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themanicmagician · 4 years

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Shipwrecked [3/4]

[AO3]

Summary: When Redd’s boat crashes upon the shore of Bastion Island, Tom reluctantly takes him in while he recovers. Tom despises Redd for his past deceit, but when he has no choice but to spend time with him, Tom is reminded why he fell in love with the wily fox in the first place.

“What is this supposed to be?”

Tom eyed the frilly cocktail Redd had pushed into his hand. It was a swirl of blue and seafoam green, complete with a tiny toothpick umbrella spearing a pineapple wedge.

“Vacation Juice.”

“But we’re not on a—”

“It’s just a name. You’ll like it, trust me.”

Tom took a small sip. It tasted like pears. Very, very sugary pears. He couldn’t even taste the alcohol. As he took a second, larger sip, Redd said: “Told you you’d like it.”

Tom rolled his eyes, not gracing Redd with a response. He swallowed another mouthful of the “juice” as he glanced around the bar. It wasn’t one of their typical haunts. Drinking out in the city was always expensive, so they tended towards establishments with long, generous happy hours, and cheap brews to go along with. The bar they were in now—Tom had already forgotten the name—was a touch fancier. The drinks were all cocktails with themed names. The drinks were served in small portions, and the prices were obscene, but they were celebrating, after all. They could splurge, just a little, just tonight.

The bar was miraculously uncrowded. Tom and Redd had even managed to secure a corner table all for themselves. The lighting was dim, intimate. They were surrounded mostly by other couples, each pair focused on each other rather than a game on TV.

This was Tom’s third drink in under an hour, and he was getting to that pleasant, loose phase of drunkenness. He watched Redd swallow, observed the slow bob of his throat as he drank. He was struck by a bolt of desire. He wanted to trace the movement with his tongue. Tom shifted on his stool.

Redd’s cell phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket. His cool demeanor slipped, his eyes widened in alarm.

“It’s the landlord for the building!” He told Tom before he hurriedly took the call. “Hi! Phil, how’s it going? No, no it’s not a bad time at all.”

Redd hunched down, pressing the phone close to his ear to listen over the booming music.

“...Really? Oh—Oh no, that’s not a problem at all.”

Redd’s expression twisted briefly in distress. Tom’s stomach lurched with sudden, strong anxiety. What was the landlord saying? It was maddening, only being able to hear half of the conversation. He leaned closer, but could barely hear the tinny voice coming from Redd’s phone.

“Of course. I’ll get it to you tonight. Yes. You too. Ciao.”

Redd hung up, and sighed. When he didn’t immediately launch into an explanation, Tom blurted: “Well?”

Redd combed a paw through the fur on his head with agitation. It made his sleek fur stick up at odd angles, but Redd didn’t seem to notice, or care.

“The landlord, he got another offer on the store. Says if we still want it we’ll have to pay the first six months—up front.”

Tom swallowed, throat suddenly dry. He downed the rest of his Vacation Juice.

“I have some money put away, but not nearly enough for all that time.” Redd frowned. “But if I don’t get it to him tonight, we lose the place.”

“Well, how much is six months’ rent?”

“Everything included—all the fees, insurance, utilities and everything—it’ll be 200,000 bells. And I already went and spent most of my money getting us the stock. I can’t get a refund now.” He laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. “We’ll have all this furniture and nowhere to put it.”

“How much do you need?”

“Tom, I couldn’t—”

“Redd. We’re partners, right? How much do you need?”

The fox shifted on his stool.

“...It’s too much to ask of you.” Redd mumbled, eventually.

“Redd.”

“Fine, fine. I only have about 15k bells left in my account right now.”

Tom brought out his own phone. It took a few clumsy tries for him to unlock it. He had just enough in his account to cover the remainder, built up from the months of pitching and selling ideas to businesses. This would drain nearly all of Tom’s savings, but it was an investment. It was worth it. Besides, they’d make it up and then some when their store opened.

“I can transfer it over right now.” Tom smiled. “Though I’m afraid we’ll have to switch to ramen and tap water for a while.”

“I could kiss you.” Redd said.

“What’s stopping you?”

After a sloppy kiss that tasted of pears and apples, Tom drained his account for the deposit. Redd called Phil back to confirm the transfer was a success. Once the landlord confirmed, Redd pulled Tom from the bar, hand in hand. They couldn’t really afford to buy more fancy cocktails, but there was a full bottle of sake at home, calling their name.

~*~

Tom awoke with a thunderous headache. He groaned, pinching two fingers to the ridge of his nose. He warily opened his eyes a few centimeters, then slammed them shut again. Nausea churned in his gut. He took a moment to just lay there, and prayed for his insides to stop revolting. How much had they had to drink last night? It was a blur. Tom had been feeling buzzed already from the cocktails and then the sake had gone and punched straight holes through his memory. He remembered snatches of moments, of sensations. Raking his paws through Redd’s fur, feeling the corded muscles beneath as they shifted. The sweet taste of Redd’s mouth on his, the triumph of finally marking up that exposed throat. The way that Redd, always so perfect and composed, became a stuttering, breathy mess as they made love. Then, a whole lot of nothing.

“Redd?” Tom moaned feebly. The fox handled his liquor a thousand times better than he did. He could entreat his partner to get up and fetch him some water. He flailed out blindly, reaching, but his hand encountered no fox.

Tom opened his eyes again, with heavy reluctance. He was alone in the bed. He swept his paw over the sheets. They were cool.

Tom spilled clumsily over the side of the bed to reach his pants, which were in a crumpled heap on the bedroom floor. He rooted around in his pockets until he found his phone. The time blared at him, like a condemnation: 10:05 a.m. For someone that normally got up for the day at 6, it was sacrilege.

Standing upright was a mistake. Dizziness and nausea slammed into him immediately. He barely made it to the bathroom before he was puking. He hadn’t really had much to eat yesterday, so all that came up was stringy bile. He flushed the mess down and rested his head for a minute against the cool bathroom cabinet.

He was surprised Redd hadn’t come to investigate, considering the amount of noise Tom was making.

“Redd?” He croaked.

There was no reply.

Tom sat for a moment more, until he was certain he wouldn’t neat the toilet again. He levered himself upright, bracing himself on the sink.

He shuffled out of the bathroom, and went into the area comprised of their kitchenette and living room. Redd was still nowhere to be found. And there was something...off. It took him a moment, and then he realized: Redd’s stuff was missing. His artwork that’d been scattered around, his books, they were gone. Tom checked their bedroom. Tom’s things were neatly folded in the drawers, but there was an empty gap where Redd’s clothes had once been.

Had something happened to Redd? Heart pounding with confusion and fear, he dialed Redd’s number. The call went straight to voicemail. He called again; same result.

After the beep, he left a message, his voice audibly shaky. “H-Hey, it’s Tom. Call me when you get this, alright? Let me know you’re okay.”

Tom returned to the living room, and paced anxiously until his attention was caught by a white envelope. It was resting on the floor, by the front door. Someone must have slipped it underneath.

The envelope was addressed to Redd, but Tom broke the seal anyway, hoping whatever was inside would provide answers.

Inside was a final eviction notice.

According to it, Redd was three months past due on rent, and had until the end of the week to move out his stuff before it was thrown out by management.

Tom was breathing fast, now. It felt like the walls were closing in on him. This didn’t make sense. Redd had afforded this apartment for years before Tom had moved in. And as soon as Tom began making money he contributed half of the rent. He gave the bells over to Redd and assumed he’d take care of it. Redd had money before they’d poured most of their shared earnings into their store, so why—?

The eviction notice was starting to crumple in his shaking grip. He set it aside on the kitchen island.

He needed to find Redd. He needed to talk to him. There was probably some simple explanation for all of this that Tom just couldn’t see right now. Redd would explain, would tease him for getting all worked up about nothing. Or, or maybe this had been premeditated. Maybe he’d taken Tom’s money for months and then—

Tom yanked on his pants, and a shirt, and dashed out of the apartment. Redd wasn’t home, but there was one other place he might be at this hour.

Tom ran to their store. Animals gave him odd looks as he passed them, but he paid them no attention. He wasn’t built for running, especially not over long distances. He was soon panting and wheezing, sweat slicking his shirt to his back, but he didn’t slow. The walking sign switched to a red hand but Tom kept running, ignoring the resultant yells and curses spat at him from nearby cars as they were forced to swerve around him.

He reached the store at last—and his heart dropped to his stomach. The entire area was roped off. There were large heavy construction machines, including a crane with a wrecking ball at the end of it.

Tom ducked under the tape and tried to run inside, but was grabbed by one of the construction workers.

“Hey, hey!” The bulldog barked. “You crazy? You can’t go in there, they’re about to bust it down.”

“That’s my store!” Tom yelled. “What are you doing, that’s my property!”

“This place has been foreclosed on for over a year now.” The worker replied, bewildered. “It’s been slated for demolition. Gonna squeeze another high-rise in there.”

“But—But—”

The key in his pocket was freshly cut. If the place had been abandoned, it would’ve been relatively simple for Redd to install a new lock on the place. To add a layer of credibility to the entire request, to allow Tom to hope.

Tom was no longer resisting, so the bulldog released his grip on Tom’s shirt.

“You should step back, kid. It’s going to get real dusty here in a minute.”

He threw one last perplexed look at Tom before he rejoined his crew members.

Tom retreated behind the tape, and watched as the wrecking ball swung out, and smashed the front of the building inwards. His eyes watered, then, but not from the resultant dust.

~*~

He didn’t return to the apartment. He didn’t want anything they’d shared, or that would remind him of Redd.

He walked to the train station in a daze, only pausing to chuck his apartment and store keys in the trash.

Tom didn’t have much remaining in his account, but Redd had at least left him enough to purchase a one-way ticket back to his hometown. The train was the same make and model as the one that’d brought him here, six months ago.

Tom sat at a free window seat, and rested his cheek against the window. The glass was a bit smudged and sticky, likely from a child’s hands, but Tom left his head where it was.

The train came alive with a jolt. Soon the skyscrapers gave way to houses. Gradually, the houses became further and further spaced out, and the forest grew denser. He drank in the sight of green foliage greedily, like a man given water after days in the desert. He hadn’t realized, until now, how much he hated the gray of steel, the tan of concrete, the black of asphalt.

The train stopped intermittently. Tom did not pay attention to the conductor’s voice over the loudspeaker, as his was the very last stop on the line.

“Hey, do you mind if I sit next to you?”

It took half a moment for Tom to recognize that he was being spoken to. He pulled his gaze sluggishly away from the window. A blue and white cat stood there, smiling down at him, seemingly unperturbed by Tom’s dour mood. Tom shrugged, not really caring what the cat did. He slid into the seat beside Tom.

“I’m Rover.” He beamed. Tom wanted to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, scream that it wasn’t fair, how dare he smile like that when Tom had been through hell.

“...Tom.” He admitted, eventually, in the expectant silence.

“Pleasure. So, where you headed?”

“Home.”

He understood it now. He wasn’t meant for city life, for a place that cradled you when you could provide it value, then dropped you into the dirt after.

“Took a day trip to the city, eh?”

Tom grunted.

“What a place! Fun to visit now and again, but I’d never live there, personally.”

“Me neither.” Tom agreed.

Rover filled the trip with largely one-sided chatter until he hopped off, three stops before Tom’s.

“Safe travels, friend! I’m sure we’ll meet again someday.”

Tom mustered up a wave for him.

The train pulled into its final station a little after noon. Hardly anyone was left on the train. As Tom left the station, he passed a few elderly couples, some younger animals psyching themselves up for a nature hike.

There weren’t cabs this far out, so Tom walked. It reminded him somewhat of his first day in the city, fraught as it was with exhaustion and confusion as he plodded down street after street. At least this time he walked with certainty. Starved of entertainment as a child, he’d explore the entire town enough times he could navigate it blind.

He wasn’t surprised to discover nothing had changed here. He hadn’t been gone that long, all told, and change came at a glacial pace in his hometown. There were the same trees, unchanging storefronts. Though he supposed there was perhaps a bit more peeling paint on the general store sign than the last time he’d seen it. The store had been owned by Gran Bluebell since before Tom was a kit. It was no great shock she didn’t bother with touching up the hard to reach sign at her age.

People recognized him. Welcomed him. Assumed he was just here for a visit. Tom smiled at them, and exchanged pleasantries but no meaningful information on his side. Humiliation burned his face like a hot brand. He could hardly admit to himself that he’d failed, let alone to them. They’d sympathize, express their condolences—but past their commiserating veneer would be a sick kind of satisfaction. I knew you’d never make it out there. You thought you were better than us? Smarter? We’re all stuck here in this town for a reason.

Had the city soured his optimistic, rosy view of others? Perhaps it had. Could he truly be blamed, though? With pessimism, you expected the worst out of others. You could never be disappointed, only pleasantly surprised.

At length, Tom reached his destination. It was a house on the end of the row. One story, cream-colored. The doorbell had stopped working years ago, so Tom rapped on the door. He heard the shuffle of feet over wood, and then the door creaked open.

Sable’s eyes widened. She shut the door again to unhook the chain lock, and then threw it wide open. Tom could see a slice of the kitchen from his current vantage point. Mabel was strapped into her highchair, gleefully smashing peas into paste on the tray in front of her, babbling nonsense. Label was peering at him with large, dark eyes, half-hidden behind the frayed couch.

“Tom, what are you doing here?” Sable swept a critical eye over him, noting his lack of luggage.

Tom saw telltale signs of strain in his friend’s features. The circles beneath her eyes, the unkemptness of her quills, the stains, fresh and old on her apron. He shouldn’t bother her with his problems. But he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“Tom?”

She cupped his chin, lifted his head up so he met her gaze.

“What happened?”

Tom broke. He surged forward, wrapping Sable in a tight embrace. Sable hesitated only the briefest moment before she encircled her arms around him, stroking his back soothingly.

“Sable,” He choked out.

“It’s okay now.” Her tone was soothing and soft. “Let it out.”

He buried his head in her shoulder, and wept.

~*~

Tom was rooted in place. Redd was gone, again. Without a trace, without a word.

He was being stupid. He was overreacting. Where could Redd go, really? The island wasn’t that large.

He knew this, logically, and yet his heart was pounding like a drum, his paws, clammy. He couldn’t help the irrational fear that history was repeating itself.

He managed to break through the panic which had seized him to return downstairs. He entered the Cranny. Timmy and Tommy swiveled away from their conversation with Fang.

“Have you seen Redd?” Tom blurted.

The twins shook their heads in unison, but the old wolf scrunched up his forehead in thought.

“The little red fella?” Fang rumbled. Tom nodded. “Think I saw him on my way in. Headed northwards, cha-chomp.”

“Should we look too?”

“...too?”

“No, boys. Mind the shop. I’ll find him.”

Tom waited until he was out of sight of anyone inside the store before he broke into a jog. He crossed over the bridge that connected the main swatch of Bastion to the smaller crescent of land to the north. Alex had left most of this land to the wilds. There was a grove of multicolored hyacinths, encircled by pear trees. Bastion’s lighthouse was posted on the edge of the water. There was no other sign of civilization out here—save for Flurry’s house.

Tom hurried up to the house, and was about to knock when the door swung open. Redd was exiting, a new book tucked under his arm. Flurry was behind him, wringing her tiny paws.

“You’re sure I can’t carry it for you?” She fretted.

“The book weighs more than you do. I can handle it, no problem.”

Redd was facing Flurry; he hadn’t seen Tom yet. He was speaking in that tone of voice, the same one he’d had with the boys, before Tom interrupted. Something soft, kind.

Then Redd turned to see Tom, and the gentle look on his face vanished, replaced by something charming and fake.

“Come to escort me home? How gentlemanly of you, Mr. Nook.” Redd batted his eyelashes obnoxiously. Flurry giggled.

Tom gave a short nod to the hamster before she shut the door. Tom waited until they were in the hyacinth field, far enough away from Flurry’s house, to speak.

“You can’t just—just leave without telling me.”

Redd snorted. “I’m not one of your adopted kiddos.” A thought seemed to occur to him, and with some annoyance, he added, “What, you can’t trust me to be on my own, is that it? Think I’m always up to no good?”

“You’re hurt and you don’t know the island. You can’t just go off on your own.”

“Please, Tom. Don’t bother with all this. You don’t care about me, you’ve made that perfectly clear.”

“That’s not what I—you’re so—!” Tom clamped his mouth shut. He took a deep breath, which didn’t do as much to calm him as he would have liked. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. You were just gone, and I panicked.”

Tom was surprised as that seemed to set Redd off. “Oh, panicked, did you? How do you think I felt when you left New Leaf, without telling me? I had to hear it from Chadder—Chadder, of all people!—that you’ve just run off to some deserted island, on your own. There are tarantulas out here, Tom. Tarantulas!”

“And scorpions,” Tom added, helpfully. Redd glowered at him. “I was expanding my business into travel. Not that you’d know anything about innovation.”

“You learned all you know from me!”

“Hardly!” Tom scoffed. “I taught myself everything after you stole from me. My first shop was made out of scrap metal and wood from the dump, and look at me now. Whereas you, Redd,” He jabbed the fox in the chest. “You just jump from one scam to the next, and don’t care who you hurt in the process.”

Redd flinched back. “I’m not. I’m not like that anymore. I—look. I might have. Lied. Before.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.” Tom said, waspishly.

“Guess I deserve that one.” Redd shifted his weight uneasily. “I’m talking about the art. It is real, like I said. Spent almost every bell I got to acquire it all. But I wasn’t planning to scam anyone with it. I wasn’t going to go island to island to sell people replicas. I just wanted to come here. Where you are.”

