#god fried potatoes sound glorious

[boyfeminism]

i am so hungry someone is cooking n im just mmmmm food

[anendlessdawnfalling]

⭐ Berry Berry Benny!! ⭐

Here is my late review and opinion of Kurenai Yuzuru's last dinner show in August. I had a hard time to assimilate everything that happened these last months, beware of it's length and I hope you love Hoshigumi. Good reading! 💖 I'm sorry if it comes up to you completely, I don't know how the tumblr editing works. 😰 (I'm not sure the songs listing is entirely accurate.)

It was an emotional evening I must say, I deeply love Kurenai Yuzuru and it was overwhelming. I must admit that I'm not entirely sure of the rightness of my timeline, since quite some time passed. I attended the event in Osaka on shonichi, and everyone was very nervous including myself. The dinner show was held at the International Hankyu Hotel with approximately 500 attendees. The ladies at my table were very lovely, we chatted a bit and of course the easiest subject to talk about was Kurenai Yuzuru! Beni's parents were also in the audience closer to the stage.

🥂 DINNER 🥂

The dinner itself was very nice, and was a four course meal inspired by French cuisine. The Menu was written in French and Japanese, a very cute touch. Most of the sentences made sens, but there's still some work to be done, my proposition is that Hankyu should stop using Google translate and hire me instead. As hilarious as it is, we wouldn't want another "Nouvelle / Chinois " to happen.

Dinner was served in that order; Hors d'oeuvres was raw Bream with veggies and carpaccio. L'Entrée was a piece of lightly fried tilefish with a celery and chestnuts buttery sauce. Oddly the taste remembered me of my mother's cuisine, so it's good. The main course was red meat topped with mushrooms and a light sauce, it was accompanied by asparagus, cabbage and potatoes. My only concern was the bread they served with it, if you ate Japanese bread before you might know what I'm talking about. I highly despise the baguettes there because it tastes like cheap Subway bread, that was my very Taurus rant. Finally, the dessert was a red Opéra cake decorated with a Kurenai 5 colored coulis, fruits and a star chocolate. It was ADORABLE.

For the drinks, there was a wide variety offered, one of my favorite was the Asahi 紅 beer. The servers kept generously filling my wine glass, which I can't complain about. I preferred being a little bit tipsy because I didn't know how it was going to go.

🌌 SET 🌌

The stage was a very shiny deep blue tone and was adorned with some glossy columns. A very galaxy note! (Or metaphor because Beni's the God of Stars) The room was giant and pretty cozy at the same time, maybe I'm highly biased because I love Hoshigumi fans aura. The last time I was in a room that luxurious was for a wedding, which Takarazuka events always remember me of, weddings. One could say that, I'm easily impressed by gigantic crystals chandeliers and very elegant tables settings.

There were two rows of chairs at the back of the room, and just before the show started a few Hoshigumi seito sneaked there before it went dark. After a quick glance I remember seeing Arisa Hitomi, Asamizu Ryou and Amaki Homare. There were many more of them that I didn't manage to get a good glance at.

✨ SHOW ✨

As the room went dark and the lights started to flashes toward the stage, the audience deeply anticipated Kurenai's arrival. I started to envy the others closer to the stage, that would have a better view and I regretted to not have brought my opera glasses with me. However she didn't appear right away, and took quite some time to make the audience more excited. Guess what? She bursted of the door right behind me in a beautiful red suit, startling everyone while running and singing. I almost had an heart attack and didn't regret petty things anymore. Thus began Berry Berry BENNY!!

The "supporting" cast was composed of Tenju Mitsuki, Kisaragi Ren, Kizaki Reo and Shirotae Natsu. Everyone jumped out of the stage as Sayumi made her arrival and the first song was Berry Berry Benny. Which by that point my table mates and I were quite shaken by everything that happened. Truly only Beni can pull something like that over and over again and still surprise me. ( Throwback to Stella Rossa) After the song, the cast proceeded to introduce themselves and chit chat a bit. Kurenai asked if they were in Tokyo, Mikki corrected her and she kept laughing. (She NEEDS vacations.)

The second song was Ai no rengoku from Anna Karenina, performed by Beni alone. A very dramatic start I must say, Mr.Karenin left a deep impression on her. Her interpretation was very venurable, and truly delightful if you love her non comical side.

