a new area just because of the water difference. a filter eases that discomfort just a bit more. 

-folding laundry hamper. I say folding because it’s easier on move in day and it holds more. win win!

-basic cleaning supplies. messes happen. 

-ETHERNET Cable. the wi-fi WILL go out while you’re at school. it’s just going to. so have an ethernet cable the proper length from the plug to your desk for your computer. (Note: ethernet is only best when the wi-fi is out. it connects to main campus computers and that’s dangerous. PLEASE only use when the wi-fi is down.)

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NO!! list--leave this behind.

-your massive collection of books. I have too many here myself, but you’re not gonna read or use personal reference books as much as you think. Bring only what you use more than once a month. 

-stereo system. no one likes overly noisy neighbors. 

-pots and pans. unless you live in a swanky apartment dorm with a kitchen, you’re never gonna use that stuff. a coffee mug, bowl, and a microwave are as about as 4-star restaurant as you’re gonna get.

-movies in cases/videogames WITH cases. use a cd binder. works the same and saves space. 

-a bunch of fancy clothes. you’ll really only need 2, maybe 3 nice outfits in art school. pack 2 weeks of tops with 1 week of pants. saves space and laundry you have to do if you alternate weeks. coats, jackets, and cardigans are up to your style.

-anything that takes up more floor space than your fridge or ottoman. UNLESS you know for a fact that you’re gonna set up your desk under your bed in a “T” formation, there’s not much room. so consider a floor pouf or a cushion to go behind the ottoman to make a seat with a back.

-a bunch of purses, shoes, or hats. Again, UNLESS you know exactly how the room is laid out it’s hard to figure out space. if you use a purse, 2 maybe 3 is the most you’ll need. shoes are basically this: everyday, everyday #2, shoes for rain/snow, 2 pairs of nicer shoes, and flip flops for the room if you don’t use houseshoes. 

-your vast collection of coffee/tea mugs. I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to pick favorites. at most you’ll use 2-3. I personally only have 1 here and then I have my water bottle. 

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Other than those things, check with your school list when it’s available to you to see what you need and what you don’t. Once you’ve filled the checklist THEN you can start bringing other things like books, pillows, electric kettles, irons, etc.

Every school is different, and KCAI has its own guidelines on what is or isn’t allowed. See what rules you can wiggle around and disguise based on your own needs. (aka not illegal stuff. duh. but like mattress pads and extension cords. 

Now that the dorm is covered, let’s get to actual art stuff! 

The short answer: every school’s different. and KCAI’s freshman/ foundations year is unique compared to other schools’. The reason being is that aside from animation and film, foundation year is like a free sample buffet on what majors there are. We have still lifes, charcoal, woodshop, illustration, writing, sculpture, painting, and individualized work all year. 2nd semester is when classes get more focused but still. it’s kinda crazy but really nice in the long run.

The budget that’s recommended IS a bit um... well... depends on the teacher. I personally had a teacher who liked for us to do a bunch of stuff without fully using our materials or would have assignments where new materials would run out and we’d have to buy more. 

A safe budget for supplies is about $200 per semester. Now, that’s for supplies only. Take into account food and amazon shipping and emergencies for the rest of your $. 

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Stuff you’ll need that they don’t tell you in the beginning of the year

KCAI offers a “FOUNDATION KIT” at the beginning of the year that is about $250 all together. The list they give you is well organized so you can buy stuff on your own to save money. See what you already have or can buy for cheaper prices before you buy the kit. 

Now, again, every teacher is different. Here’s the BASIC list based on mine and other friends’ experiences. 

-glue gun.  sold in the KCAI campus art store. usually comes with foundation kit. I got a nice Superbonder dual temp. gun at Hobby Lobby with a stand. Works great and has a long cord. 

-more hot glue sticks than you thought was possible. sold in the KCAI campus art store. sculpture and cardboard are gonna be big parts in the beginning of the year, but you’ll be thankful later on. be SURE you’re using dual temp. sticks and the proper size for your glue gun. 

-sandpaper/ sandpaper block.   sold in the KCAI campus art store. not too expensive, like $5. the sanders are gonna be busy in woodshop. 

-safety goggles. sold in the KCAI campus art store. wood dust and/chips hurt. just get some simple safety glasses.

-masks. sold in the KCAI campus art store. not too expensive. get a new one every 3 weeks. about 2 needed in total. 

-measuring tape.  sold in the KCAI campus art store. OR go to walmart/home depot for cheaper. mine is a 12 ft self-lock one. it’s pretty good. 