Tom’s ire drained, supplanted by confusion. He said nothing, and Redd took that as permission to continue.

“I was going to swing by once a week. Give a new piece of art to that human kid every time, because I know Blabbers—”

“Blathers.”

“—would want them all displayed in his museum. And over time, you’d get used to seeing me around. And there’d be no stories about fakes for you to hear. And maybe you’d…” Redd sighed. He looked up at Tom with an earnestness the raccoon had never seen from him before. “I scammed a lot of guys before you. A lot of them were like you—new to the city, hopelessly clueless, grateful for any scrap of guidance. But you were different. I...I do regret what happened between us. What I did to you. It still haunts me.”

“So why did you?” Tom asked, softly. “You know that I loved you.”

Redd’s face twisted in anguish. “I did know. I hate myself every day for ruining what we had. And the worst part is I can’t tell you why I did it. A part of me, a big part of me, didn’t want to. But it was what I’d always done. I didn’t grow up in a nice place, or in a nice home. I learned how to con, how to lie and cheat and survive. I learned how to take care of myself, because no one else was going to. And then you came along, and you didn’t want to use me, and you were clever, and wanted us to be partners, equals. You thought I could be that for you, that I could be up at as high a level as you are, and, and it scared me. It made me think that maybe I didn’t have to be that way anymore. I didn’t have to trick anyone ever again. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t change. I couldn’t make the leap. I fell into old habits, because they were secure, because I knew I could rely on the results. I knew I’d hurt you, but I did it anyway. Because I didn’t trust you, and I didn’t trust myself.”

Tom felt as if his heart was breaking again, but in a different way. Redd’s confession was a raw, sad thing.

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve it. But I’m a selfish bastard, and I...I still want you in my life. In whatever way you’ll have me.”

There was a long silence between them. The hyacinths swayed gently around them in the cool sea breeze.

Redd had hurt Tom deeply. On one level, Tom did forgive him. Redd had suffered the consequences of his actions. He’d gained money, but he’d lost Tom’s affections, lost the chance for an honest living. On another level, Tom could not open his heart fully to the fox again. Redd claimed that he had changed, and he certainly seemed repentant. But they would remain only acquaintances, perhaps friends, at the most. He simply could not trust Redd to the extent he had in the past, and he doubted he ever would.

“What book did Flurry give you?”

“What? Oh.” Redd blinked. He checked the title. “Bark Antony and Kleopawtra.”

“Perhaps you could read it aloud to the kids, tonight. They’d like that.”

A tentative smile spread slowly across Redd’s face.

He accepted the olive branch.

“Fine, but you’re voicing Bark Antony.”

The pair of them returned to the Cranny, walking shoulder to shoulder.

#reddnook #tom nook #redd #ac #animal crossing #animal crossing: new horizons #my fic #also you know flurry was eavesdropping on that drama #with binoculars

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a-bit-of-owlish-fun · 5 years

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Quarantine Shopping and Meal Planning

So I asked about this over on @steve-rogers-new-york and there was a positive response, so here we go. Date: 15 March 2020

Before I start, let me be clear that I am not a professional, just someone who deals with stress by planning, and who has some experience with emergency preparedness having lived in New Zealand during the more recent large earthquakes. Feel free to correct me or make positive additions. For clarity, I am currently in Ontario Canada, and cooking for one person, but have made allowances to feed my unprepared housemate in a pinch.

Priorities with this Pandemic Planning

Unlike some other emergency preparedness priorities, power, water, and phone do not appear to be issues. So you have greater flexibility with what you can make and keep. Your priority should be having a comfortable amount of food on hand in case you cannot leave the house. Don’t go nuts, don’t overbuy, and don’t buy thoughtlessly.

Planning What to Get and Make

When thinking about what to buy and what to make, you want to consider a few things:

How many meals do you need to make? That is, how many people are you feeding and for how long? Calculate the number of meals you need in total and make sure you have enough meals planned to cover those. Obviously, if you can prepare for more than that is good, but don’t go too nuts.

How many portions can a recipe make? You don’t want to be making single-serve meals. It’s inefficient and short-sighted. So pick recipes that make large quantities, that can be portioned up in containers to be chilled or frozen.

Am I being efficient with my ingredients? Are the quantities listed in regularly used recipes the most practical for your current ingredient availability? For example, if you’re making a stew with beef, but beef is in short supply, half the amount the recipe asks for, and then bulk up on potatoes, carrots, zucchini, etc.

What ingredients will last best? Don’t JUST get non-perishables! That just sounds miserable. I’ve had no issue so far getting fruit and vegetables, and if you’re smart with your choices and storage fresh foods can be good choices. This when picking items how long they will hold in your fridge or if they’re freezable.

Don’t forget about breakfast and Lunch!

If money is tight and buying ahead is challenging. Think laterally. Make use of dollar stores like Dollarama, Dollar Tree, or whatever your local variant is. They will often have a great range of shelf-stable foods like pasta, rice, canned goods, and other ingredients at really low prices. And from my experience so far, they seem to have passed the attention of many shoppers and are still in good stock-levels. Start there first, hit multiple ones to get a good variety, then shop at supermarkets for whatever you cannot get there. The quality is good, sometimes brand-names, and they can be far superior than supermarket prices.

Do you have a large stockpot, fry pan, and deep baking dish to make these large meals? If not, see about getting them. Large lasagne pans and other kitchen items can be found cheap at many dollar stores.

Don’t have a car? Me neither. Grab a backpack and some good re-usable bags and make multiple trips for heavier items like cans. Also, consider grocery delivery services. They can be hit and miss right now, as it’s harder to adapt to products being unavailable. This being said, they can be a good way to get bulk, heavier items to your house. Also, consider asking friends or family to get you items when they go and drop them off to you.

What Foods Hold Well and Go Far

Non-Perishables that can extend meals

Pasta and Noodles — Pasta is a great item for entending a meal. Be it soups, stir-fry, oven-bake, or just able anything, you can either cook-in, mix-in, or have as a plain side. They bulk up a meal and make it go further.

Rice — Same as above.

Lentils and Other Legumes — Lentils are great for bulking up and extending soups and stews. Also consider chickpeas, beans, and other legumes.

Potatoes — Potatoes are great! The can be a great base, addition, or side to many many meals. While these will not last indefinitely, if you keep them cool and dark then they will last quite some time.

Non-Perishable Ingredients and Flavouring

Canned Vegetables — Don’t be picky. Yes, get fresh veggies where you can, but also suck it up and get some canned goods as a back-up. Carrots, peas, beans, tomatoes, all that. They’re good, they taste fine, and go well in so many recipes.

Canned Fruit — Many fruits have a shorter shelf-life, so consider some canned alternatives.

Herbs and Spices — Make sure you have a nice spread of these. It’s easy to grab the base ingredients for food, but if you don’t have something to flavour those meals with, you’ll have a miserable time.

Sauces — Same as above.

Canned Tomatoes and Tomato Paste — Yes, I’m listing this separately because of their versatility. With canned tomatoes, you can make soups, spaghetti, lasagne, chilli, curry...so damn much. So grab a good stock of these.

Perishables

Eggs — Eggs are so damn versatile. Get eggs. When kept in the fridge they keep for a good long time.

Vegetables — Think smart. Get items you know last well in your fridge, and avoid items you usually have to throw-out or use-up within a week or two.

Fruit — Same.

Breads — Same. Also, consider freezing loaves if you have the space to do so. It tastes just as good as fresh, honest.

Frozen

If you have the capacity to get things frozen or to freeze them. Do it. Frozen peas, corn, stir-fry veggies, meats...they last well and taste good.

My Grocery List

This is what I have been buying myself. Not all at once but in multiple trips over the last couple of weeks.

Pantry

Top-up herbs and spices: ground cumin, garam masala, oregano, basil.

Spaghetti pasta

Spiral pasta

Lasagne pasta sheets

Large bag of rice

Flour

Canned tomatoes (4 large cans)

Tomato paste

Canned asparagus

Canned coconut milk (2 cans)

Lentils

Potatoes (6 large)

Onions

Fridge

Eggs (12pc)

Milk

Cheese

Zucchinis (3)

Carrots (large bag)

Lemons (2)

Limes (2)

Bag of spinach

Bell pepper (1)

Crescent Rolls

Freezer

Peas

1kg minced beef

750g stewing beef

Box stuffed chicken breasts (I love ham and cheese and a good addition to any meal)

500g lamb (for curries)

500g stir-fry beef

Household

ONE pack of toilet paper. Seriously. Just get what you personally need.

A couple of small packs of cheap toilet paper from the dollar store.

Pack paper towels

Any cooking materials like tin-foil, parchment paper, that I use regularly.

3-pack tissues (I have killer allergies so I’ll always need them)

Plastic containers for portioning meals in the fridge or freezer.

Meals I have Planned

These aren’t full recipes, but rather a list of ingredients and volumes for grocery references. I might write-up full recipes later if people are interested.

Lasagne

This is my fav vegetarian lasagne that also have minced meat. It makes around 6-8 servings (depending on home much you eat and size of baking dish).

Lasagne sheets (dried) or just those baby lasagne pasta if you like them better. 4 cups Milk 250g Cheese Butter Flour Nutmeg Chicken stock 3 Large Carrots 3 Large Zucchini Large bag of fresh spinach leaves 400g Canned Tomatoes Fresh/Jarred Garlic 500g minced beef Light Herbs (oregano, basil, etc to taste, but not too much)

Vegetable Stew

Technically a soup, but I never blend it and just eat it as is. Makes 3-4 servings alone and 5-8 servings when served with cooked rice.

2 cups dried lentils (soaked overnight) 1 Large Can Tomatoes (not pre-herbed, just used plain) 2 cups Chicken or Vegetable Stock 2 Large Carrots cubed 2 Large Zucchinis (quartered then cubed) Fresh/Jarred Garlic 1 Tbsp Cumin 1 tsp Ground Coriander Fresh Coriander (lots) Fresh ground peppercorn

Beef Stew

500g Stewing Beef 3 Large Potatoes cubed 3 Large Carrots cubed 1-2 cups Frozen Peas Fresh/Jarred Garlic 2-3 Tbsp Flour Fresh ground peppercorn 1 Large Onion 3-4 cup Beef Stock 3 Tbsp Tomato Paste Rosemary 2 Tbsp Cornstarch

D.’s Curry

This is just and random mash-up curry I make. It can be cooked with or without lamb and both taste great. It is not spicy. Makes 2-3 servings

2 Large Onions (one minces with spaces, one sliced) Fresh/Jarred Garlic Fresh/Jarred Ginger Ground Cumin Ground Coriander Ground Cardamon Whole Cardamon Seeds Whole Cumin Seeds Garam Masala 300ml Uncooked Rice (then cook it, obviously)

Closing thoughts

Once you have these items, don’t use them. Carry on like normal and don't use these items unless you need them. Now I have my meals planned, I am back to making normal meals with what I can get. Always have that TWO WEEK buffer on hand at all times.

Purchase your groceries gradually. Don’t buy out in one go, be considerate. Take only what you need.

Visit multiple locations, sell-outs are not the same everywhere and while one supermarket may be sold out of something, another may still have a fresh stock.

More stocks WILL come. So if you cannot find something, make alternate plans, find a substitute, and return every now and then to check stocks. Supermarkets are constantly restocking as they can.

Be kind to customer service workers. They are just trying to get through this like you are. They are not paid well, have no control over their employers' stocks or decisions. They have the same stress you do and you being an asshole is just causing them MORE stress they do not deserve. Be. Kind. Be. Understanding.

Support others. Friends, family, neighbours, co-workers. We do this together.

DON’T STRESS OUT! Be prepared. Be aware. But don’t become overwhelmed, it will all be FINE. We just have to adapt and ride it out <3

I hope this was helpful. Have further suggestions or any corrections, please do let me know, I’m always happy to correct myself. If you have any questions feel free to comment and message me. And if you want those full recipes likewise let me know!

#COVID 19 #coronavirus #Meal Planning #Emergency Planning #Quarantine #Quarantine Plan #Quarantine Shopping

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gwoongi · 4 years

Text

(abandoned) all i want for christmas is woohoo

kim seokjin / kim namjoon genre: uni au, fluff, crack rating: general words: 4.9k warnings: clownery, i knew nothing about uni, character dynamics based off a fic none of u have read a/n: incomplete prequel to the yoonmin fanfic i wrote three thousand years ago. i will never finish this so here’s what i started and left behind for the dogs to have at

The stranger makes a noise of voiced agreement. “Mood.”

September 8th.

One thing they never tell you before going to Uni, is that it’s fucking mental on Move In Day.

Obviously, he had some idea that the student digs would be fairly busy with students moving in, but he never expected to be waiting in a thick line of tired and excited first years for around fifteen minutes, only to then wait another twenty just for the student- who, by the way, was way too busy picking at her purple nail varnish to give two damns about Namjoon’s clearly very important moving in schedule- to find his key on the board barely 50 centimetres away from where she was sitting.

So, yeah- when his sister comes to Uni after him, he’s definitely going to warn her about the madness that is Move In Day, because clearly nobody else had cared if Namjoon was stuck waiting like a doormat for one student who thinks she’s something to hand him a key. I mean, how hard can it be? He doesn’t get it.

“Sorry about the wait,” another male student, who noticed the lack of enthusiasm from second year student apparently named Jisoo, says as he moves from behind the desk to give Namjoon a silver key on a chain, with two other keys present. “Here are your keys- one’s for the front door of your flat, second is for the main building in-case you’re late after hours and the third is for your pigeon box.” He pauses: “no help from your parents?”

Namjoon shrugs politely, “Just me. My parents are back in Ilsang, couldn’t make it.”

“Bummer,” the student replies. Along with the keys, he shoves a brown paper bag into Namjoon’s hands with a toothy smile. “Your complimentary moving in gifts, from the students who moved out! Thanks for picking Blossom Island as your student accomodation!”

Although Namjoon wants to tell him that Blossom Island was the only cheap option out of three absurdly priced accomodations for first years, he doesn’t; instead, he smiles, lips closed and dimples on display, nodding his head and turning all within the same second. The student moves away after, so he doesn’t feel bad about ending the conversation so abruptly.

Blossom Island is located smack bang outside of campus, across a small stream that Namjoon thought would be filled with blossom, but instead is littered with algae and tinfoil. It’s large, tall like a regular apartment complex, with a courtyard out the front with a bouncy castle that Namjoon can already see some people jumping on with what he assumes is their new roommates.

Namjoon leaves the lobby- should he call it a lobby? It was more of a downstairs kitchen and living room, with two small sofas and a mounted flat-screen, a pool table pushed weirdly in the middle of the colourful boxed room and a door near the back wandering into the community study area, another door for what he guesses is for laundry. Hauling his suitcase and big, cardboard box in his arms across the courtyard, he follows the number on the key- number 8, floor 6, Kyoto Building and barely makes it five steps without almost dropping the box entirely, all thanks to some jerk wearing Thrasher and a beanie.

“That’s what you get for not tying your shoelaces.”

Mid-crouch, Namjoon looks over his shoulder and spots Min Yoongi stepping out of the building, followed by a rather proud looking set of parents, preening at the fact that their son is going into Nursing. Due to that, he bites back a curse word he figures would be impolite for the elders, and manages a smile in the sun.

“What? He clearly pushed into me,” Namjoon reasons, standing upright and saying a hasty hello to Yoongi’s parents, who, in all honesty, have never really liked him much. He laughs breathily, waiting for a few seconds before asking, “where are you?”

Yoongi checks his key. “Number 13, Floor 0, Juko Building. What kind of name is Juko, anyway?”

“Beats me,” Namjoon scoffs. “I think Juko’s close to Kyoto. I’ll come visit when you’re all settled and moved in, yeah?”

Yoongi nods, already beginning to walk away. “Yeah, I’ll get your mug out ready.”

That’s the thing with Yoongi, Namjoon thinks as he walks away; he’s always been about the little things in life. In the many, many years that Namjoon has known Yoongi, he’s never really changed- Yoongi has always been compassionate and cutely caring, buying two mugs instead of one and making pasta for two when he knew Namjoon was due to visit on days his parents were working late. And he feels bad, because Yoongi is a giving guy, not a receiving one.

He watches as Yoongi leaves with his parents, and he feels weirdly sad. It’s none of his business, too, as he watches the three Min’s enter the Juko Building, painted a pastel pink with mint compliments, swirling patterns dancing as the leaves on the trees move in the whisper of wind.

Namjoon now has the urge to paint.

In Number 8, Floor 6, Kyoto Building, Kim Seokjin finally sets down the last potted plant on the sparse looking shelf above his desk, and he steps back with his hands on his hips to admire the minimal effort. Although it definitely took some struggle, what with his Dad accidentally dropping his bag with his Nintendo inside and his Mother judging his absurd amount of pink bath-towels, Seokjin has a feeling in his stomach- the feeling where you know that everything is going perfectly.

There’s a smell in the air; blossom from the large tree outside his window, propped open on the hatch to allow a breeze air out the room. Since his roomie hasn’t arrived yet, the least he can do is get rid of the stuffy smell, something strangely similar to pool chlorine. He inhales it deeply, a smile tugging at his lips. Seoul weather amazes him- even though Gwacheon is a blink away, Seokjin is already starting to feel like a new person.

Maybe it’s just University excitement. Maybe it’s University nerves. But, maybe it’s also because he really needs a wee and can’t think properly.

He waits nicely for his parents to finish up straightening every single crease in his bedsheets before saying goodbye. Although he might tease to their faces that he won’t miss them, and they won’t miss him, Seokjin knows from the minute they open the door to head back out to the corridor that it’s going to take a while to adjust to life without the nagging, but endearing, guidance of his family.