Special talk segment 1: Two chairs were set up for Sayumi and a guest plus a life sized shiny cardboard of Beni. However it was not the regular Kurenai Yuzuru who came on stage, but Beniko in one of the most horrible costumes I've seen on her. Renta was the first guest of the Beniko show, they spoke teasingly of other Hoshigumi seito about how everyone was crying so hard on raku. Both of them were diabolically laughing. As the time went out, the Kurenai cardboard would illuminate and menacing threats would come on. Naachan interview was sweeter and shorter than Renta, she admitted that she cried on raku unlike someone else. Beniko, Renta and Naachan proceeded to sing Raimei. I wasn't ready for the absurdity of the situation, and I must admit I haven't laugh that hard in so many years.

To leave time for Beni to quick change costume, Ren and Natsu sang Yume Butai [ À bientôt ]. Their voice sounded really great as a duet! ♡ I was especially excited for this because it meant Renta had an extra special moment before her retirement. Nacchan and her are really positive people and you can feel this vibe as they perform. Furthermore, an upperclassmen musumeyaku is a delight to see highlighted.

Beni-chan no usomitaina honto no hanashi: A magical story of Beni's life. She narrates/sing the whole thing with highlights of her life and her love for Takarazuka. From what I remember; Mikki was child Beni, Renta as the creepy Butler from Meichan, Natsu as what I suppose was Beniko and Reo was André. (I might be mistaken, I'll correct it if that's the case. I have a goldfish memory.) Cute anecdote: Her dream was to be André in the RoV shinko, but she was appointed as the Grand Chamberlain and was very sad about it. They also made passive-aggressive jokes about Koike sensei, it made me crack.

LUCKY STAR ! Or a cute reminder of where she started, I was very happy she included that song and I felt like a mother hen. It was a nice transition with her earlier storytime, it's joyful, energetic and very her. ♡ She gave us a very explosive and all over the place performance.

Surprise drum rolls, what you wanted to know for so long and the answer is YES. The glorious Kurenai 5 made the comeback we were all waiting for, or more so the Kurenai 3. Beni, Renta and Mikki were in their old matching T-shirt and nostalgia hit me hard. I almost missed the mullet Beni used to have. Then entered the missing members life sized cardboard, both Reo and Naachan made their respective member dance through the song. No one was expecting this, the whole room was filled with laughter. They then talked about the origins of Kurenai 5 and what fun experiences they had in the past. They pointed out that the band would officially not work anymore, as it would be just 1. Beni proceeded to tease Mikki quite a lot. Both Ichijou Azusa and Miya Rurika had recorded a message for their dear leader, in which Beni was delighted to hear. Renta and Mikki then proceeded to slam their microphone to the cardboards during the intervention. It was hilarious! Both Miyaruri and Shiiran were at the raku in Tokyo, so if the DVD is that recording we'll have the delight to physically see them. Sayumi thought Shiiran sounded very ladylike and that Miya sounded very sleepy, like she should go to sleep.

Your favorite song by Benny was a segment where she proposed us three different songs that she could sing for us. After the vote she discarded the audience opinion and did the one she wanted, Smile from Meichan's Butler. (Very her to do that) Unlike the other times she walked through the audience as she sang, and I started to get nervous again when she headed toward the back of the room. She was taking the time to look at everyone very carefully and lovingly. Then she was in front of me and the world fell down. It was THE BEST two seconds of my entire life. I was very much horrendously blushing , but hey Kurenai Yuzuru and I shared a glance while she sang the creepy Butler song? Very shoujo like situation, a part of me fell in love with her all over again. Otokoyaku are very convincing at their job, they don't need to do much to amaze me.

Special talk segment 2 with Mikki and Reo.

Beniko came back with an even more horrendous outfit than the first one; another awful red gown orned with lines of gold and silver sequins. Oversized trumpet sleeves with feathers on the end, a wig worthy of a Ghibli old witch and topped with numerous fans of herself.

Mikki's interview was the longest, and the one to which Beni's cardboard was the most aggressive. Both her and Reo talked about the whole taidan situation, the troupe loves so much BeniAiri. They're as emotional if not more than fans about this. Mikki and Reo came back on stage and joined Beniko to sing Killer Rouge. Another absurd situation, where Beni's gaze was her cool otokoyaku look but she was dressed similar to the old ladies she always mocks about.

Hoshi wo tsugumono was MikkiReo's duet. What a very dangerous duo they make, both their voices are pretty warm and l had a few butterflies in my stomach. I'm sorry for betraying you Sayumi!