-painter’s tape.  sold in the KCAI campus art store. I think it comes in the foundation kit, but you’re gonna run out. get at walmart for cheaper.

-(not a need but it’s super helpful) trashbag taped to your desk. saves trips to the trashcan and helps your space stay tidier. 

-speedball carver.  sold in the KCAI campus art store. to carve screenprinting rubber stamps when you get into pattern. PERSONALLY I ordered a set of wood whittling tools on amazon that work the same, were cheaper, and work on more than just rubber stamps (pumpkin carving!!) 

-baby wipes. you don’t really NEED these, as sinks exist, but when you work with charcoal and you don’t have enough time between the next drawing or lunch, these help a bunch. 

-push pins.  sold in the KCAI campus art store. teachers recommend the metal ones, I just use the clear plastic ones. less distracting when critiquing. 

-BIG ruler, more of a yard stick.  sold in the KCAI campus art store(?) I think it comes in the foundation kit, but you can always just buy a cheaper metal yard stick or share with a friend. 

-drawing pencils.  sold in the KCAI campus art store. comes with foundation kit. I’m not talking #2 pencil you use all the time, I’m talking 4B and 6H and such. Get a decent set with a sharpener. 

-vine charcoal.  sold in the KCAI campus art store. comes with foundation kit. this charcoal goes away FAST. get an extra box before classes start. 

-white chalk.  sold in the KCAI campus art store. for when your charcoal is just not erasing. 

-X-acto knife.  sold in the KCAI campus art store. comes with foundation kit. the blade is gonna dull down eventually so get an extra for later. 

-box cutter.  sold in the KCAI campus art store. think it comes with the foundation kit. Now, I personally am terrified of box cutters because I over-think injury possibilities, so I just use my x-acto knife (hello dull blades). But unless you’re a scaredy-cat like me, a simple box cutter is needed. 

-cutting mat, self-healing. sold in the KCAI campus art store (I thiiiiink). those weird green mats you see in sewing sections or on artist speed-draws? yeah you’re gonna need one. Big is good, small is fine too. 

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Other stuff depends on the teacher. Trips to Hobby Lobby, Michaels, Blick, Creative Coldsnow (kansas city), or other places for supplies IS gonna happen. If you don’t drive, find friends who are doing supply runs too and carpool. 

Art school is crazy and it’s fun, but it IS college. So keep a weekly schedule, take notes, and do your homework. 

Good luck! 

[jenhikes]

Dehydrator 101

After my big thru hiking announcement last week I've decided to share some of my favorite backpacking recipes with you guys; however, it occurred to me that while I'm whipping up a lot of these recipes like it's no big deal you might not feel that way too!  In fact, it took me a while to perfect my methods for dehydrating tasty meals.  Once you finally start to master techniques to make your food taste better, dehydrating your own backpacking meals is an easy "set it and forget it" option that not only can provide you better nutrition, but can also save you money on resupplies in tough areas.  Here's my quick and dirty guide to dehydrators - both purchasing and techniques to help you make your best backpacking meals.  

The Purchase

Buying a dehydrator is going to be an investment.  In fact, I'd look at it the way you look at purchasing a major kitchen appliance.  After doing plenty of research about what I'd like to use to make an entire season's worth of hiking meals I chose a 5-Tray Excalibur system with a thermostat.  The thing about dehydrating backpacking meals is that you aren't throwing them all in at one time.  First, you're dehydrating the mixed vegetables for a few days. Then maybe you're doing rice for a few days.  Then, you might be doing a few batches of sweet-flavored rice. You do everything in parts before assembling the meals.  Having a fan and a thermostat will help ensure you're dehydrating fruits and veggies at optimal temperatures to keep nasty bacteria at bay.  Meat, fruit, veggies - they all have optimal temps for pulling out moisture.  The thermostat will definitely make sure you're drying your food at the safest temperatures.  

While there are cheaper countertop models of dehydrators available, I definitely recommend going with a model with a fan for air circulation.  The round tray systems need constant babysitting to move the trays.  If you don't do this in a fan-less model, you'll have leather-like layers closer to the heat source whereas your top layers might not even be halfway dry.  You can definitely do months' worth of food on one of these budget models, but be sure you have the time to dedicate to rearranging the trays.  