Because Seokjin has always sort of been the baby boy of the Kim’s from Gwacheon- his older brother inherited a type of broodiness that Seokjin is thankful he hasn’t got yet, and so Seokjin’s always been the favourite. The favourite crawler, the favourite footballer, the favourite baker and painter- in honesty, Seokjung never wanted any of that. Seokjin’s proud of who he is- he’s so fucking proud of his family. So he sort of takes pride in being the baby boy of the Kim family. He wears it like armour, glistening armour that represents him in front of a whole army of potential threats and friends.

Jinyoung, an old friend, used to say it was embarrassing- as if Jinyoung doesn’t have a comfortable enough life with parents who would murder for him, but Seokjin doesn’t care. Why should he be ashamed of being loved? Most families aren’t as close as the Kim’s, so he takes extra care in making sure his family know that he loves them. That’s the sort of guy he is- giving, occasionally receiving, but giving, giving his whole heart and soul to everybody else in order to make others happy.

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose as the door closes with a sickening click, the noise muting around the faint buzz of traffic across campus and the baby birds in the nest a few floors down on a branch, fluttering in the wind like wings. He’s so lost in the way the small twigs are woven together, like the way a spider builds a web, or an ant a colony, that he doesn’t realise three minutes have passed.

Now he really needs a wee.

When Namjoon opens the door to room 8, he’s surprised.

Not shocked, but surprised. Because there’s a difference between shock and surprise- shock is entering a room and finding a serial killer, but surprise is walking into a room and finding a party. The difference is in the level of reaction, and Namjoon hadn’t walked in and been completely thrown off by a wall of cute posters and the obvious collection of DS games and a cool looking computer. If anything, he’s intrigued. Surprised. Pleasantly surprised, perhaps.

To the right, Namjoon hears the toilet flush and he knows that he has a couple seconds to look around the room and plonk his bags and box on the plain bed before his roommate emerges from the bathroom. As he sets them down, he casts a gaze towards the right side of the room where his roomie has claimed a bed, a desk and a small looking wardrobe near the door. On the wall next to his bed, a collection of posters have been washi taped to the boring blank canvas- although, as an artist, Namjoon considers anything blank and white to be inviting and anything but boring, because a canvas holds endless opportunities- and his bed covers are a washed out blue, a colour that now, actually, as he’s looking at it, is becoming more chiffon coloured.

It’s evident his roommate likes video games- half the posters on the wall are related to games he knows that they must like; Animal Crossing, a small Stardew Valley postcard and a commissioned drawing of Jinx from LoL, taped next to a large artwork of Mario Kart and more postcard art of games Namjoon thinks he’s heard of but isn’t sure- The Last of Us, Tekken, Zelda. He pretends not to notice the small Minecraft postcard in the corner of the mural but weirdly enough, he finds it endearing knowing that someone at University still plays Minecraft.

Most of all, Namjoon notices the strange obsession with The Sims, as seen through multiple artworks and the fantastic collection of Sims3 Expansion packs sitting on the shelf above his bed, next to pop figures and a photo frame of a group of friends.

He wonders if his roommate will let him use the expansion packs when he’s bored.

“Oh, hey.”

Clearly having not heard the bathroom door open, Namjoon spins on the spot to look back at the bathroom, where his roommate stands with his hand animatedly raised in a wave, a smile lifting his cheekbones. They look pale, almost watery, but Namjoon doesn’t say anything. He knows why.

“Hey. Namjoon,” he says, leaning forward to shake his hand. For a moment, his roommate stares at the hand, as if wondering what to do with it. “What?”

His roomie shakes his head, moving to shake his hand once, up and down, before letting it drop. “Nothing. It’s just, well, how many people give handshakes nowadays?”

Namjoon thinks it over in his head. “Well, a lot of people. Useful in business, and stuff. A manager might want to shake your hand at a job interview.”

As he says the words, Namjoon can tell by the passing look on his roommates face that he wasn’t expected to give an answer. He stops talking after that, looking back to his bed with a feeling similar to embarrassment, while his roommate moves towards the window and clears his throat awkwardly.

“Seokjin.” He finally introduces himself. Seokjin- it has a ring to it. Namjoon says it over in his head, growing familiar with it. Now that he’s mentioned it, Namjoon looks back over his shoulder and realises that he looks like a Seokjin. The name suits him. “What’re you studying here?”

“Art and Design,” Namjoon replies with a brief smile over his shoulder. Seokjin isn’t looking, anyway. “Nothing too crazy.” He looks at the wall of posters- “Are you studying graphics?”

“Yeah. I’m studying Digital Art,” Seokjin replies, and it’s clear in the way his whole body moves as he says it that he’s passionate about his subject. He laughs shortly, “Isn’t it funny how we’re both doing art and we got pushed together? Do you think that’s intentional?”

Namjoon shrugs, taking out his clothes first from one of his suitcases. “Maybe. I’m glad you’re Digital Art and not Performing Arts. One, this room is not big enough to dance and sing and two, I don’t want to be woken up by a classical alarm clock. You know?”

Seokjin laughs and it suffices as a reply.

As Namjoon sifts around his bag and pulls out the remainder of his clothes, Seokjin turns around and watches for a swift three seconds, and then moves back towards his desk and absent-mindedly moves around his keyboard, straightening it up.

“Do you need any help?” he asks, and as Namjoon turns to catch his eye, he notices he means it genuinely.

“Uh, I’m alright,” Namjoon replies, and even though Seokjin can clearly see the amount of work he has left to do to his half of the bedroom, he doesn’t pry and decidedly drops it. He shrugs.

“Alright then. I’m gonna head out,” Seokjin says. He gestures with his head to the hallway. “Out on campus, they’re doing that thing. What do they call it- Wildflower? I think I just wanna go meet some people. I can wait for you, and we can go together, if you want?”

Namjoon does want. He really wants to. But he takes several glances back at his boxes and frowns deeply. And anyways, he’ll have plenty of time to hang out with Seokjin later, won’t he?

“I’ll pass,” Namjoon rejects him softly, a smile on his lips as if to say, I do want to come but I’m way too busy. Seokjin’s lips twitch into a pursed mouth and he nods. “I’ve just got a lot to do. We could hang out later, if you want?”

“Sure,” Seokjin replies, already inching towards the door. “Yeah, alright. If you need help, just text me. I’ve got my number on the pinboard above my desk- just incase, you know?”

Namjoon glances over; surely enough, on a corkboard pinned to the wall above his desk and beneath the shelf, he can see the sleek black letters printed with “emergency number” written next to it in messy handwriting. He smiles, mostly because he’s never seen someone have their own phone number hung up in their room before, and nods without looking in Seokjin’s direction. “Okay, thanks, Seokjin-ssi.”

Seokjin makes a sound similar to a laugh, air through his nose, a small intake of high pitched breath afterwards. Out the corner of his eye, Namjoon can see him hovering his hand over the handle and to be polite, he finally looks over. Something tells him he was waiting for that.

“Seokjin should be fine,” Seokjin replies with a smile.

By the time Namjoon finishes sorting out his things (and by sorting out, he means that he’s hung up his clothes and kicked the cardboard box towards his desk out of the way), Seokjin’s still not back from Wildflower, and quite frankly, he’s bored.

As if by a magnetic pull, he finds himself leaving Kyoto building to trudge in the mid-move-in-manic, across the small courtyard where the bouncy-castle has deflated thanks to someone jumping on it wearing shoes, and towards Juko building, a big clump of pastel next to the white blossom tree that Namjoon is jealous of. Yoongi’s room, even back at his home in Daegu- where Namjoon had lived throughout his entire high-school life before his parents moved back to Ilsang during his final year-, was somewhere Namjoon had felt completely and utterly accepted. At home.

He always found it funny how Yoongi said the same thing for him- his bedroom back home was small, smaller than the dorm room he has now. It was an average room, with small bold letters spelling out his name on the front of his door, and his walls were painted a navy blue with dark wood floors that went through the entire house, with thrown around covers and three pillows to sleep with and furniture which didn’t match the colours. But Yoongi’s room was different. Yoongi’s room was Yoongi.

Slanted ceilings and an off-white coloured paint-job on the walls, with grey curtains and white sheets and an electric piano pushed up against the window-wall, overlooking a small line of houses out the front of the street Yoongi lived on, a tree that turned orange in October. On his walls, Yoongi liked to keep it minimal, minus the posters of his favourite artists and a little area above his desk for pictures of him and Namjoon, his first family pet, a ticket to his first family vacation when he was thirteen, dried flowers from a tiny bundle he was given on a Valentine’s Day. His first Valentine’s gift. A memory. A wall of memories, stuck with shimmery tape and dried blue-tac on the white, unremovable, stuck like glue. It was everything Namjoon wanted in a room. It was everything Namjoon needed in a place to feel completely and utterly safe.

Namjoon wasn’t surprised that Yoongi had stuck with the bland style of dorm room, compared to the bed next to him which his roommate- a kid studying Music with an incredible obsession with BoA and Michael Jackson- who, even though he was an amazing artist, Namjoon always felt weirded out by.

He stands by the doorframe as Yoongi shuffles to straighten his blanket at the end of his bed, simply looking at the decor, taking it all in with a deep breath. His roommate stared at Namjoon waiting in the doorway and pulled his lips to a frown, excusing himself, “...heading to Wildflower, bye,” being the only words he ever said to Namjoon.

“Namjoon, I hate it.”

“You’ve been here for two hours,” Namjoon frowns, sitting on his roommate’s bed. He won’t mind (only he does, and he notices the imprint of Namjoon’s arse left behind which he thought would disappear after five minutes.) “It’s not that bad, surely?”

Yoongi shakes his head adamantly. “I wanna go home, Joon. I don’t wanna do nursing.”

“You might really like it, though,” Namjoon sighs. “You never know!”

“I don’t want to study nursing,” Yoongi repeats himself through pouted lips that Namjoon can hear. “I wanted to do art, or music like my stupid roommate. I don’t know why I’m here, Namjoon, I really don’t know why I’m doing this to myself.”

Namjoon knows it’s hard for Yoongi. His family expect too much- like most parents, actually, Yoongi knows they want the best for him. But, the best isn’t forcing him into a nursing degree.

Toying with the frays on Yoongi’s roommate’s blanket, Namjoon says, “hey, hey, calm down. It’s fine- if you don’t like the first three classes, you can’t be expected to stay. You’ve got to do what you want to do.”

Yoongi bites his lip before replying. “I have nowhere to go if I drop out. I’ll do a year, maybe. Maybe half a year. Oh, I don’t fucking know. I don’t wanna give up and let down my family, you know?”

Namjoon does know. His parents had wanted him to be a lawyer. His sister, Kyungmin, wanted Namjoon to do something with his music. But, like the delinquent he is, Namjoon always knew he had a passion for art. Drawing made him happiest- letting his thoughts draw something on a blank canvas was the closest thing to real magic. Singing your feelings is one pleasure, but capturing the colours and movements onto paper was something Namjoon found absolutely rewarding. Thankfully, his parents knew there was no point in forcing him into doing something he wouldn’t enjoy. He was lucky.

“Yeah, I know.”

Yoongi knows Namjoon knows, and he also knows Namjoon doesn’t know what to say. He pulls at the bridge of his nose and lets out a low grunt. “Anyway. How’s your roomie? A weirdo?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “No, not really. I mean, he’s really into video games but it’s not overbearing. Kinda endearing. He’s fun. Seokjin.”

“Oh, cool,” Yoongi replies, nodding slowly. “You get all the good stuff, you know that?”

“What’s mine is yours,” Namjoon says with a frown.

At that, Yoongi smiles. “Yeah. I know, Joon.”

Wildflower lives up to the frantic Google search that Seokjin did moments before heading down to check it out. Even before arriving, he could smell the variety of foods on rickety stalls, and hear the experimental strum of a live band getting ready to play near the main building to the University campus.

Ducking his head underneath the waving arm of another female first-year, Seokjin took a stroll around the small section of Wildflower, politely looking at the bits and bobs he could purchase, like complimentary University flags and tapestries for walls, or a coffee where the change went to a local suicide-prevention charity. He bought one, a tea that was too milky for his taste, and continued walking.

He hadn’t bought much change with him. After the rather awkward first meeting with Namjoon, Seokjin had let it slip his mind. Regardless, he wasn’t willing to let the lack of coins and a credit card spoil his First Day mood. Inhaling the smell of a nearby Jjinmandu stand, he let his stomach steer him towards it, collecting the spare change in his pocket- luckily for him, he had around 4,000 in his jacket pocket which more than comfortably paid for a portion of Mandu.

“Here you go,” the server hands Seokjin his small paper dish of Jjinmandu with a smile, a smile that reminded Seokjin of his third-year teacher back when he was a child. Warm, inviting, kind, a mother’s smile. She smiled toothily when Seokjin handed her more than he was being charged, saying it was a tip, first day luck, or something. She bowed her head meekly.

Without wanting to hold up the slightly growing line, Seokjin moves out of the way and towards a small cluster of metal tables and chairs, shivering as the umbrellas moved in the wind, passing the sauces with a thoughtful pause. He has time to kill; he puts his dish on the small counter and puts a tiny blob of sauce in the corner, and he dips his finger in to taste it. He recoils visibly, finding the taste too bitter.

From somewhere behind him, Seokjin hears what sounds like laughter and he turns, surprised, and finds another student with a bright orange lanyard hung around his neck. He’s a total stranger, with hair pushed into a black beanie and a denim jacket covering a brown shirt, with some black jeans with the knees cut out. On his feet, worn out Converse. Seokjin does a double take.

“You know that’s spicy BBQ, right?”

Weirdly enough, Seokjin finds that he sounds exactly like what he thought he would. He stares at his glasses, first, and the way they slide down his nose, slightly oily because of the heat.

“Don’t you usually have teriyaki with Mandu?” he continues, wandering over to glance at the bottles of sauce, before pushing a slightly stained bottle towards Seokjin with a smile. “There. Honestly, scrape off the BBQ, this will taste so much better.”

Seokjin feels dumb. “I only usually have the tomato chilli. “

“Yeah, and BBQ?”

“No,” he replies, and then he laughs quietly, “no, never BBQ. Let’s call that...first day experimenting.”

The stranger nods along, shoving a mouthful of his own Mandu. Seokjin wants to point out that he has sauce on the corner of his mouth, but it feels rude. He barely knows him.

Glancing at the lanyard around his neck, Seokjin finishes his mouthful- “Are you staff?”

“What?” the stranger asks, caught off guard. Then, he looks down at the lanyard and smiles, politely, not in mockery, and shakes his head, disturbing feathery hairs that were once tucked up into the beanie. “Oh, no. No, I’m a first year.” He chortles at Seokjin’s stunned expression. “What, do I look really old?”

“No,” Seokjin replies. “I was just...surprised. I don’t know- today’s been weird for me. I’m all over the place.”

The stranger makes a noise of voiced agreement. “Mood.”

They stand in silence for a couple moments after that, eating, staring off at the little stream that ran around the perimeter of the small square, listening to the sound of the live band kicking off their setlist with a slow song appropriate for the weather.

The stranger swallows his Mandu, pointing at Seokjin with his spork without really realising, “oh, I’m Hoseok by the way.”

Hoseok. A name to the face.

“Seokjin,” he replies. Now he’s finished his Jjinmandu. “Digital Art.”

Hoseok makes a noise. “Woah, no way.” Gesturing to himself, “Art and Music.”

Seokjin wants to laugh. “That’s so weird. My roomie also does art. It’s like I’ve been thrown into a pool full of art students.”

“Yeah. Well, we are in the Arts Square. Wouldn’t it be weird if I was doing Chinese studies and I hung around in the Arts Square on my first day?”

“True,” Seokjin nods.

Talking to Hoseok is easy. It’s so fucking easy- it’s as if Hoseok has been a friend for years. They walk together, along the small path that barely fits them both, weaving around the stream. Seokjin learns that Hoseok is from Gwangju, and has a sister who designs clothing in the city. Hoseok, in return, learns that Seokjin barely escaped being a lawyer and comes from a family inheriting endless zeros. It doesn’t bother him. It usually bothers people.

“It’s cool that you got to do what you wanted to,” Hoseok says as they walk further along campus. Now, they’ve reach the on-campus convenience store, the artificial lighting making Hoseok squint, even though daylight still pushed on. “Most kids don’t when they’re in your kind of position.”

Hoseok quickly looks over, “I don’t mean that in a bad way, I only-”

“No,” Seokjin agrees, nodding and thrusting his hands into his pockets. He dips his head upwards, inhaling the smell of the sunshine, before looking at Hoseok with a friendly smile. “No, you’re right. Most kids don’t. I’m lucky.”

Hoseok’s grateful Seokjin didn’t misunderstand. “Hm, maybe we’ll be in each-other’s classes.”

He says it with a hopeful tone, lightly nudging Seokjin’s shoulder with a small smile, that caused dimples to spread across his lower cheeks.

“I hope so,” Seokjin replies, but the sound of the stream covers it. Hoseok keeps walking, not making it known if he heard. He probably hadn’t.

Namjoon rolls over the next morning, not quite remembering how he got home and when, and squints at the Sepia screen of his phone. It reads 6:45am, too fucking early to be awake on a Saturday.

did you get home ok yoongi

dont think i care about you or anything yoongi

Namjoon snorts quietly, wincing when he thinks he’s woken up Seokjin across the room. But, when he looks over towards Seokjin’s side of the dorm, he notices that he’s not even in bed. His sheets are tucked in tightly, and his jacket is absent on the coat hangers on the back of the door.