Random selection ;

I believe it's a free for all section and that must choose a song according to their mood. That night the ensemble sang Om Shanti Om as Sayumi went off stage to get a quick change. Boi do Hoshigumi loves that production, their enthusiasm really shows while singing this particular song. They went through the public and did a few handtouch. Renta stole the fan of an audience member right in front of me and decided to refresh herself with it. Reo was having her usual bright sunshine energy, Mikki was being an Ikkemen far away from me competing with Natsu. The bright wave of Hoshigumi energy was filling the room, and you could feel the love.

Kurenai came back on stage, dressed entirely in white and we all knew what that meant. The final song was A piece of courage, from Scarlet Pimpernel. God does she LOVES that show most ardently. It was her only lead shinko role and her first Grand theater show as a Top Star, she always seemed to live her best life as Percy. She always look so hopeful when she sings this song, it is VERY touching. Special metion to Aachan who sang it as well at her music salon, if it's not being soulmate I don't know what is.

She got a curtain callback and sang Goodbye from Catch me if you can. Yes, she did that again. As if it wasn't enough from the sayonara show and every other opportunity given to her to sing this. I can honestly say a cried a river again and that I'm in a love hate relationship with that song.

This woman doesn't know what to say to her audience, even thought we made her come back twice. She just told us to go home and that it was over in her lovely kansaiben, I love it. ♡

The show was really fun and I'm really happy I got to go, I hope I didn't forget anything. They rehearsed after having to do one if not two performance a day , and only came out late at the night. They've all worked very hard in such a short amount of time, and the result was GREAT. Kurenai Yuzuru is a real entertainer, a star and she adores it. She puts so much love and energy in her work, it's truly admirable. I'm delighted to have been able to follow her career until now and I'm very glad I focused my attention to the wobbly Mercutio many years ago. She made me cry, laugh and dream. I love her SO much.

My final words are going to be her motto:

Never give up!! ☆

[zankivich]

Neighbors: Shawn x Plus-Size Reader Chapter 1

Prompt: It’s 2am and I’m drunk and I need some salt for my fries and I know your awake so OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR

I’m reminded of that story Shawn told about the girl who showed up on his porch in the middle of the winter with nothing but a crop top on saying she was lost. But like...normal. And not creepy. Also I wanted to write Shawn with a plus size woman and this was my first attempt, but I finished the other one first. Let me know if ya like! 

Edit: Hi! No longer a one shot. This is now a series! Check masterlist for more chapters.

The only only thing that's keeping you whole at the moment was the bag of grease and destruction in your hands. You had gone to some dumb club and danced with some dumb guy only to find out he was a handsy dickhead and you’d had to pull out the switchblade from your bra to give him the message of back the fuck off. You’d specifically gone out to get laid and if dickhead would’ve just not been an uber creep, you definitely would’ve been down. As it was, the only thing going in your mouth was about to be these bomb ass french fries.

You got into your apartment already reaching inside to try a bite only to shutter with disappointment. There was no salt. What fuck is a french fry without salt? It didn’t occur to you to look for any salt yourself. You were drunk for christ’s sake, and if anything you DESERVED someone to fucking salt your fries for you. You’re a lady dammit!

Seeing as how you lived alone in an apartment building, and there was no one there to solve this issue for you, you turned to the next best thing. Neighbors.

You stumbled out into the hallway armed with your bag of fries barefoot and starving. It was well after two am, most of the hallway dead silent except for the neighbor at the end of the hallway. Music drifted from under the door in a soft, muted sort of way, just enough to tell you that someone was definitely in there. Your lord and savior if they had any fucking salt.

You knocked with reckless abandon wanting to make sure they heard you over the music, and it didn’t even occur to you that it might be annoying to slam your first into someone’s door at two fucking am.The fries! They needed to be saved!

“Hi! I know it’s very late, but I can also hear your music. Good choice by the way, I live for Troye Sivan, he’s a bop. But like I need you to open the door, it’s kind of an emergency!!! Life or death!”

The door opened and your whole body was shocked into silence. Because that was Shawn Mendes on the other side of the door, clearly in his sweatpants, and not at all interested in your french fry problem. Your drunken mind received flashbacks of a letter that every person in the building had gotten about generally perfect super star moving into the building. You weren’t supposed to ask for pictures, to release any information, and you certainly weren’t supposed to knock on the guy’s fucking door at two o’clock in the morning.