Finally, you'll need a set of fruit leather trays for your dehydrator.  You can again go the budget option and use parchment paper.  I went with the generic fruit leather reusable inserts on Amazon.  I've reused them countless times for the past three years and they don't hold flavors and just need a quick rinse.  I highly recommend them.  Aren't planning on making fruit roll-ups?  That's fine - neither did I!  But, you'll need these guys to dry sauces, veggie paste, even condiments you'll want to dry to make them more potent.  Trust me, you WANT these tray inserts!

Techniques

So you've purchased your dehydrator and you've found a couple of recipes you want to try out.  Maybe you want to try and recreate one of your favorite pasta sides at a fraction of the price you'd pay for them over the period of a distance hike.  Either way, it's time to start dehydrating.

Rice

Let's say your recipe calls for you to use your own dehydrated rice for a savory recipe.  Instead of just making plain rice like you'd make at home, I highly recommend seasoning the rice before you get it into your dehydrator.  If you're making a savory dish, I recommend cooking your rice in chicken, beef, or vegetable stock and salting it slightly heavier than you would eat at home for a normal meal.  On trail, you'll wish it had more salt!  After the rice cooks, cool it to room temperature before dehydrating.  Making a sweet rice - maybe for a pudding or breakfast treat?  Try cooking it with vanilla almond milk instead of water!  When it comes time to dehydrate your rice, spread it out thinly and try to avoid clumps of rice.  Clumps will hold more moisture and take longer to dehydrate.  If you're home while it's dehydrating, go out and break up the chunks of rice every so often to help it dry out faster.  

Vegetables

Not all frozen veggie mixes are created equally!  My favorite store, Aldi, has mixed veggies in a bag as cheap as $0.95!  However, their mixed veggies aren't all the same size and, in fact, the carrots are in rounds that are easily four times the size as the other vegetables.  This doesn't make for fast dehydrating OR rehydrating!  On the flip side of this, Wegmans makes a great mixed veggie blend with the exception of the lima beans.  Lima beans are another rehydration nightmare.  I don't care how long you soak or boil lima beans - they never seem to fully rehydrate properly.  When you're looking for mixed vegetables to dehydrate for additions to your meals, I highly recommend looking at the contents and shapes of the veggies in the bag.  BJ's Wholesale has great 4-lb bags that require minimal changes.  The only thing I did to these was cutting the green beans in half to make everything the same size.  When it comes to vegetables, uniform size is key to getting them dehydrated and rehydrated at the same times.  Trust me, there are few things sadder than being hungry on trail and crunching into half-rehydrated corn when the rest of your meal is ready!

Something I did for our meals a few years ago was broiling and blackening bell peppers before dehydrating.  This little something extra really made the flavors taste even more homemade despite being in the backcountry.  My most important tip is to NOT mix different veggies in your dehydrator at the same time if you can help it - especially strong-smelling veggies.  If you want to do a tray of red onions, put them in by themselves or else all your food will taste like onion!

Meat

Meat is a tricky, tricky thing to home dehydrate.  If you're doing beef or ground turkey you'll quickly become familiar with the term "gravel".  The reason?  Ground meat basically has the texture of gravel when you do it right.  Buying meat is the critical first step and you've got to do it right.  If you're set on using ground beef, you'll need to buy the leanest possible cut you can find (less than 90%, and 95% lean is more ideal).  Since buying meat this lean is often expensive, I chose to go with lean turkey as my meat choice.  We bought 99% lean white ground turkey.  Now, cooking the meat is also tricky because you'll have to do it low, slow, and as dry as possible.  No oils at all can be added to the pan, as every bit of oil can go rancid in packaging.  Adding dried breadcrumbs to your meat to soak up the oil is a great step you can take during the browning process.  After cooking the meat to well done, you'll need to sop up any oil that happened to cook out before breaking it up to place in your dehydrator.  Like rice, meat has a tendency to clump, so you'll need to break up the clusters every once in a while. Once your meat is completely dehydrated, I highly recommend vacuum sealing each portion to keep it fresh, just in case.  

Fruit

Like veggies, uniformity is key with fruit.  Having all your pieces roughly the same size will save you time on both ends of the dehydrating and rehydrating process.  One tricky element to dehydrating fruit, however, is browning.  Apples and bananas both tend to brown when they're exposed to oxygen for a period of time.  I solved this problem by brushing easily browning fruits with lemon juice on both sides before putting them on trays in my dehydrator.  I liked seasoning my fruit as well.  A sprinkle of ginger and cinnamon on apple slices comes out delicious!

Just like with any good recipe, mastering skills with a dehydrator will take time and a few errors will happen as well.  It's all part of the journey!  Have you experimented with dehydrating meals?  What is your favorite backcountry meal?