Holy shit, Seokjin gets up early.

yeah. hows minjoon, the name robber joonie

seriously fuck off he’s playing fred videos yoongi

it’s fucking 7am yoongi

Namjoon scoffs, mostly to himself- because who else is he going to scoff too?-, and rolls over flatly to press his feet onto the flattened out carpet of his room. The sun barely peeks through the shitty curtains, and he yawns loudly, feeling the euphoria of a morning stretch. Namjoon sighs with pleasure at the feeling of his body stretching out, letting his arms drop and grabbing his phone to reply to Yoongi, who Namjoon’s surprised is awake, even when Fred is involved.

i thought fred had died, fr joonie

bitch me too but here we have his channel, still screeching away about rubber sharks in his tiny swimming pool yoongi

im really not joking joon. i wanna quit so bad i’ve been here less than 24 hours and i’m already fantasising about drinking the bathroom bleach yoongi

He’s about to reply when the door to their dormitory room swings open, and the hostility of the swing almost makes him drop his phone on the floor. Namjoon scrambles to catch it, staring up with surprise at the sight of Seokjin carrying two mugs of what appears to be tea. Namjoon smells the cranberry as Seokjin comes closer with a sheepish, yet almost smug, smile. Bare in mind, Namjoon hates cranberry tea; at the smell he smiles and fakes joy.

“Saw your post-it saying you had to set an alarm for seven,” Seokjin said casually. “Figured you’d be up by the time I came back with this...hope you like cranberry.”

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btsybrkr · 5 years

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You’re Hired

I love The Apprentice. I look forward to it every single year. It’s the one reality series that too-smart-for-you TV snobs won’t look down on you for watching, despite the fact that The Apprentice is really just Big Brother in suits. Think about it: larger-than-life contestants, living together in a big house, completing tasks where they will always be destined to fail (because it makes for much better conflict), all while being watched closely by an omnipotent figure, who calls all the shots.

In fact, Alan Sugar is a much scarier man-in-charge than the titular Big Brother. For one thing, he looks the contestants in the eyes when he’s destroying them emotionally - Big Brother hides away in a little recording booth somewhere, where he’s safe from any angry housemates, who’ve snapped after the pointlessness of what they’re doing has finally dawned on them. What a coward. Also, Alan Sugar is really bloody rich. Alan Sugar is so rich that he could probably buy you, and sell you back to yourself at a much higher price, and that’s pretty scary, if you ask me.

But, I digress. The thing that’s so great about The Apprentice is that it’s so low-stakes. Not to the contestants, of course, but to the viewer. See, it’s the only reality show where I never care who stays or who goes, and that’s because the contestants are usually, without exception, cocks - and this year hasn’t been much different.

Obviously, the stand-out recipient of the ‘Jesus Christ, You Really Are Absolutely Awful’ award this year has to be librarian and general irritant Lottie Lion, whose name alone makes her sound like the archetypal spoiled brat character from a Roald Dahl novel. It suits her so well, it’s almost as though her parents just sensed from birth that she was going to turn out that way. Or maybe she came out of the womb riding side-saddle on a horse and waxing lyrical about how much better she is than everyone else. I can’t know for sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised.

When she wasn’t shooting a piece-to-camera to repeat her mantra “I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to win”, she was busy coming up with increasingly ridiculous reasons why she was the ideal candidate for the top job in each task. She started out strong in Week 1 by announcing she was the best choice for sub-team leader in a tourism task, because “I know that the population of South Africa is 51 million”, and yet, amazingly, still managed to out-BS herself week after week. Perhaps the finest example was Week 9, in which she described having viola lessons when she was four as having been “in the music industry for 15 years”. By that logic, I’ve been in dentistry for 23 years, because I can navigate my own mouth with a toothbrush without taking out six of my teeth in the process.

Oh, and let’s not forget the remark she allegedly made in a contestants’ group chat, in which she told Pakistani candidate Lubna to “shut up, Ghandi”, before allegedly threatening “I’ll fucking knock you out at our press training”. Obviously, this is horrendously racist and absolutely out of order, and with any luck, Lubna might knock her out first, since, as a person born with arms, she has technically been in the boxing industry for 33 years.

On a much lighter note, this series might have introduced us to one of the most genuinely likeable contestants The Apprentice has ever seen in the form of Thomas Skinner, a self-described “full-time geezer”. Obviously, that’s not his day job - geezering does not pay very well, especially in this difficult economic climate. He’s a salesman, and a bloody good one - he’s so ridiculously charismatic that he could sell me the very concept of breathing itself and I’d probably pay over the odds for it.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t very good at much else, and was fired by a reluctant Alan Sugar after losing eight out of the nine tasks he’d been involved in. I got thinking, though… couldn’t Alan Sugar just take him on anyway? Considering the lack of success that previous winners have experienced, he honestly might as well. I’m not sure exactly what he would hire him to do, but if anyone can help Thomas realise his dream of actually making a living as a full-time geezer, then I’m sure it’s him.

Personally, I think he deserves all of the money and maybe a knighthood, purely on the basis he’s the first candidate in a long time that hasn’t once described himself as ‘cutthroat’ or ‘brutal’, or made some ridiculous statement about how money is so important to him that he’d probably murder his entire family for a fiver. You know, like they usually do.

This year’s final saw headhunter Scarlett Allen-Horton and artisan bakery owner Carina Lepore go head-to-head for the opportunity to work alongside The Ultimate Sugar Daddy, with the final task being to create a hypothetical launch for their respective businesses.

Step one was to pick a new brand name. Carina and co. decided on Lepore’s, because - as Thomas put it - “people will go for the bread, but they’ll go for you, too”. It’s a nice enough point, but if she’s opening a chain of bakeries, she won’t always be in there, will she? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been disappointed to go into a Blackpool branch of Gregg’s, only to be told that, once again, I’m unable to speak to King Gregg himself. He’s probably hiding in one of his fancy London stores, the big elitist. Scarlett had slightly more trouble with rebranding her recruitment company, which aims to place more women and minorities into top level engineering positions. Marianne helpfully suggested naming it after “those animals that build their own homes”. Beavers. She means beavers. Beaver Recruitment? Really? Not exactly suited to a top level headhunting agency, but on the bright side, she may have just stumbled on a great new way for men to describe going out on the pull.

Next on the agenda was to come up with a billboard and a TV advert. The billboards were both surprisingly good, at least in comparison to anything else filmed against a cheap green screen in this year’s series (the now infamous soundbite “who took my unicorn, Sparkle Stars??” from Toy Week immediately springs to mind). The TV advert task was a different story for Scarlett, who was surprised to find that her ‘vision’ of Lewis, Lottie and Marianne driving an imagery car in an empty warehouse wasn’t absolute advertising golddust. “It’s cheesier than I imagined”, she said, upon seeing it for the first time. How? I genuinely can’t understand how she came up with that and thought it was ever going to look like anything other than part of a hastily-planned GCSE Drama performance. But then I would say that, because as someone who has seen a TV advert before, I’ve technically been in marketing since 1996. On Carina’s team, their prison-themed advert for her artisan bread (no, I’m not sure how they arrived at this idea, either) was far more impressive - prefect from a 1960s comic book Ryan-Mark even managed to put in a convincing performance as a hungry jailbird, which wasn’t something any of us were expecting to see this year.

After this, and the all important pitches - which I’m not going to go into, since it’s consistently the least entertaining part of the finale, where I imagine most people, including me, take a toilet break - it was time for the final boardroom. In all seriousness, the tension in the final boardroom is mad. I can only imagine it’s like you and another person are staring down the barrel of a madman’s gun, except the madman is Alan Sugar, and you want to be shot because, instead of bullets, it’s money. Actually, it’s not like that at all, is it? But it must be absolute squeaky bum time for the candidates, is what I’m trying to say.

After a few minutes of back and forth, and a couple more minutes of Carina and Scarlett turning on each other at the last second - which I’m absolutely, one hundred-percent, completely sure the producers definitely didn’t encourage in any way - The Sugarman arrived at a conclusion, and crowned Carina the winner, with a statement that I’m sure we can all agree with: “I do like the idea of more bread.” Well, don’t we all?

Anyway, deserving winner found - as well as plenty of memorable moments and ridiculous characters along the way - that’s it for another year. The only thing I’m left wondering is why it’s called The Apprentice, since the prize is a £250,000 investment, and since most real life apprentice jobs pay about £3.90 an hour. But then I wonder that every year, and to be honest, I’m all fired out.

#tv #television #oatniel #the apprentice #bbc one #apprentice #thomas skinner #lottie lion #carina lepore #scarlett allen horton #alan sugar #comedy #comedy writing #reveiw #tv review #blogger #comedians

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sirfleurs · 4 years

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i was sixteen years old when my hand was blue.

The grayscale pitch

Preface

Life is not easy when you are high and alone watching television or pulling an all-nighter listening to Jimi Hendrix. The brain becomes dull. Overstimulated by genius. You stop thinking and overthink at the same time. I guess that’s what some people call daydreaming. All your bad thoughts get loose and all your inhibitions disappear. I figure this is right before the moment you are most likely to kill yourself. I’ll give it an hour before my Manic-Depression shows its ugly face. As I haven’t killed myself yet in an age of 23 I think I’ve done pretty well. I was sitting in my room in some Woodstock apartment writing on my first ever soon to be book. I had decided to call it ‘The Pitch’. It would be about some witty guy who had a great idea and he would be trying to sell his ‘pitch’ to everyone who’d listen. I had thought the rest of the story through. To be honest I didn’t know more than that. As I was about to sit down I had a beer, smoked a cig and 5 minutes beforehand I had masturbated to a busty forest nymph. Believe me was I tired.

A week ago I was checked-in at Fitzroy Hostel in New York City. It had been insane. My supposedly friends and I were drinking cheap wine in our room during this pandemic across the country. Geez after two bottles of wine I somehow managed to pay for- and eat two caps of MDMA and it blew my mind. I sat on the floor to cool my ass but everything began to spin and it hit me hard like a jolt. Andrew said “hey dude, maybe you should go to the bathroom and stick two fingers in your throat you don’t look too good”. But he was just too late. I burst like a water balloon, vomiting on the floor of Duncans room. Duncan was this nice guy that played XBOX and drank occasionally. Geez was I sorry. I locked myself in the bathroom to get the caps out. I was trying to vomit and I began to feel heated. The MDMA had already kicked in and it was too late to reverse it. I would have to wait this one out. Everything started to feel nice all around the body. My eyes became big as small plates and my teeth began to clench. I got an strange urge to stick my hand in the toilet to cool my body. Something I am not very proud of. On the small shelf I found a shampoo that I emptied in the toilet too just for the hell of it. Minutes later people would lock the door up with a coin and find me covered in shampoo. The helped me in the shower and I went to bed shortly after. Hours later I woke up. Two guys invited me for a joint. Something I couldn’t decline. It was only the second time I had ever tried drugs. While we smoked this cat, Alex told me “you know this only happened because you drank too much. You can never be too careful with mixing alcohol and MD. It doesn’t help that you hadn’t eaten anything either.” “Geez, I was not in control at all. I’d better stick to weed and drinking. That’s something I know”. Always do drugs with very good pals of yours.

So I went to the street and couldn’t make any money. I was to make something one way or the other. Which isn’t always easy when you don’t know what profession you want to be in. All I knew was that I didn’t need any tiresome busy work in my life. I like to feel needed but not so much that I can’t laugh and have breaks during the day. Life is life you know. But I would dance down the street like drums banging through the air. Long time ago I would have taken every job offered to me now I’m not so sure. I went to a fruit parlor in the New Habor Market in near Manhatten in princess St. I asked the first guy :” how much are these avocados.” “two fifty for three piece”. Fruit in the markets are much cheaper than everywhere else and the life is strong on the street which I thought couldn’t be bad. Everyone just running back and forth doing their bussinnes as usual. The markets was one of the places that hadn’t closed due to the pandemic. Nice, I thought to myself. I handed the guy three dollars and told him to keep the rest. “ hey man, how you get a job here standing here selling fruit, I’d really like to know”. “ah young man, I could take a look at your resume if you’d like”. Problem was I didn’t have much to offer him, so I stalled him trying to promote myself in person. I can be a very persuasive guy sometimes. When I’m in the right mood and I felt it crippling in my fingers my mood was good for this situation. “Hey man, I don’t exactly have a written resume. But I’ll tell you everything you’ll need to know. Im good at shouting and a quick learner give me a shot and ill prove to you, you didn’t waste your time”. I sounded like a sucker. But I couldn’t eat my words. The guy didn’t seem interested. I said “I promise give me a shot and I will not blow it.” He looked me in the eye and we stood for a few seconds staring at each other. “come down tomorrow at 6 sharp I’ll see what you can do. You won’t be paid for your three first shifts and from thereon you’ll be paid commission on how much you sell”. Sounded good to me so I nodded “you betcha” I said with a coy smile I sounded like a dork geez. Anyhow that’s how I got my first job. It went fairly well. I continued down the street. I still had something else to do before my first shift. Let me stand next to your fire I thought to myself. I was excited as hell. Down the road I saw a green balloon it was helium filled balloons. A clown was giving them out to kids. Everything was nice the weather was good and you could hear the wind sweep from central park. I needed to buy some weed for the next time coming. So I got up my phone and rang my friend Alex who had a connection. “O boyy I got a job fix me up with some of that green”. I met him outside the hostel and bought a quarter ounce for 50 dollars which is a fine price for nugs like these. Then I went home and lit a blunt. Just a small one while I sat at my outside porch. We had a giant tree and a lot of ungroomed weeds in our garden. We also had a cat I personally named Pysser in the name of my favourite old person who recently died. He was a sergent Knud Romer was his name. He once wrote an article about me when I was fifteen going to summer camp for young boys with no other places to go for their vacation. God was I sad to see him go. When I was done with the blunt I went up to my room and opened my book. It was called Pimp and the author went by the moniker Iceberg Slim. What kind of badass shit was that. It was kind of interesting the way he proclaimed the pimp life. And he was a real gangster. His bottom whore at the end of her mileage. Meaning the whore who kept every other whore in his house in line. When she goes everything always goes to hell for a pimp. He conend her. He made a whole setup with actors to con her into thinking she killed a rich motherfucker. She would be in the hotel room and this guy would collapse on her. Slim would come up to the room and call a doctor and get the guy collected. Slim conned her into thinking he bribed the police. That way his bottom whore was good to go for more tricks. That’s some cold shit. My thought whirled reading about the cocaine snorting and his nose hurting feelings of something scraping at the roof of his brain made me dizzy. I closed the book and stared at the ceiling. Dreaming. Aw man what do I do now. My head bounced like a bass line I felt slick. Breathing heavily but still relaxed. I went down for a cig to clear my thoughts. Sitting there I couldn’t stop looking at all the animals we had in this household. Cat and two dogs just lying freely whenever wherever.

The next morning I came back 6 sharp. A long 10 hours shift. My legs were aching and my head spiining. I wasn’t used to long as shifts. I was only used to lying around doing nothing chilling with friends. But it would come to me In time oso I ekpt coming there shouting like the others. Loud and confident keeping my back steady trying to pull in costumers in. At the end of each shift you would get paid a percentage of what you’ve sold. The first day I sold I couple of vegetables to this old lady who though I was cute and some couples wanting watermelon smoothies. It didn’t go so well. And I sure as hell didn’t want those pity purchases from old ladies. I made two fifty. It really wasn’t much. But at least I was paid the first day. Something I wasn’t expecting. I went to home sat on the couch with the other living there. We sat there chilling drinking beer and playing chess. And some girl that was visiting was playing skyrim.

Dreamers day

I remember when I was a small kid. I would look at the ocean and dream of being a bird. I would be on the moon. I was a gay kid, really. So much that my mother and sister thought I was actually gay. I remember the beach of Turkey. The warm ocean on my limbs under the moonlight. The salt burning in your eyes. Those were the days of happiness and good rest. Father would show us to surf the water on our stomachs whenever a wave came. Also the days of Levanto were nice. Father and I would hike the mountains at daybreak. We would struggle to find a parking spot and Father would cuss. Sister and I would get mojitos and look at the natives. The parties were everywhere. We would bathe in the clear water by the cliff. I remember many young adults would jump in. Everyone wearing speedos except one skinny langy kid. A couple kissing. The guy would get a boner and the girl would cover his little man with her belly. They kissed passionately. People would jump in from 5 meters and even more. Chances were one day they wouldn’t jump far enough into the water and they would hit the sharp rocks at the cliffs bottom. I picked small black clams from the rock and lurked it open. Levanto was a trip through forests cussing. We were in Italy. Driving a big bad car. I would lie across the extra three seats in the behind. I would push my bare feet against the cold glass of the window. I would see the damp print of my feet and the water drops on the other side of the window. I was glad I was inside the warmth of the car. My sisters friend was along. I liked her. She must have been sisters best friend. Not anymore.. I would lie in the bed reading. I was afraid of small gold fish. We would see the colosseum. I would ask “is it real”. Father would laugh for 10 years. I am now here in bed. On the other side of the world. Mother was different. We would be inside. I would care about her. She would be weaker. Depressed. I would be worried sick. I am still worried. But I am also smarter. She can care for herself. She stopped smoking now for the seventeenth time. She says one day she will make it. I hope it for her sake. I am not sure. The price of cigarettes went up. I would watch television. I would come out and talk to her she would listen and I would cry. This pretty much sums up our relationship. I still love her though. I was a dreamer. My English teacher told my sister I lived on the moon. That was fine with me. Not anymore. I want to be in this world now. I want to do good.