“Emergency eh? Life or death?” He asked looking you up and down.

You hiccuped--one that made your whole body kind of boop--and he grinned at you.Thank God for bomb ass dresses that showed off every curve in the book. He was almost hot enough to make you forget the fries. Almost.

“Yes, you see I have these fries. And they need salt. And I can’t eat them without the salt, but my apartment has betrayed me in that it is saltless, and so I would be really appreciative if you would salt my fries.” You mumbled.

“‘Salt your fries’” He repeated a smirk permanently etched into his lips. “Is that a euphemism for something?”

You shook your head which made you a little wobbly and he seemed to reach out at the perfect time grabbing your arm to still you. You thanked him sheepishly before holding up the bag of fries as your evidence

“Not a euphemism. Really just need your salt, bro.”

“Alright, alright. Let me see what I can do.”

He headed back into his apartment leaving the door open which your drunk ass took as a personal invitation and followed him into the kitchen, which was nearly identical to yours. By the time he was done fishing around in his cabinets you had already seated yourself at the island opening your bag and taking another experimental bite. Oh what a disappointment it was.

“Found it.” He said offering you the heavenly morsels.

You moaned snatching it out of his hand and proceeding to generously shake the contained into your bag to evenly coat your meal.

“This has been a glorious ending to a really shitty night. Thank you, so much.” You giggled extremely giddy with your french fries.

Shawn was oddly amused at your behavior taking a seat beside you at his own damn island and watching you eat.

“Not a great night?”

You shook your head shaking your body to the rhythm of your chewing before swallowing.

“Went to some club solo. Just wanted to get laid and get back into my bed. Dude was super handsy, which would’ve been fine if not for his insistent attempts to try and fuck me in the middle of the dance floor with his micro penis. Didn’t take no for an answer. Almost had to cut him cause he started with all that fat bitch nonsense. Men who are into plus size women, hate rejection from plus size women because we’re supposed to be like the ugliest and most undesirable. But like… I’m fine and I’m thick and I still don’t want you sir. And then I got the true love my life, these french fries here, and what happens? My fucking salt disappears.”

“I’m sorry.” He says sounding genuinely sympathetic. “That’s not cool. You’re a very beautiful woman”

“You’re right, not cool. I deserve at least average dick and salt on my fries. And I’m not settling for less.”

He chuckled, cheeks warming into this adorable bright pink. He was leaning his chin on his hand watching you with inquisitive eyes and the first thing your mind went to was what a shitty guest you were being. You pushed the bag in his direction as a peace offering.

“You want?”

He smiled eyeing the bag. “Not really supposed to eat those. Bad for my diet.”

You rolled your eyes. “You look like you’re a quarter of my size. Eat a damn french fry.”

His cheeks did this very interesting thing where they just sort of burst with color. It was as if he was destined to be pink and his body was just fighting the inevitable. It was maybe incredibly adorable. You decided to get farther away from his face less it cause you to spontaneously combust. You crawled out of your seat, still barefoot and tipsy and began to look through his cabinets.

“You got something to drink in here by chance?”

“There’s water in the fridge.” He explained around a mouth full of food.

“How the hell is water going to get you as drunk as I am?”

You quickly located the booze, a bottle of tequila and the shot glasses to boot, before crawling back into his too tall seats.

“Oh I can’t I’ve gotta sing in the studio tomorrow.” He mumbled finally addressing the elephant in the room that was popstar letting drunken woman into his apartment against literally anyone’s better judgement.

“Shawn, you don’t know me, which really shame on you cause I’m awesome. But if you’re not eating french fries and drinking tequila is being you even worth it at that point?” You asked.

He laughed. “Is that your way of convincing me?”

You ignored him in favor of pouring each of you a shot and pushing the glass in his direction.

“Me not taking no for an answer, is my way of convincing you.”

He takes the first shot with hesitation. The second, he barely puts up a fight with. The third, he cheer’s his glass against yours. And the fourth he takes with no hands. It’s a wild awakening, but Shawn may just be a lightweight. Or a normal person with four shots of tequila in him. Tomato, potato.

He leaned his head, which seemed to be too heavy for his neck, on his hand and swung his chair back and forth to the rhythm of the music that was still playing the background. Your eyes were trapped on his thighs, which looked glorious even in sweatpants. Yours were biggers, and you thought about how wonderful he might look between them. Thick thighs save lives and give incredible orgasms. It’s kind of a fact.