The days when we were friends we would go around your backyard make silly films. Scream like small girls. But we were small boys. Guess there is not that big of a difference. We would draw silly faces in class. We would play on the smartboard. We didn’t care about anything but fun. We would be older and try to learn music. Try to do good in school. People break apart and new people find each other. Right now I don’t find anyone. I am alone with the people I live with. The are polite and we drink together. But we are not friends. Not yet but we could be., I think things can happen. “Don’t think twice it’s alright”. You can get everything down the first time you try. You see poetry and stories are written in the haze in the bottom of your mind. You have to write it now not think too much. Know what you want to write and hurry up. Times against you. You have to run or it will be dull or you will be drowsy. Don’t let anything walk up behind your back. Keep your ears and eyes open for everything. This is not the time for storytelling. Open your eyes open your ears. You didn’t see the best minds of your generation starving hysterical naked.

Three small kittens

The day came after the weekend to go back to work at the fruit parlor., The guy seemed to be very contend with my abilities. I would make at least ten dollars for my self each shift. And I would have just enough for food for the day. Not that it was enough. I still had rent to cover. So I seeked my boss for help asking “how do you make a living out of this. Whats the catch.” He responded “the catch is catch 22 anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn’t really crazy”. “would you have to be crazy to want to be in combat?” he nodded “and it works the other way around too”. I pondered it over “you would have to be rationel to want to come out of combat?” “exactly”. It didn’t make any sense to me. What did that have to do with anything. After the shift my chef handed my a fairly small red book with the title Catch-22. I had only made eight dollars this day. It felt lousy. At least I was able to take as much leftover I wanted. That would cover my hunger, but the money wouldn’t cover my rent. Soon I would run out of money and I had no idea as to what to do. I came home and fell down the stinking madras on the floor of my room. I opened the first page of the book he had handed to me. Whatever it was about I was kind of excited to dick in. Every two hours I would go down for a cig and occasionally a glass of water. Didn’t eat anything except avocados. They sustain you for a long time and are delicious with salt. Just be careful some of the avocados are bad inside and will give you diarrhea. It isn’t very comfortable to go to the bathroom every ten minutes during a shift with your boss around. Next I had collected 330 dollars earning eleven dollars for myself. Which is a personal record of mine. I knew I could do better. Catch 22 was a real witty book I didn’t know what I had to learn from it. Each day I would come back to work my boss wouldn’t mention the book. He would just keep yelling for ten 12 hours straight like a muezzin standing on the top of the tower calling to prayer. He was insane. During the day his temple would pulsate like an angry cat who had catched syphilis. Sometimes his lips would be blue and he would have to sit down. Whenever that occurred shortly after he would pull up a small orange container from his pocket and down some pills. He must have had a heart disease or something. I wouldn’t get involved though. He never brought it up himself. So I figured he must have had a good reason to keep low profile. It wasn’t my fight to fight. Four times a day I would go further away with some of the other youngsters trying to make it as a fruit parlor. I was doing the worst but who really cares. It was no competition. I was just trying to make a living.

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slutiisms-a · 6 years

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drugs 101 : marijuana

below the readmore is compiled information about marijuana. while i don’t consider it a drug, some people do and it is incorrectly portrayed a lot on roleplay. so, below is some information about the prices, variations, how it feels, and more. this is explained from personal experience; while some people may have slightly different experiences, it is generally all about the same. this took a lot of time to type out so please give this a like if you found it remotely helpful or i'll assume no one wants any others posted for other drugs.

! PSA ! this post is in no way saying to do the above listed drug.

pricing.

the price varies depending on your location. some places overcharge because the supply is lower, while some places or legal places are more mandated. the key difference in some pricing is the quality of marijuana. while you could get ‘mid’, it’s not the best strains and to me is not worth it; my friend gets hers for $30 for 8 grams. however, good weed ( the kind i’d hope you’d rp your characters with ), it’s usually $10/gram. if you’re in a bad location with low supply, you could pay up to $25-30/gram. below i will explain how much a gram stretches for each way you can get high from marijuana.

strains & effects.

what is important to know is that there are different strains of marijuana. each strain has slightly different effects ( both positive and negative ). while you don’t need to know specific strains to write it, you could if you wanted to and a good website for strains knowledge is leafly. the key to know is the three basic categories of strains and what they tend to make you feel.

indica — couch potato. this is the one people typically think of when they think of marijuana. you tend to get the munchies heavily and you just want to relax and be chill. sativa — energy. these strains typically put you in a social mood, you’re more likely to dance around and laugh. most of these strains don’t really give you the munchies. hybrid — as expected, it is a combination of an indica and sativa. most have a dominance, so they will be more sativa than indica or vice versa.

while each strain gives you slightly different effects, i’d explain the high simply by saying:

your head feels a bit lighter in the sense that you tend to not focus on anything for too long; this keeps you from getting into low points mentally. your body feels tingly; some strains makes you feel like it’s tingling on the outside while some strains make you feel like the inside of your body is tingling. no matter the strain, you typically laugh more than usual. personally, i rarely want to watch serious things while i’m high because it’s hard to focus on all the details, so most stoners end up watching things that don’t need full attention; like rick & morty, southpark, youtube videos, etc.

please stop saying your character is hallucinating on marijuana; they aren’t. each method of getting high on marijuana gives different levels of high, usually, but even with a dab, you are not hallucinating.

side note of importance; marijuana is a drug that the high heavily depends on the environment you’re in. different environments can give you different experiences even if it’s the same strain and method of getting high. you can have a depressed high, an angry high, a paranoid high, etc. while different strains give different negative side effects, if you’re around a mean/paranoid/etc someone or simply a bad environment, the high can have more negatives than positives.

before i dive-in, i want to discuss how some people attempt to hide/conceal the smell of marijuana when they are smoking. there are some little containers that you blow the smoke into that it says it cleans it to rid the smell, but i have never tried those to know for sure. most people i know will get a toilet paper roll, have a drier sheet tied to cover one end of the roll, and then they will blow into the roll. another way, if you live alone like i do, if you know people are going to come around and you can’t have the smell, you can put a tsp-tbsp of vanilla extract in a small oven-safe bowl. put this into the oven or toaster oven; turn it on a low level for a while. your entire house will smell like a bakery.

ways to get high off marijuana:

smoking through a homemade pipe/bong.

yes, you read correctly. while in a bind, people often will resort to a homemade pipe or bong. i find this is most commonly used by young teenagers, so i won’t go too deep into details about how to make the pipes. if you want to know the specifics because your character is making one, you can google it. however, some things that people turn into pipes are apples, pens, toilet paper rolls, paper towel rolls, water bottles, tic tac containers, soda cans, etc. if you can imagine it, someone has already tried to turn it into a pipe or bong.

smoking through a store-bought pipe.

store-bought pipes can be found in smoke shops, some gas stations and online ( smoke shop websites, amazon, etsy, etc ). the prices vary depending on the size and the place you buy it. smoke shops tend to be pricier, as well as etsy.

the size of a pipe changes how much weed it takes to pack a bowl. my favorite pipe has a decently deep bowl; i usually pack in 0.4 grams per bowl, though you could pack up to 0.6 grams into the bowl i have. typically, most pipes tend to hold between 0.2 grams to 1 gram in the bowl; though that’s not always the case.

for example, one-hitters are a thing. just as it sounds, it’s good for 1-2 hits from it before it needs to be emptied and repacked. if you’re wondering the point of a one-hitter, i’ll answer that right now for you. one-hitters are different shapes and styles, but my favorites are the ones that look like cigarettes. this would allow you to walk around in uncrowded streets smoking from it, or smoking it in the car without anyone noticing ( i’m not saying you should smoke while driving but if you did, or if you were just a passenger ).

process of packing a bowl :

1. ensure that the bowl of the pipe is emptied and clean. ( how often you clean your pipe is up to you. you can use pipe cleaners to do this, but i find the best way is to let the empty pipe sit in rubbing alcohol for an hour or so before shaking it around in the bag and then rinsing it out with water ). 2. take out the weed you want for the bowl. 3. break it into pieces that will fit in the top section of your grinder. 4. twist the top of the grinder back and forth until all of the weed is grinded into the middle chamber. 5. twist off the first and section chamber to reveal the grinded weed being held within the grinder. 6. pick it up and push it down into the bowl. you don’t need to pack it too tightly but you don’t want it not properly pressed either. *bonus* if you wanted to add kief to the top of the bowl, you can open the last chamber of the grinder and sprinkle some of the fine powder onto the top. ( kief, keef or keif ) is a fine powder made from dried resin glands that are found on the leaves of the cannabis plant. it contains a high concentration of the psychoactive chemical or thc that causes euphoric feelings or opium-like high that can last for hours.

process of smoking from a bowl :

1. press your finger over the carb; which is the small hole on the side of the pipe. 2. light the top of the weed within the pipe and suck in. 3. stop the lighter and continue to suck in as you lift your finger off and back on the carb. 4. try to hold the smoke in for a few seconds at least before blowing the smoke out. simple enough! 5. once the top is a gray color on top, use something to mix around the marijuana; you can use a bobby pin or something so that you’re not seeing ash on top before smoking more of it.

you typically begin to feel the high after a couple of hits from the pipe. i don’t usually smoke a bowl at once; i smoke on it throughout time, so i couldn’t tell you exactly how long the high lasts for me but it varies per person. on a normal work day, i get home from work and start smoking around 6pm and go to sleep around 11pm; within this time, i’ll have 1-2 bowls to myself. however, some people smoke much more than that, and some people don’t even smoke daily.

rolling & smoking a joint.

! PSA ! a joint and blunt are NOT the same thing!!!!!!!!

a joint is with the thin white rolling papers. you can typically buy packs of these for very cheap; a couple of bucks. if you hit up the daily smoke club, you could get a pack of papers for like a buck. however, you can also get different kinds of papers. you can buy colored ones, or ones with designs, even paper made from gold; some smoke shops have them, different online stores; and i know amazon sells them.

joints are typically up to the person with how large they are. i’m really not a fan of them, so i never roll them or ask to smoke them ( unless offered ). from everyone i know, typically you’d put anywhere between 0.5 grams to 1.5 grams in a joint; could be bigger but i don’t find that people usually do joints with less than half a gram.

process of rolling a joint without a dollar bill :

1. lay the paper down. 2. grind the weed and sprinkle it down the center of the paper, length wise. 3. begin to roll the paper around the weed in the center. 4. lick the trim on one side and press it down. be careful not to use too much spit or the entire joint will be ruined and the paper will rip. 5. ensure that the ends have some empty space and twist them closed. you can leave one end open if you’re going to smoke it immediately.

process of rolling a joint with a dollar bill :

1. grab your dollar bill and fold it hamburger style. 2. grind the weed and sprinkle it down the center of the crease you just made. 3. begin to rub the ends of the bill together up and down, the weed should begin to roll together. 4. press the paper into the bill, the edge on the side of the weed. 5. continue to slowly roll the ends of the bill together until it begins to wrap around the weed properly. 6. continue to roll until it’s completely rolled. then, use your tongue to run it across the edge of the paper to seal it down. 7. ensure that the ends have some empty space and twist them closed. you can leave one end open if you’re going to smoke it immediately.

normal joint papers and cones are not the same. you can roll a cone or buy pre-rolled papers. unless you want to learn how to roll cones, i just buy packs of them pre-rolled online and all you have to do is push the weed down into the papers. as it sounds, they are shaped like a cone.

process of smoking from a joint :

1. put your lips on the filter. 2. light the end of the joint. 3. every few hits, you’ll have to tap the end against something to get the ash to fall ( ashing it ).

you typically begin to feel the high after a couple of hits from the joint. whenever smoking a joint, they burn quickly so it’s hard to not smoke it all at once. the high typically is stronger than from a pipe and it’ll last a couple of hours before it’s down enough to want more.

rolling & smoking a blunt.

! PSA ! a joint and blunt are NOT the same thing!!!!!!!!

a blunt is weed wrapped in a tobacco leaf. the most common way of doing this is to buy a cigarillo, empty it out and then fill it with weed before sealing it. you can buy tobacco leafs that are empty, but people typically just go buy the cigarillos and empty them. they are $1/pack of two cigarillos. there is multiple brands and flavors to pick from. the two brands i use the most are game and swishers. games are harder to roll/seal but burn slower and smoother. swishers are much easier to roll/seal but burn a little faster. i typically go for swisher sweets green.

blunts take up more weed than joints and pipes. it’s the only reason i don’t smoke blunts every day. blunts are usually at least 0.8 grams to 2 grams; some people go much bigger than this, but i don’t really see people doing under 0.8 grams unless they are making the blunt very slim or cutting it to be shorter.

process of rolling a blunt :

1. drag your tongue across length wise on part of the cigarillo where you’re going to cut ( talented people can use their fingers to find the seal and break it, but i don’t find it that easy to do ). 2. cut length wise down the gar. you can use whatever you want for this. most commonly is a pocket knife. not even going to lie, i use eyebrow scissors a lot to make the line straighter. 3. empty out all of the tobacco. 4. drag your tongue over the inside of the gar. when i say this, i mean you literally have to lick all over the inside of the gar to make it easier to roll. 5. grind up your weed or break it up with your fingers. it’s easier to roll when it’s grinded but it burns slower if it’s broken up with your fingers. 6. slowly begin to roll your fingers back and forth to mold the weed into a roll. 7. to seal it, drag your tongue along the inside of the edge and over the top of it as well. add some pressure to the seal to let it try to hold before officially sealing.

process of smoking a blunt :

1. put your lips on the end you aren’t going to light. 2. light the end of the blunt. 3. every few hits, you’ll have to ash it or it will fall on you.

you typically begin to feel the high after a couple of hits from a blunt; sometimes even just one if you get a big enough hit. whenever smoking a blunt, you can dab it out and restart it later. most of the time, i’ll smoke about half and then smoke the other half later. the high is more than a joint or pipe and half a blunt will last a couple of hours. overall, smoking wise, blunts are my favorite and give the best high, in my opinion.

smoking from a bong.

bongs are the one smoking method i know the least about. i only typically use a bong with friends. however, it’s a good high and it’s very quick to get to that point. people use anywhere between 0.3 gram to 1 gram in the bong’s bowl; however, most commonly people use 0.5 gram to 1 gram.

process of packing a bong :

1. grind up the weed, or some people will just put the nug into the bowl. 2. cover the seal of the top of the bong with your lips. 3. light the marijuana in the bowl and suck in. 4. after a few moments, stop lighting it and lift the bowl out of the bong. 5. suck in as much of the smoke that you can. 6. hold it in for as long as possible for blowing the smoke out.

bong highs are strong; typically only needing one or two hits to be high. i don’t have a lot of experience with these in particular to tell you how long it lasts. whenever i use them, we will take a few bong hits each and then go inside and relax for an hour or so.

eating an edible.

truly, there could be an entire post just dedicated to edibles. there is so many different kind you can have and make. in a way to condense it, the explanation for making them will only be for brownies and i will explain it very vaguely. you don’t need to know all the very specifics to make them on roleplay. if you want to actually make them, you can look into recipes and things yourself.

there is so many forms of edibles. if it’s edible, it can likely be made into an edible. the most common ones that i know of and have personal experience with are brownies, cookies, gummies and lollipops/hard candy.

the biggest thing to know is the difference in how it’s presented to you if it’s homemade vs dispensary bought. homemade is going to be given to in with dosing in grams. dispensary bought is going to be given to in with dosing in mgs. it is very easy to be confused when it comes to mgs because not everyone has experience with mgs to know what any of that means.

mg breakdown

1 - 2.5 mg — microdosing, some first time users. 2.5 - 15 mg — still a small dose, helps to feel more social; restless sleepers. 15 - 30 mg — more seasoned consumers; experienced users looking to help insomnia. 30 - 50 mg — season consumers, higher tolerance to thc. 50 - 100 mg — experienced thc consumers only; medically for cancer or inflammatory disorders.

as personal reference, most edibles i’ve experienced are between 50 - 100 mg. i’ve had gummies that were 10 mg per gummy; i had three of those and it only really made me relax and not really feel high. for homemade edibles, they are usually around 0.5 gram to 2 grams per edible.

edible high is unlike smoking marijuana. it’s much stronger, usually. you get the normal effects of weed, but at heightened levels. it usually takes anywhere between 30 minutes to 2 hours to kick in. from personal experience, edibles are my favorite way to get high with marijuana, but i find it isn’t good for a daily basis. the end of edible highs make you want to sleep for a long time. sometimes you may feel like you’re melting into something you’re sitting on or floating; but it’s still never a crazy enough high where you feel out of control of your body.

my favorite time on an edible is when i went to an aquarium while high on it. i don’t remember almost anything about the aquarium, but i hated aquariums prior to this visit. while there, everything seemed so beautiful to me and it was the most exciting thing i’ve ever done while on an edible to this day. the colors seemed so much brighter and i just remember laughing a lot.

making brownie edibles :

1. collect the ingredients which are basically just normal brownie ingredients and then you need canna oil. 2. to make canna oil, you just need to take an ounce of ground weed and bake it for around 30 minutes. then, combine the bud with your favorite oil ( olive, coconut, etc ) on the stove on low heat for 6 or more hours. 3. then, you just add the oil into the normal brownie recipe and bake your edibles. 4. cut them into pieces. you want the pieces to be smaller than normal sized brownies, unless you are experienced and you know how much is in that cut of the brownie. it is better to underdose than overdose yourself with edibles.

having too much of an edible :

you will think you are dying. i don’t mean that in a fun way. everyone has a slightly different experience with this, but i will give you my personal experience. tw: vomit mention.

the edible was 300 mg and it said to have 1/4 of it for experienced users ( 75 mg ). i had never had mg edibles before so i didn’t really understand and i didn’t read the directions; MISTAKE. — always read your directions on the edible packages if it’s from a dispensary. i ate a little over half of the edible. at first, it was fun. the high kicked in and i felt great. soon, it became too much. lifting my head made me feel lightheaded; my entire body felt tingly and heavy. i felt like i was spinning while i was laying down on my bed. i don’t remember much other than telling my friend i had too much and i thought i was going to die. that’s when the vomiting began. i proceeded to vomit everything out of my system; into my trashcan by my bed because i could not get up from my bed. this continued until the consistency made me think i might actually choke on it because i couldn’t breathe. after vomit everything out, i continued to dry heave for 40 minutes. then, i passed out. i busted multiple blood vessels in my eyes; the whites of my eyes were a deep red and they did not fully go away for a little over a month. however, all the side effects did not go away until almost march; this happened december 8th. the side effects i had were dizzy spells, nausea ( i was taking a nausea medicine around the clock ), some memory lapses and generally feeling exhausted.

even with this awful experience, i still smoke and i still do edibles. but please ! if you are going to have an edible, be careful with dosing. and if you say your character had a bunch of edibles, know that there is a big negative if you over-do it with edibles.

as for how long edibles last, it depends on the edible mg and how your body breaks down your foods. it can last usually between 4 hours and 12 hours. most i have tried last over 4 hours, for sure.

bonus : taking a dab.

dabs are practically another language to a lot of people. dab, wax, honey oil and shatter are all the same thing. dabs are a solid, waxy substance of concentrated butane hash oil; most commonly created by a high quality strain is blasted with butane, that is then extracted, these cannabis concentrates approach 70 to 90 percent thc. if none of that made sense, it’s basically a highly concentrated oil/wax that has very high percentages of thc. for reference, some of the best strains out there only have around 25 percent thc.

it comes usually in a wax form, so that is how i will talk about it mostly. firstly, i will discuss the oil. a lot of people are using the oil in vapes so that they can smoke them in public. they do not smell or taste like weed; they taste like whatever flavor you get. i find that the high isn’t as good, however, and that you end up spending more to do that than if you were simply dabbing.

how to take a dab :

1. get a small ‘dab’ of the wax onto the end of a thin glass rod, then set to the side. 2. use a torch to heat the metal piece at the end of the glass pipe until it’s glowing red. 3. set the torch down, pick up the glass rod and touch the wax to the hot nail. 4. circle the rod around inside of the metal piece until all of the wax has been vaporized while sucking in. 5. once all the smoke is gone from the pipe, or until you can’t take it any longer before pulling away. 6. hold it in for as long as possible before blowing the smoke out.

no matter how experienced you are, i’ve found very few people that can take a dab without coughing afterward. i have never coughed harder than i have with a dab. it’s very strong, so you don’t need to have a lot on the rod. however, the size of the dab is up to whoever is doing it.

for shits and giggles, here is some hilarious reactions from taking a dab that i have seen when smoking with people: coughing until vomiting, falling back onto the couch with arms across chest and eyes closed for a few minutes, falling onto the ground coughing until drooling onto the ground, and my favorite experience to witness — she started coughing and began to run around the house coughing until going to the sink, leaning her head under it and letting the faucet run water into her mouth.

as for the feeling, it’s similar to an edible. there is no down-time after, unlike edibles. however, edibles last much longer than a dab. dabs are great for taking one of them and being high off of your ass, but i’m usually taking another one before an hour is up.

i hope any of this has been helpful to anyone. i plan to do this with other drugs like cocaine, ecstacy, acid, shrooms, xanax, oxy and more. please let me know if this is something you’d be interested in or if this was helpful to you!

#for those who requested!#indie rp #indie smut rp #rph #drugs 101

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wildlyplanted · 6 years

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Part 1 of 3: “The Paris of Eastern Europe” – Budapest | Prague | Berlin Travels

Hello! Grab yourself a cup of coffee or tea and if you fancy, a treat too. I hope you enjoy this blog post (the first in a three-part series) about my trip to Budapest, Prague and Berlin. In the series, I share my hosteling and general overall experience in all three cities, the challenges, randomness and realizations I came to along the way of this splendid journey.

Hosteling. Anyone who truly knows me, knows that me, staying in hostels, means I have come a long, long way. During my recent trip to Budapest, Prague and Berlin, this past February, my travel buddy and I opted for the hostel life.

After staying in a hostel for the very first time, while traveling solo around Ecuador in 2017, my fears melted away and I understood the many benefits of hostel life, especially for those traveling alone and for extended periods of time.

Here are my top 5 reasons to hostel:

The PRICE! Hostels are cheap, leaving extra cash to spend on excursions, day trips, and experiences that interest you. Also, you can have that nice dinner and evenings out on the town while staying in or under budget.

It puts you among fellow travelers. You can get great tips and the low down on where to explore, especially off the beaten path. Additionally, they can offer tips for one or more of your next destinations because some may have already visited where you're going.

A number of hostels offer free walking tours, their staff are highly knowledgeable and usually have time to provide you with extensive information on things like public transport, touristy areas to avoid when wanting to dine or shop, and they can point you to more authentic experiences.

You can socialize with people from different countries and backgrounds without having to seek it out.

You can team up with other travelers for day trips outside the city or to another city or region. While staying in Quito I joined 5 others on a day trip to Mindo Valley and I am so grateful I had this opportunity; I know I would not have visited that gorgeous region if I hadn't been staying in a hostel.

With all of that said, I must point out that however great the benefits of hosteling can be, it's not for every destination, and it must make sense depending on where you’re traveling and why. For these three cities, it made sense because my friend and I wanted to be among other travelers. This leads me to where I stayed; which first begins with an unplanned overnight in Berlin.

That morning, Feb 20th, it began to snow and our evening flight (Newark to Berlin) was delayed, by more than 5 hours! We had a connecting flight to Budapest two hours after our scheduled landing in Berlin, and needless to say, we knew we would not be in Budapest by the next afternoon, as planned. We landed in Berlin, late afternoon, to ultimately discover that we would not be making it to Budapest at all that day.

Our Budapest hostel was more than accommodating and moved our check-in and check-out dates. This is another great thing about hostels. As long as they are not fully booked, they are super flexible to change around your arrival and departure dates, even lengthen or shorten your stay, with no hassle or added fees. More on Budapest in a moment.

Once we agreed to stay the night in Berlin, we checked Hostelworld for the cheapest hostel within city limits. I learned during my travels in Ecuador that the price is not an indicator of what the hostel will be like—additionally, Hostelworld breaks down how travelers rated things like cleanliness, atmosphere, location, etc.

The cheapest hostel I stayed in, during my Ecuador travels, was my best experience, so, I was not surprised when our choice, PLUS Berlin, turned out to be great!

They had thousands of reviews, a great rating and we liked what we saw in the photos. We did not book or make a reservation; we saw that they still had a decent amount of available beds, so we just headed there. If you want to be on the safe side, you can always call or email the hostel and let them know you’re on your way and how many beds you need. I feel like most hostels would be fine with same day reservations without asking for payment until you arrive.

PLUS Berlin is located in east Berlin’s Friedrichshain neighborhood, a short walk from the Warschauer StraBe (Street) S-baun stop. From TXL airport we took the airport bus (TXL) to Hauptbahnof station (Central Station) and from there we took the S-baun to Warschauer StraBe station.

*Tip: If you have a suitcase don’t take the short-cut down the stairs. Take the walk along the wall and make a left under the bridge and then another immediate left (or take the 2nd set of stairs leaving you closest to the hostel). Our suitcases were light and small, so we were ok to carry them over the cobblestone until we reached smoother ground.

PLUS Berlin has an artsy, cool vibe. It matches the neighborhood and attracts guests with those similar qualities. We stayed in a 6-bed mixed gender dorm with an en-suite separate bathroom and separate shower room.

The atmosphere is relaxed and social. The lobby area is large, yet comfortable, and the building looks like it used to be some sort of campus at one time. The front desk is staffed 24 hours. Also, they have a restaurant and bar on premises, and get this, they have a pool and sauna (which unfortunate for us, they were closed by the time we returned from dinner).

We got to check out a bit of the neighborhood while looking for a restaurant to have dinner in, and I couldn’t be more excited about returning to Berlin, in the future, to see more. The best part about our unplanned stay was how nicely we connected with two of our roommates. The conversation about our travel plans, and about life in general was wonderful. For me, that human connection, however brief, is the best part of traveling and something money can’t buy.

PLUS Berlin is a thumbs up, and I plan to stay here on my next trip to Berlin.

Finally, we made it to Budapest the next day, where we stayed at Hostel One Basilica. Getting there from the airport was very easy. We took the 100E bus to Deak Frenec stop and walked a block to our hostel. I booked our stay here through Hostelworld a couple of weeks before our trip, but I could have also booked directly with the hostel.

The location is very central, across the street from Budapest Eye, and we were able to easily walk to other areas of the city. The hostel is housed within a large courtyard apartment building where they have an entire floor. There are tons of eateries and bars nearby which came in handy for our first night there.

Hostel One Basilica is a very social hostel, but it’s not noisy. They have created a very friendly environment that starts with the staff. Everyone said hello and I had nice chats with several other travelers and a couple of the staff. They have a 24-hour desk, a common area and a large open plan kitchen with tables and chairs. Use of the kitchen is open to all and it comes with free coffee and tea.

Something great about this hostel is that they have a free family meal every evening, to encourage socialization, and it’s delicious. I ate family meal two out of four nights – Vegetarian goulash and a Vegetarian Colombian stew. You should still plan to eat before or after since the portions aren’t huge, although, we got lucky the night of the Colombian stew because not as many people showed up to dinner and we got to have seconds.

Our room was a spacious 10-bed female dorm. With people arriving and departing often, the room was never fully occupied during our stay. There were six of us at the most during its fullest (with two being myself and my friend). The bathrooms are all full, private rooms with toilet, sink and shower.

Our first night in Budapest, we had dinner at Drum Café, about a 15-minute (or less) walk from the hostel. The atmosphere was lively, the food was just ok, nothing to return for; however, the service was good. They serve typical Hungarian dishes such as goulash. I had a whole fish (I don’t remember what kind), along with pickled cabbage and vegetables.

After dinner we ran into a group of travelers from Netherlands, Germany and Israel and spent the rest of the evening at a nearby bar talking about everything under the sun – life, relationships, family, love. It’s something quite remarkable, to travel thousands of miles from where you live, to find that people can understand and relate to you, and you to them; and for people to share with you, a stranger, their fears and wishes. The best conversations I’ve had in a very long time was with them and it was special. My first night in Budapest was one of the best experiences of 2019 so far!

From the evening and afternoon walks across Szechenyi Chain and Szabadsag hid bridges, seeing the Hungarian Parliament building lit up at night, watching the sunset over Hosok tere (Heroes’ Square), enjoying great coffee at Madal Coffee Co., to dancing the night away at Froccsterasz Telikert and Szimpa; Budapest was a wonderful experience and I loved every moment. We ended up extending our stay by an extra day.

Coincidentally, during our visit, my friend discovered a friend of hers was also in the city, and we met up with him. He described Budapest so perfectly, “it’s like the Paris of Eastern Europe.”

Final Notes:

The bathrooms in our hostel could have been cleaner. They weren’t gross, but they weren’t the cleanest. I’m always prepared for this scenario and I share my tips in part 3 of this three-part blog post series.

Currency exchange – The money exchange just around the corner from the hostel (Valutavalto) has some of the best rates, and there’s often a line. We were warned to go at least a couple of hours before closing because they’ve been known to run out of money since they’re popular.

Szechenyi Hot Springs – This place, for me, was disappointing. Although they had 18 pools (2 huge outdoor ones), none of them were actually hot. They didn’t even range in levels of hot. They were all either just warm or very warm at best. Maybe this has to do with its popularity and needing to be comfortable for just about anyone who visited, I don’t know. Next time, I’m going to seek out one that isn’t so popular with tourists. They do have a steam room and sauna. Very small, but nonetheless, they have them.

*Important mention: I purposely took this trip with no concrete plans. Although I looked up main attractions and browsed through blogs, I wasn’t tied to any particular thing I needed to do or see. The only thing I wanted, was to walk around and see as much of the cities, and their architectures, as possible. That I did.

Look for the next blog post in this series:

Part 2 of 3: “Bus Station? Dog Bar? What ever happened to Eagle Eye Cherry?” – Budapest | Prague | Berlin Travels

Where you can find me/how to contact me:

IG: wildlyplanted (check out photos)

YouTube: Wildly Planted ( I uploaded short video and photo reels)

Email: [email protected]

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grgop · 6 years

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Geneva, the French and the Međimurci

After months of residing in the darkness of inactivity here comes a fresh review of the recent trip to Switzerland. Those 3 days were without expectations and with plenty of spontaneous decisions that turned out...awesome. I even managed get my Master thesis done and sent to print hours before the trip thus not having to bring my laptop there and work at the airport. I would also use this chance to thank again our hosts for the wonderful time we spent there as well as for helping us with the stay in Geneve. Merci beaucoup...or whatever you write it. Now what was all this about, when, why and how...please start scrolling. The whole trip was planned a few months ago as one our best and closest Uni colleagues was going to get married. Since we were sitting next to each other since the day 1 of the University life (and were breaking the Erasmus Intership Exchange ice together writing the letters and creating our portfolios in the bars between the Uni lectures...) there was no way for me not to come there. Wait a bit more to see the wedding pics. The interesting story is that she had met her future husband during Erasmus internship in Paris while I was in Vienna (maybe I should apply again for the exchange?). One of the last things in life I imagined was ending up on a wedding in Switzerland and be surrounded with the French and the Međimurci. On the trip there and back again I was with a few colleagues whom we will refer to as “the Noone”. Let’s start with...

DAY 1: Travelling from Zagreb to Venice Marco Polo Airport. Getting lost in Venice. Evening arrival to Geneve

Just before our trip there were several problems that were kept in secret in order not to spread panic. Our return flight with EasyJet was cancelled due to French Airline’s strike and luckily I was online to check us in on the next one an hour later. Had we not had the second flight the same evening things would gotten nasty with the bus schedule and arriving home on Monday morning to hand in our binded Master’s thesises.

The second crisis emerged early in the morning around 3am when I realized:

a) I left the sunglasses at my barber’s desk the day earlier

b) I forgot the headphones on my desk!!

We travelled with Flixbus, direct line from Zagreb to Marco Polo Airport, at 7.30am and arrived a bit later than scheduled due to traffic problems on the Italian highway and a traffic mess at the bus station in Trieste (sorry Italians, it was another prejudice come true...).

We came to our destination around 2.30pm and had almost 5 hours free before the flight. And what should we do?

Go to Venice of course! For the price of 15 Euros you get the bus return ticket from the airport to Venice. My colleague was there for the first time and for me it was the 3rd. I honestly didn’t expect going there but ... was worth it. The plan was to drink coffee somewhere but we didn’t have time as...umm... I wanted to make a tour around and we got lost on our way back...just a bit. : -) In the end we managed to get in time back.

The overall impression of Venice?

Crowded, hot, stinky...few buildings and streets that impress you in the beginning and then you get bored and start counting nationalities and bricks in the walls. As well as the shades to hide in.

Just before the security check in I realized that I totally messed up with clothes and items in the travel bag...bringing unecessary stuff that took plenty of space. Never again listen to the others and just keep it simple. So I was forced to put my pants, part of ceremonial clothes etc. into the bags of my colleagues. :-D Just like Voldemort with the horcruxes.

Speaking of food and water supplies on your trips and specifically at the airports...there are two kinds of people in this world. Those who buy the bottled water in duty free shops... and those who drink and fill them in the restrooms (toilets). During my 3 days I only drank water from the restroom. Save money, save the nature.

Our flight was around 8pm and I spent most of it (one hour) sleeping dead tired. For those of you who’ve been following me from before you might remember I’ve already been to Switzerland but never in Geneve. (scroll down the blog for those posts).

Geneva airport? While going towards the exit you pass by numerous billboards of the Swiss watches...Rolex, Rolex, Rolex...and Rolex..and so on for the next 5 minutes. The good thing is that all the arriving guests have 80 minutes free public transport ticket so we went to the next stop (Geneve Cornavin). Our hostel (Geneve Hostel) was about 5-7 minutes by foot and close to the Geneva lake. Boys in one room, girls in another to avoid the potential problems. And unplanned weddings.

At the hostel we were also given free public transport ticket that was valid for the whole Saturday and Sunday which helped a lot. It included the train, the boats, the buses and the tram within Geneve. Since France was super close (cca 4 km) there was even a tram line leading there (about 30 minutes)...we heard you can have a cheaper lunch there and planned “to visit France” on Sunday but plans changed.

Before the sleep we searched around the hostel area for some cheap place to grab some food. Now, the word “cheap” in Switzerland is not as same as “cheap” here and the best for your psychological health is not to convert the currency. We found the Ali Kebab place right next to the hostel and ate Chicken Kebab with some salad and French fries for 17,5 Franks, a meal we split for two. This was relatively similar to some prices here so it was not that bad at all. I could have eaten though the whole plate again but my wallet couldn’t. No complaints anyway!

DAY 2: Morning tour around Geneve. Going to the ceremony. The wedding and the afterparty.

I’m a morning person and Saturday morning was no exception. Woke up early, took a shower, breakfast when there aren’t many people and already ready to go at 7.30am. I got the public transport and city landmarks map at the hostel staff and went to the lake with another early bird. Here are some impressions of the streets, people and cityscape.