At the end of the day you were a big woman. It didn’t bother you in the slightest, the way that it used to when you were younger. It had taken years, but you were comfortable in your skin, and happy as hell with the way you looked. And it never occured to you to beg a man for jack shit. Either he was with it, or he wasn’t. And the men who were, were in for a wonderful fucking ride, if you were to say so yourself. That being said, as attractive as he was, it didn’t occur to you to hit on Shawn. You were just kind of vibing and eating french fries. It seemed harmless. He didn’t strike you as the type to be into thick women, with the whole hollywood size two fad that was in place. There’s a quote somewhere about books and covers and judging and whatever.

“What club did you go to tonight, anyways?” He asked still not holding his head up on his own.

You smiled for no reason at all. “That place nearby with the strobe lights, why?”

“Gotta know where not to go if I don’t wanna be a piece of shit, right?”

“So many double negatives and yet I still appreciate the sentiment.” You grinned.

He chuckled his head lolling from side to side.

“Do you always take the piss out of random men in their apartments?” He sighed hand over his heart. “I’m hurt.”

“Only the ones I like. You’re welcome.”

“It’s an honor, truly.” He murmured taking a moment to hiccup, which was also absolutely fucking adorable. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded leaning your head on crossed arms because maybe he was on to something and gravity was taking its toll.

“Does that happen to you a lot?”

“What?”

“Guy’s being assholes, saying stuff about how you look?”

You shrugged. “I mean we live in a pretty fucked up culture for sure. You were afraid of a french fry twenty minutes ago because you might look less like you and more like me.”

“No I--”

“Hey, it’s cool. It’s less you and more like our history and our society. People kind of don’t realize they’re saying shitty things. But quite honestly I look good. Like I’m killin’ it over here. And once I figured that out, no one’s been able to stop me since. I’m living my best life.”

His eyes roamed over your body staring at your bare legs and moving over the olive green toned dressed that was hugging you wonderfully. You had a stomach and cellulite and boobs that required a bra and none of these things made you lesser than. In fact you were beautiful because of them, and that had taken far too long to understand.

“ I think that….I think you’re gorgeous.” He shrugged dopely. “You shouldn’t take shit from anyone who can’t see that. The world can be so fucked up sometimes.”

You smiled because in that moment he was nothing but cream and sugar. You wondered what it was like to be so innocent that it just sort of radiated from your pores. He looked untouched by the world, which was something you admired greatly. What a wonderful thing it must have been to exist outside of all the ugliness that surrounded you.

“Thank you. I’m not sweating it though.”

He nodded pushing off of the island and sliding out of his chair. His hair swooped down in his eyes and he pushed it back and it shouldn’t have been so fucking attractive, but here you were lusting over your neighbor at three in the morning with french fry-tequila breath.

“Do you wanna dance?” He asked

You raised an eyebrow. “Dance? Now?... We don’t really know each other like that do we?.”

“That didn’t stop you from taking my salt and forcing tequila down my throat.” He grinned.

“‘Forcing’? That’s a little harsh don’t you think, superstar?”

He licked his lip at the nickname and your brain completely stalled at the visual. Damn him.

“Maybe. I’m Shawn.” He state holding his hand out for you to shake.

“Y/n.”

You slid your hand into his and screeched as he yanked you without an ounce of grace from your chair. You tumbled into his chest and he caught you once again arms seeming to settle around your waist naturally. John Mayer was playing on his stereo system, and there seemed to be multiple speakers throughout the room because the sound pulsed through the floor and in the walls. He started to hum along to the music pulling your body in a sloppy circle as you both danced drunkenly across the hardwood floors. His chest was warm and he smelled of fresh laundry and soap and something that was just entirely him. He nuzzled his face into your hair, the humming turning into a soft singing and your body turned to goo inside his hold. Maybe that had been his plan all along.

Even in his drunken state he didn’t feel you up, though you wouldn’t have minded in the slightest at this point. Instead he leaned back to stare at you and lost his balance almost immediately, so he had to wrap his arms around your neck to save yourself. You laughed and he smiled and you were both just dumb, drunken idiots.

“You’re cute.” He murmured nodding his head as if he had decided it right in that moment, and thus it was fact.