Plenty of runners with bluetooth headphones, people walking with dogs, the cylists, expensive cars you see in James Bond movies, the specific architecture, plenty of hotels and banks, mostly clean sterile streets, the promenade and the boats. Pretty much international population and French language everywhere. And I don’t speak French except for few words but was interesting to be in an “alien” surroundings. The lake that is as huge as the sea yet fresh water. Ducks everywhere. What I loved was seeing the bike roads across the promenade and the streets of Geneve. More about it on Day 3. Speaking of traffic behaviour they all more or less stop when you approach the pedestrian zebra crossing and stop even 0,5 m before it if the red light turns on. On contrary, here you’d get run over even if you were sitting on your balcony.

We went back to pick up the third early bird and started our little tour around. There were several bridges in the center and you had a boat connection with other side of the lake. There is the huge wheel with cafes around the big bridge. One of the Geneve’s landmarks is the huge fountain which we reached later and had a free shower. One of the things that pleasantly surprised me was (as I had found out later) the artistic project “Happy City” where there were ca. 20 painted pianos placed around the city’s squares, parks, streets and bridges...where you do as it says “Play, I’m here for you”. So I did what they required you to do. Playing piano on Lake Geneva was another thing I never thought about ... but now I can say “new achievement unlocked”.

We walked a bit more to the inside of the other side up and down the streets, seen some churches and lots of interenational bars and restaurants. Expensive exotic cars again..and then decided it’s time to go back to hostel.

On our way back we checked out Lidl and took some emergency food to have just in case of unexpected hunger. This saved us on the next day. I also almost forgot that right now I can buy and drink Rivella.

Travelling to Gland and the Wedding.

We jumped into our suits and wedding clothes and went to the train station around 2pm. We had to arrive to Gland which is ca 20 minutes away from Geneve and there our fiancée’s family was going to pick us up and transport to the ceremony’s place. While there we got to know our French roommates and colleagues offiancé.

What I liked (and probably others) there weren’t many people as it usually is the case here. I won’t go into details here and throw emotions but here are some things. Close friends and family from both sides, that’s it. The ceremony took place at the fairy location called Le Moulin du Creux. Beautiful house with garden, creek and forest around located 100 meters from the road. Check the nice photos of it and you’ll get the idea.

We had two-three pastors, the French ones and the Croatian one. Since most of us didn’t speak nor understood French we had a translator. And it was funny because she was a Slovene translating into Serbian mostly. :)) Nevertheless, an interesting ceremony and a special moment for our now married couple!

What was also new was that after taking pictures and rushing to the tables with food and drinks we also had a game organized - seek and answer game. They hid around 30 photos around the area and we got the papers with questions in French and Croatian. For my team it was kind of a fail in the end. We were trying to learn a few useful French phrases such as J'ai soif which means “I’m thirsty” when sneaking around the table with served drinks.

The other games included a catapult and a cubic football. There was also a gigantic version of the Jenga Tower which was fun to play. We took and received as a memory the polaroid photo with our couple and later moved inside for the dinner and the rest of the show. We watched short movie clips that fiance’s family created about him and our friend. The only problem we had was that we didn’t understand anything as there were no subtitles. :-)

After few more games and meals it was time to go out on the field and light the lanterns. This was a cool thing and my first time to show up and do the thing actually, I think we all enjoyed it. I have no photos of it though but you can imagined what it looked liked having many of them flying up. Let’s hope non of them fell on the forest below. :-D

Soon followed afterparty with some dance music. Some people already had to part and leave. Finally, around 2am we also decided to leave as we didn’t want to miss our train back to Geneve. And of course we missed the first one by being 5 minutes late.

We came to the hostel around 4am and straight to bed.

DAY 3: Tour around Geneve one more time. Coffee & city bikes. Departure.

The final day is here. So far everything great! We made a deal to meet with friends from Nyon around 10.30h at the giant wheel in the center. Shower, breakfast and baggage packed and locked in the hostel. Ready to go.

We took the boat to the other side and soon met with our friends. We then wasted around an hour going to the “old center” only to find nothing interesting there. However, we saw more of the public pianos and parks. For the next half an hour we were on a quest to find a solid cafe to sit and talk about life.

We ended up below the giant wheel and had a tiny cup of coffee for 4 Franks. Naturally, we stayed for 2 hours sitting & chatting there to compensate the loss. I ran out of cash and asked the waiter where to go. After all, Geneva is the city of banks and I hadn’t seen a single ATM machine there. Before running for some cash we decided to visit the giant fountain. On our way there I stopped by the public piano which was now free of ambitious moms and their kids who just pressed random keys but had a cool photo. Actually, I was doing the same. It was funny to have the unusual audience around you.

Soon by the fountain. Time for a group photo!

Time flew by quickly and our friends had to find the bus station as they were leaving sooner than us. We went to the center in search of places to eat and after parting with them three of the original squad left. We had a few hours left before rushing to the train station and the airport. Having lunch in France? Visiting France by trams? Visiting France on bikes? Using city bikes to go around? We rushed to the nearst bike station and...all the bikes were gone. Second chance at the one across the bridge. We somehow were lazy to walk and wasted time on the boat. What happened there? Only two bikes left. I agreed to run to the other station as the rest follows me. But the guy working there couldn’t find the keys of the bike so we waster 10 minutes there filling the papers and waiting for him to come to common sense. The third and the last luck before giving up was using the tram to the Station No. 5 ... and...three bikes left, keys in the hands and off we go!

There is no better feeling than going around the new place by bike. Pure freedom and flexbility. We gave 20 Franks deposit and decided towards the north along the lake. Bike routes almost everywhere. Going between the streets was fun. No fear of the vehicles around us.

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We did cca 10 km in total in about more than hour stopping to take the pictues (the evidences). The idea was to go to France but by democracy 2:1 we gave up from that idea fearing something could go wrong and we get stuck in the middle of nowhere and miss the plane. So we returned the bikes close to our hostel, took the baggage and went to the train station. There we found a nice souvenir and chocolate shop....you can’t leave without one kitschy fridge magnet and a few Toblerones. We met the other Croats who were going back by plane to Venice and I again reorganized my bagge stuff into 2-3 bags of other people. The food from Lidl helped a bit. As well as the good old fresh water from the restroom. I slept again in the plane this time successfully hiding my cabin baggage under my seat as the plane was crowded and full of passangers because of the cancelled flight. New achievement unlocked. We had almost 3 hours to wait for the 2.15am Flixbus for Zagreb. Being dead hungry we checked the available offers at the backery there and found some snacks to survive till home. This time Flixbus didn’t have the second floor (on Friday we found the first row spots on the 2nd floor, the best view and the best way to get killed in an accident). But who cares, soon home! The route was shorter as we stopped only in Ljubljana...I woke up two times in total and the second on just at the Croatian border. The bus arrived precisely at 7.30am to Zagreb, to the most beautiful of the ugliest bus stations in the area. Finally, seeing “Mamiću cigane” grafitti around the station I can say “Welcome back home!”.

#geneva #switzerland #suisa #genf #geneve #venice #veneto #venezia #wedding #međimurje #međimurci

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chrysaliseuro2018 · 6 years

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BOSS OF THE BUS

As we were making our way down the west coast on our 5 day trip, Genevieve was investigating trips from Side to Capadocia in the centre of Turkey. Correspondence went back and forth about a €40-50 (about $75-80) 3 day trip. Comparing what we were paying for our 5 days this was so cheap I feared we would be camping. But no this was the price. Of course the sting came a bit later.

So we were up for it and the 4 of us booked to start the tour on 12th June with pick up time 6.45am. Antique Side is closed to cars other than those of residents so the tour bus couldn’t come down the hill to collect all our luggage. Booking ‘agents’ advised the town electric cart would collect us but alas no. Meanwhile Chris was in negotiations with the police manning the gate but it was a firm No. With minutes ticking by Doug quickly got Penny’s car, luggage was loaded into that and driven to the bus.

Now about 30 minutes had elapsed so understandably got some stink-eye from the passengers who’d been kept waiting.

The bus was designed for 12 passengers but fitted out for 17 so it was a close and intimate affair. In the front 2 seats were Doug and Gene who it has to be said got lucky with some extra leg room. Behind them 2 elderly Danes who grabbed a bottle of wine and or beers at every possible opportunity. Behind the Danes were 10 year old Russian lad with his mousy mute mother. Then Chris and me wedged in (Russian lad had his seat reclined the entire 2 days), and behind us the very friendly and chatty Aunty Margaret and Tina from Essex. Along the back were sweet young newly weds Soyah & Maurice from Holland, a spare seat, then Holly, Tina’s stepsister who judging by her size would have been grateful for the spare seat. Could have knocked us over with a feather when she told us she had been to the 7 continents by age 24, had emigrated to Melbourne several years ago (lives in Chelsea)and works as a sound engineer. You just wouldn’t have picked it!

Then heading back along the bus in single seats was a surly young lad who turned out to be part of the tour operation, a woman of unknown origins who disappeared after day 1, then Mr Russia who seemed to have supplanted both his wife’s and his son’s ego into his own.

Bus driver slipped under the radar but the same can’t be said for the guide Nahjo. In fact it was a battle of egos between Nahjo and Mr Russia. He didn’t just like the sound of his own voice. He was addicted to it! Along the way amongst other chit chat and information we got his life story, some group marriage guidance, how small lies can be forgiven and how this works in a religious context too. Every monologue went for a minimum of 10 minutes and woe betide you should you chat amongst yourselves during one of his diatribes. In the gaps the gregarious, party-loving-club-going-40-something Tina would try to share with me her life history. Nahjo seemed to get wind of it and standing facing the back of the bus would either clear his throat or announce it was his turn. Chris and I were left thinking our polite and humble Gallipoli guide must have been absent for the Tour Guide Arrogance 101 unit of the qualification.

So we were off and despite the late get away we stopped not 20 minutes down the road for a tea/ coffee break, followed by a breakfast stop 40 minutes later at a petrol station/ roadside stop. (It has to be noted that Cappadocia is some 470 kilometres from Side so it was going to be long day if the stops came so frequently). Breakfast option 1 was a vast modern complex selling everything you don’t want to eat. Gene who has an eye for local food spotted hidden in a corner behind some trees an outfit selling gözleme so we headed there. Great decision. Shoes off and into the tent where the local lady sat crossed leg with her dough, tubs of filling and the black dome for cooking the gözleme. Spinach and cheese one was a bit dry but the potato one was outstanding.

All wedged ourselves back in the bus which climbed up the mountains through some magical scenery. Unfortunately Nahjo kept reassuring us on the wrong side of the bus that we would see it ‘on the back journey’. However our arrangements meant we weren’t doing ‘the back journey’ so at one particular stop he was a little annoyed when we headed off 200 metres down the road to photograph the nomads herding their goats. I suggested it would be better for all if the bus pulled over so we could all see anything of interest on the way to Cappadocia. Suggestion was not welcomed.

Another stop for coffee and the sting of the extra €’s. It had to happen of course. You can’t run a tour for €50 per person providing transport, 2 nights accommodation no matter how basic, 2 dinners and two breakfasts. So lunch which we though was fend for oneself turned out to be a set payment (we only paid for one and opted to take our chances on day 2), and extra for Whirling dervishes, museums (charge €25/ $39.20 versus ticket face value less than $9) etc totalling an extra €120 between us. Even taking that into consideration €220/$350 for both of us was pretty cheap and the overcharging on extras balanced the undercharging on initial outlay.

Next stop, lost count if it was 4 or 5, was at the Mevlâna museum Konya, the birth place of the Sufi religion and Dervishes. The site is a holy place for Muslims with over 1.5 million visiting it yearly. The Mosque contains the tomb of Rumi (unfortunately hidden due to renovations) later known as Mevlâna who devised the idea of whirling and the tombs of other eminent dervishes. Also on display were Mervlana’s coat, a box apparently containing his beard and any number of exquisitely decorated Qurans, one so tiny that the author went blind writing it.

Alongside the Mosque was a complex giving information about the dervish culture. Included was a lodge displaying mannequins dressed as they would have been in Mevlâna’s day and the dervish cells displaying various items. I for one would have enjoyed more than our tightly scheduled allotted time there. But we were rounded up like errant school children and headed back for the bus. Chris managed to ruffle Nahjo’s feathers by needing a toilet stop when we were warned the next section of the drive would be 2.5 hours. By this stage as it was 1pm we were wondering about the elusive lunch if the drive was for 2.5 hours. There was some grumbling from Tina and Aunty Margaret and it wasn’t from their stomachs.

Eventually we rolled into another vile modern roadside stop - our lunch venue. Behind the counter were some aggrieved (probably because of the lateness of the hour) gorillas of men slopping out an assortment of runny casseroles, reluctant to identify any ingredients. It tasted as bad as it looked. We were immediately pleased with the earlier decision not to commit to day two lunch.

A short drive and then time for another stop. This time it was to visit a preserved home dug under ground, a primitive more simple Coober Pedy affair. Apparently tunnel complexes formed entire cities but this was a small example taking only 10 minutes for everyone to get through. I opted out and instead waited near the entrance/ exit where a dozen or so middle aged women had set up a market. Trouble was they were all selling the same little local cloth dolls so competition to get any one walking by was frenetic. Females in particular were the target for the spruiking with a good natured but frantic cacophony of calls of “Mother, Mother”. The closer anyone ventured to the stall the louder the screeching got. I hope everyone managed to sell something but with another 5 weeks on the road, it wasn’t something I could buy.

Everyone back on the bus and off to Dervish show scheduled to start at 6pm. Clearly we were up against it as the previously cautious bus drive planted his foot. Arrived shortly after 6pm with another bus arriving after us. Having been so enchanted with the beautiful ceremony we saw at Hodjapasha in Istanbul Chris and I we were looking forward to a similar experience. Dougal and Gene had never seen them and had their expectations built up by us.

Oh dear!!! The pipe/flute player struggled to find a note, the dervishes all looked like novices (part time uni job perhaps), they wore slippers that made a noise that was distracting, one was losing his pants, also very distracting. There was a non dancing head honcho roaming around amongst them dressed in black once again distracting, they didn’t vary their speed and were for the best part out of sync. Yes they could spin but it lacked all the beauty, rhythm and charm of our previous experience. We left feeling glad to have seen a more authentic experience and Doug and Gene left feeling they were yet to see one.

Short drive to our delightfully self rated ‘Special Class’ hotel in Göreme, rooms allocated and orders that we had 15 minutes to get to dinner. Dinner a simple affair with lentil soup, the not-so-traditional-Turkish chicken schnitzel and melon. Danish couple of course knocked off another bottle of wine.

Gene, Chris and I headed for a stroll to town wandering through the streets. Highlight was at a hotel where I poked my head in and elderly Mehmet the owner insisted we come and look at his accommodation. Beautiful rooms that were huge with the bathrooms built into the rock giving a sense of a modern and upmarket Flinstone bathroom. With Mehmet’s limited English we spent a special half hour in the hotel’s courtyard trying and making a reasonable hash of having a meaningful conversation.

A long day and time for to return to our ‘Special Class’ Hotel Karl for bed, especially for Gene with a 4.30 am start for her hot air balloon flight over Cappadocia.

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chaletnz · 6 years

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Bike Trip & Full Moon Party

Olga woke up early for a walk and I followed shortly after having slept for about 12 hours to make up for the exhaustion from the trip to Ko Pha Ngan. I showered and waited for Olga to return, then we went together for some breakfast at the Two Rocks Cafe. I was craving pancakes and Olga went with the sensible continental breakfast. When my pancake arrived it was more of a fat crepe - fat because it was stuffed with chunks of banana. It didn't look at all like the photo! Olga's coffee wasn't hot enough and when she tried to add milk it didn't really dissolve properly so each meal had its ups and downs. Ups both being of course the price of 150 baht! Mine also included a large iced coffee served in a pitcher with a straw and whipped cream. We packed up our day bags and began our search for a rental scooter, the first place wanted our passport as deposit and the guy working there didn't speak English so we walked on to find another one. In the second place the woman also asked for a passport but she told us that everybody renting a bike needs to leave it and she also explained to us how to ride and fill the bikes so we felt comfortable renting from her. She also gave us a rental for 200 baht per day which was lower than the standard 250 baht/day rate as advertised everywhere else. We took a little 125 scooter and pushed it next door to the petrol station for a refill. It cost just 100 baht to fill the tank completely from empty! I did a few practice rides in the station, seeing how hard the turning was going to be (quite difficult) and how effective the brakes were (a bit shit) then Olga hopped on the back and we set off onto the main road. We rode a long way before the roads were simply getting too steep and dangerous that we checked the map and realised we were riding towards Haad Rin which all of our guidebooks warned against as inexperienced riders. We turned around and then went in search of the first waterfall on Olga's list but instead ended up following the signs to the waterfall party. After leaving the bike inside the entrance we walked inside to explore and found the bones of a party venue not yet ready for the party animals. The stage and bar were empty, large puddles of water dirtied the dancefloor. We found a small waterfall but a couple were already swimming there and came closer to us to block the entrance and intimidate us into leaving. Olga and I dunked ourselves and then wandered back to the bike where a dog was hanging around just a little too closely. We yelled out for the owners to come and take the dog and then he quickly ran back home while we sped off back onto the road. Next I tried to navigate Thong Sala which didn't work so well... I ended up at a dead end but Olga got to have a turn riding the bike and seeing how hard it was to steer so it wasn't all bad! I tried to follow the flow of traffic and ended up turning off a street too early so we had a look at some shops along the way, we picked up some Full Moon Party tshirts and Olga got some shorts with the elephants for a good discount. I bought us some large water bottles from the 7/11 for the trip too but annoyingly they didn't fit under the bike seat with my bag. Eventually we made it to the right road and were soon on our way north! We pulled over when we saw a nice beach and decided to check it out, and lucky we did because it turned out to be a really cool empty beach with the Freeway bar pumping tunes out for everyone to enjoy! We left our bags in the sand taking just our valuables and wading through the shallow waters to reach a giant sandy spot full of crabs. We relaxed here for a while and then needed to move along so back on the bike it was! We rode into the next town that had a street full of restaurants so that we could park up and go for a walk and choose a place for our late lunch. Along the way Olga bought herself a fresh coconut and then we ended up choosing a restaurant connected to the family home where they presumably did a lot of the preparation. Olga ordered the sweet and sour vegetables with cashew nuts and rice and I went for a Thai green curry with rice. It wasn't very green or curry-like when it arrived but we ate everything up anyway and then I went on a bathroom adventure. A little girl directed me into the house and banged down the toilet door until mum opened it and then let me inside. She glanced at my feet and shrugged and I learned why as soon as I saw the inch of water covering the entire floor. I took off my socks and proceeded with caution, arriving with questions and only leaving with more when I saw the hand basin and couldn't help but wonder - why do they have ten empty bottles of hand soap all chucked in the basin and yet there's not a full one to wash my hands? It was getting towards late afternoon and we needed to get back and get ready for the Full Moon Party but of course this was easier said than done! I was getting stressed out about turning right so I found a path with three lefts instead. I missed the last turn and we drove on into the middle of nowhere but when we looked at our map we saw that we were actually very close to the Phaeng Waterfall so we continued our journey for a little bit longer to see it. We arrived and parked, hurrying towards the steps leading us up into the forest. We missed the sign saying 20 baht for parking, but we did see (and disregard) the sign saying they closed at 4.30pm. Olga led us upwards, climbing quickly and getting us both into a sweat. Our goal was to reach the waterfall, or the viewpoint for sunset but we had climbed up just 200m before we were panting and sweating and found a sign splitting the paths at 300m more for each. Deciding quickly, we raced to the waterfall amid a loud high pitched squealing noise which I assume was the signal to say darkness is approaching. After 200m we had reached a small water hole in the rock and knew we needed to cool off with a quick swim! We splashed around for a bit then tried again to climb for the waterfall but we encountered several other travellers heading back who said it was too far and too difficult to reach and return before dark so we turned back here behind them. Somehow I drove us back and it still wasn't dark when we arrived at the hotel, but it was now so busy on the road with all of the songthaews running tourists to Haad Rin for the start of the Full Moon Party. Olga and I both showered and got changed into our nice clean outfits, then bought some Breezers from the Family Mart and sat on a swing in a nice resort to drink them. We met some Czech ladies on the road as we flagged down our songthaew to the party. There were two Belgian guys already inside getting very excited, fist pumping to the music, and chatting to everyone. I observed with interest how the Czech ladies said proudly that they were Eastern European, however I'd always known Czechs to be firmly Central European.. The ride was long and windy and the music was very "same same", but soon we arrived and the force of the Full Moon Party hit us immediately. Neon paint and lights everywhere, everyone wearing these cheap tshirts in all the shops, stalls set up on the road with street food and the famous cocktail buckets. We bought a Malibu pineapple bucket for 200 baht to get our night started knowing they'd be more expensive inside the main entrance. A security guard stopped us and sent us to buy a wristband each which was only 100 baht and then we headed straight onto the beach to check out the festivities. There were skipping ropes on fire that caught our attention so we stood and watched everyone trying their skill for a while. We walked slowly down the sand to experience all the different kinds of music and stopped a few more times to look at the decorations, skipping ropes and fire limbo. We sat down to rest our weary legs after the long day and ended up meeting a cluster of Australians with a Swiss guy. They were very friendly and we chatted with them until it was time for us to buy another bucket; this time we took a mojito, delicately mixed in a plastic bucket for our drinking pleasure. We sidestepped into a Spanish club accidentally when we heard Despacito and felt like dancing, but were a bit out of place when we noticed everyone else singing along without hesitation. We took some time in each of the other sections to sample the music and when we needed to rest it was time to get our Songthaew back home. The road was really sickening on the way back and the buildings were flashing by so fast that I surprised even myself when I was suddenly knocking on the window to get the drivers attention to stop the car so we could hop off. With just enough energy left to put ourselves to bed we were out like two little lights soon after.

#Thailand #Ko Pha Ngan

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monkeystrokes8 · 4 years

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FIRST SET.

Bill spotted Charlene coming into the bar as the drummer-of-the-week put a shimmer on the high-hat for an overdramatic finish to “I Still Miss Someone,” meant to tug heartstrings but making Bill laugh. Probably because they were only five songs into the set and he’d already downed half an Old Style and three fingers of tequila and Charlene was especially dolled up in a velvet-curtain red jumpsuit, white fringe spilling off her shoulders like carwash drying strips.

It was a worrisome moment too. Like the song said, there was a real good chance he’d "never get over those blue eyes."

The crawl of circling dancers quickened as Del hit the opening notes of “Fox on the Run.” Coca-cola cowboys in white straw Stetsons two-stepping with Mary Kay consultants flirting with hippie college kids shuffling around with unstoppable geriatrics. The Broken Axle was the most confounding joint Bill ever played, a broke-down country-western roadhouse smack dab in the middle of an R&B mecca. The Sunday afternoon gig was a three-hour affair, a last hurrah before the tragedy of Monday morning, with time to sleep most it off.

Charlene blew Del a kiss and settled into her regular booth with the books. From the angle of his piano bench, Bill could steal as many looks her way as he could handle. A blessing and a curse.

Bill never intended to fall for the May pinup girl recently hitched to December’s falling Nashville star taking one final bow as proprietor and house-band leader of a honky-tonk Memphis bar. But after just a few weeks playing this gig, Charlene was in Bill's head but good. Anyway,it wasn’t all his fault. She kinda started it.

In about an hour, Del would call his young wife to the stage for a George-Tammy or Porter-Dolly or Conway-Loretta number to end the second set. As mismatched as their ages, they made a classic country duo, and true to stereotype of young women knocking boots with yesterday’s headliners, Charlene’s eye seemed to wander. Last week, leaning into the mic for harmony on "Golden Rings” she glanced past her husband’s neck to give the new kid on keys a salacious wink that would make Tanya Tucker blush.

Del Hopkins and the Railroad Spikes was once the hot ticket; Saturday nights at the Ryman, flame-job customized tour bus, 8x10 taped to the front window at Ernie’s Record Shop. The reason Bill took this gig. A resume including a stintwith the man who co-wrote “Double Eagles on a Single Bed” opened doors.

He was just setting out. He'd heard the horror stories coming out of Nashville. The Broken Axle on Sunday afternoon was the place for an ivory-tickler with a quarter in his pocket and a shirt on his back. Riding a legend’s coattails in a town where he could afford rent.

At the casual audition, after running through Del’s mandatories (Ray Price, Charlie Rich and other piano-centric standards) on the bar’s banged-up but surprisingly bright tack piano, Del offered him a trial run that Sunday, “That is, if you think you can keep up.”

Del wasn’t talking about music. “Sunday's a party here,” he said. “We play it loose, have a big time, and the crowd follows suit. A day of hoots, hollers, longnecks and picklebacks. And I expect the band to lead the charge."

That was the deal. You had to drink like a steam locomotive and still stay in key. According to Del, it didn’t get tricky until halfway through the second set, when the boozin’ picked up speed like the Orange Blossom Special.

“Only trouble we ever had was a drummer who went squirrely and turned into Neil Peart after a couple shots. But our last piano player handled it fine. May he rest in peace.” Del raised his bottle.

It was a smart business model. Del would mumble something into the mic about being thirsty, or hair of the dog. Fans jumped to buy the band shots. Del would lift his glass. “Bless your hearts, you sweet things,” “Thankee kindly to the good folks at Table 5”, etcetera, then roar the Hee Haw catchphrase, “Sa-lute!” The crowd would howl like a pack of hounds picking up a scent and head to the bar for shots of their own. Then Del would do the Ole Possum hiccup and cheek-pop from "White Lightnin’." The crowd drank it up.

And therein lay the rub. Bill didn’t drink hard liquor. Gave him the spins. A couple beers, fine, but liquor was not his friend. Never had been.

The first time the pigtailed barmaid showed up with a trayful, Bill tried to slyly dump his shot into the cuff of his Wranglers. The crowd bellowed and Del cracked wise about how he thought Carolina hillbillies were wet-nursed from a still.

From then on, Bill did his best. The band was harmless enough: a doughy family man with a penchant for thrift-store ties on stand-up; wispy-haired guy with a scrunched-up face on fiddle; and drummer-of-the-week, so far a runaway teenager, a poker-faced Lurch and a grizzled hipster looking like he just woke up. Whoever felt like sitting in. Del handled vocals and guitar, white pompadour piled ridiculously high, Sun Session tee with rolled-up sleeves, silver-dollar-studded Telecaster on his knee.

The problem was Charlene. When Cupid runs out of arrows, he calls his pal, Inebriation, the cherub with the cocktail shaker of Love Potion #9. Bill pried his eyes from the curvaceous cowgirl, pushed the soft crush of velvet out of his head, and concentrated on the 88s.

Del hit the closing licks of “Mama Tried” and the band broke for smokes and leaks.

Charlene was waiting at the edge of the stage with a chopped-pork sandwich on a paper plate. “You hungry, sugar?”

Bill hesitated. Was it proper to accept a BBQ sandwich from another man's wife you’ve pictured wearing nothing but a smile?

“Oh. Hey. Thanks.”

Before he could take the plate, Charlene walked it to her booth. “C’mon over here, baby. Let's get to know each other a little.”

She slid into the banquette. Red velvet on red vinyl, a devil's playground. Bill took a nervous glance around, then looked at the sandwich, determined not to make eye contact.

He’d seen sandwiches coming out of the closet-sized kitchen slopped together by the cook who also maintained the ancient building's plumbing and electric. This one was made with TLC, the perfect balance of sauce and slaw, hickory-smoked hunks tucked neatly in a warm bun. Had she made it herself?

“So you just moved from Carolina, huh? All by your lonesome?”

The word “lonesome” struck a chord. A sour one.

He was alone in a small apartment in a greasy-grit-gravy town. It wasn’t just sex he was missing. He was looking for a friend, too.

Bill squirmed. Del was nowhere in sight, but with the whole bar stealing looks in their direction, he felt more on stage than when on stage. He nodded yes and took a bite.

And then, goddammit, he looked in her eyes. A pale-blue invitation to go skinny-dipping.

The eyes on the back of Carly Simon’s first album. Eyes he’d been in love with since rummaging his father’s record collection at age six.

And Carly’s lips. Charlene had those, too.

Bill didn’t put all his love marbles on looks, but he believed in physiognomy. Granddaddy was the spitting image Jimmy Stewart, and by god, they were the same stand-up guy,cracking knuckles and folksy truths.

And here, glowing like a heat lamp over a BBQ sandwich, was the face of his dream girl. He couldn’t help but think--just like Carly sang it--loving her would be “the right thing to do.”

“Well you won’t be flying solo for long, I’m sure of that. Cutie pie like you is gonna get scooped up lickety-split in this town.

Bill was hoping his infatuation would cool. Now she was calling him “Cutie pie.” Worst of all, Del was a decent guy.

An impatient snare drum counted down. The band was back. Bill looked from the raised eyebrows of Del to Charlene to his half-eaten sandwich.

Charlene gave his arm a pat. “I’ll wrap it for you.”

There was a shot waiting on the piano.

SECOND SET.

“You’re leaving us hanging, boy,” Del twanged. “Much obliged to the lovely fillies who drove all the way from Knoxville. Sa-lute!”

Tequila. Bill swallowed his gag reflex as the band kicked into “Only Daddy That’ll Walk the Line.”

The dance floor filled, promenade line colliding like state-fair bumper cars.Del took a request that Bill had to fake his way through. Thankfully, Charlene would be up soon with her usual song list.

Only she wouldn’t. The music stopped, and Del reached for the tallboy tucked into an overturned toilet plunger clamped to his mic stand. Charlene gave a playful finger snap and he dug out keys and jangled them,teasing her, then handed them over.

“You know I love my wife,” Del told the crowd, “when I let her drive the Caddy.” Del drove a 1966 red convertible. “But we’ve got important people flying in from Nashville today, and they get the best. Y'all are just gonna have to put up with us ugly plugs until she gets back.” Charlene blew another kiss and waved goodbye to the bar. There was a chorus of comic disappointment, followed by opening licks of “Kiss an Angel Good Morning.”

Important people from Nashville. That explained Charlene’s get-up. Del had lots of old pals from his salad days in the biz. Bill fantasized some big-buckled scout discovering the fresh talent on keys. “Son, I'm gonna make you a star.”

The band was two verses into “Streets of Bakersfield" when a procession of rowdy bikers in cheap leather vests plowed though the front door. Sunday cruisers, bellying to the bar slapping clumsy high fives. By the sound of it, this wasn’t their first stop.

Del didn’t seem to notice.

Pigtails was back at the stage with another trayful. Bill suddenly didn’t feel so hot. Del raised a glass. “This one goes out to the cowpunchers at Table 8,

May you never lose a stirrup, May you never waste a loop; May your can stay full of syrup, And your gizzard full of whoop!

Sa-lute!

The fiddle player screeched into “Orange Blossom Special.”

Holy hell. Bill was smashed.

The bar roared with drunken thunder as the Special picked up speed, chug-a-chugging through the pass like a runaway train, pistons clanking, smoke belching, letting off steam, as the fiddler tried to saw his instrument in half. Woot woot!

Del was grinning wide, the bell of the antique register clanging away like the Old 97. As the train pulled mercifully into the station with a final scratch of the fiddle, Del made a slashing sign across his throat. Break time.

“Play some Johnny Paycheck!” One of the bikers.

Del held up a palm. “The boys and I are getting pretty tuckered up here, gonna take a pause for the cause and be right back for the last set.”

The bikers weren’t having it. “Paycheck!”

Bill knew from experience. Always keep an eye on yahoos yelling "Paycheck!" These guys were assholes.

Del remained composed. “You fellas cool it. Don’t start no shit there won’t be no shit.” He took a swill of beer. “Back in ten. Play nice, everybody.”

Bill stood up, his head spinning. He bolted out the fire exit for some fresh air. And possibly a place to puke.

Charlene was back, leaning against the Caddy, now wearing a denim jacket, daintily puffing a cigarette (she smokes?) talking to an older gent in a rumpled suit and woman in a flowered dress that reminded him of his mother. VIPs? Whoever they were, they’d seen flashier days. Nonetheless, Del seemed overjoyed to see them, bounding over with enthusiastic handshakes and kisses. “C’mon in, we’ve saved you the best table in the house!” Charlene waved them away, lingering to finish her smoke.

The bikers came ‘round the corner. Bill smelled reefer. "Hey-hey mama say the way you move, gonna make sweat gonna make you groove," one sang with hackle-raising lechery.

Within seconds, Charlene was surrounded by the saddlefat gang of wanna-be toughs, like a fat farm production of West Side Story.One darted forward as if to touch her ass, then pulled away, a show-off kid putting his hand over a fire.

The tequila did the talking. “Piss off, dick lips,” Bill said.

Five heads twisted. “Excuse me, douchebag?" said a gray flattop.

“You heard me fuckface.” Bill balled a fist, then remembered the piano player’s credo. Protect the hands at all costs. He was praying for a crowbar to magically appear when a bald guy the size of a gas pump cold-cocked him in the nose. Lights out.

THIRD SET.

He woke surrounded by cases of beer and canned tomatoes. Charlene was dabbing his bleeding nose with a bar towel.

“There you are. Big man without a plan. How you feelin’, honey?”

Bill adjusted his makeshift pillow, a restaurant-sized pack of corn tortillas. “Okay, I guess. Stupid, but okay.”

“Ain’t nothing more heroic than a man who can’t fight jumping into one. Specially defending a damsel in distress.”

The glorious lips descended onto his, her face backlit by the storeroom fluorescents. Bill allowed himself two seconds of heaven, make that ten, okay screw it, a full stanza, before turning away.

He was about to sputter this ain’t right or some such nonsense when Charlene entered the storeroom. Bill blinked. He was either hallucinatory drunk or suffering one mighty concussion. Seeing double. Two Charlenes looked down at him.

“I see you two are getting along just like I thought you would.” Charlene looked at Charlene. “Give the guy a chance to wake up, Carla. Otherwise you’re taking advantage.”

“He’s as cute as you said, Charlene. Sweet, too. You know what I like alright.”

“Twins know.”

“Indeed we do.” Carla stroked Bill’s hair, laying the damp towel on his forehead. “Everything good out there?”

“Fine and dandy. Del and a couple cowboys ran them a-holes off, they was scooting anyway thanks to Prince Valiant here. Worried about getting sued or whatever BarcaLounger bikers worry about."

“Mom and Dad good?”

“Yep, already having a time. Dad’s eating peaches and peanut butter, and Mom just bought a round. She wants to know if you’re okay.” Charlene shifted her gaze to Bill. “Del says take the rest of the day off, and I’m gonna dedicate 'Fist City’ to you for sticking up for my Sis."

Charlene turned to leave, stopping at the switch by the door. “You two coming out, or should I turn the lights off?”

Bill grinned, still goofy. He play-slapped Carla on the thigh. “Go have a shot with your folks, I’ll be out in a few.”

“Baby, that’s the one thing that separates me from my sister,” Carla cooed. “I can’t drink worth a damn.”

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