You chuckled. “Thank you. You are cute as well.”

“K.”

His eyes traveled down to your lips and yours traveled to his. If either of you had one brain cell to offer you might have noticed at you’d stopped dancing, or that song had changed. He ran his fingers into your hair and stepped closer in the limited space between you. Before your lips could touch, before you lost every sense of who you were, you were pulling away from his arms, cheeks flaming red.

“I should...I should go home. It’s late.”

His face drooped and it took everything in you not to physically push at his skin until he was smiling. But you were drunk and he was a rock star, and it had all gotten to be a little much.

“Are you sure?” He asked giving you ample opportunity to change your mind.

You smiled slipping his arms from around your waist.

“Yea. Thanks for the salt, neighbor.”

He seemed to remember then that you leaving meant walking the fiver feet to your apartment across the hall, and his smile was suddenly back in full force.

“No problem. Let me walk you home.”

He presented his arm out to you like you were going to a ball and not your apartment door, but you were a sucker for cute boys with brown eyes, so here you were barefoot and drunk in the middle of the hallway with a popstar on your arm. You got all the way to your door and you reached for your pocket to get to your keys only to look down and see that there was no pocket…. Because you were in a tight ass dress designed by some man who hated women. Idiot.

“Something wrong?” Shawn asked as you groaned and slammed your fist against the door.

“My keys. They’re in there.” You explained pointing at the door.

Shawn, the intellectual that he was, shrugged. “Let’s go get them.”

“No, sweetheart. They’re in there. We are out here. I need them to get us in there.”

“Oh.”

Tequila. A hell of a drink.

“I guess you’ll have to stay at my place then huh?” He asked bringing you back from your haze of drunken stupidity yourself. “At least till the morning, when the front desk is open?”

He was wearing a grin that was so smug and dumb and attractive that you didn’t know whether to kiss him or hit him.

You sputtered. “I’m not sleeping in your bed.”

“Sweetheart what kind of guy do you think I am? I have two guest rooms.”

He grabbed your hand interlocking your fingers like you weren’t technically strangers and brought you back to his apartment. True to his word he takes you to a guest room that’s big enough to be the master bedroom in your apartment. So much for similar layouts. He brings you sweatpants that are tight in the thighs and long long long everywhere else and you don’t even bother trying to squeeze a tit into his t-shirt feeling just fine in your bra. But, when he comes to say goodnight you might as well have been one of those skinny girls in the movies with a white button up that was really purposely picked out  three times bigger than the lead actor guy had ever worn to continue the narrative that women have to be dainty and smaller than men to be sexy. He looped his fingers through the waistband string and sent you a smile so goofy and dopey that you just wanted to invite him in to stay forever.

“You look good in my sweatpants.” He mumbled not allowing his eyes to meet your cleavage.

“Yea?” You murmured peering down at wear the material bunched awkwardly around you thighs.

He nodded allowing his thumb to skim up an across your belly, which even on your best days was hard to love.

“Absolutely.”

Maybe it was the tequila. Maybe you were still horny from the club. Or maybe it was just the way that he looked at you like you mattered. But, closing the door with him on the other side just didn’t seem logical.

“Do you wanna… I mean you could sleep in here if you wanted.” You murmured, cheeks burning. “Or not?”

“Do you want me to sleep in here?”

He ducked his head to catch your eye, fingers rubbing soothing circles into your hip. It was a seemingly kind gesture and yet it felt incredibly intimiate at the same time. You found that you loved his hands on your body, which felt kind of astonishing and profound because no man had ever touched your body like him.

“Yea I--I...yes.”

He smiled and his whole face was just a little too cute for comfort.

“Cool.”

He leads you to bed and lets you peel back the covers. You face the wall and he crawls in pressing his chest along your back and slipping an arm over your waist. You feel like your sinking--into what you don’t know, but it feels good, feels right, and you’re hopless to stop it.

“Is this okay?” He whispers against your neck.

All you can do is settle yourself firmly into his body and sigh a sigh of contment.

“Yea.”

What a fuckin night.

***

When you woke up it was with your own personal human sleeping back. Shawn had his large leg draped over your much smaller one, his face hidden in your neck as he slept the sleep of the innocent. It was like something out of a fairytale...but you were nothing like a princess, and this was real life where you’d drank a quarter of your weight in alcohol the night before and had to learch away from the cute boy who’d cuddled you all night to barely make it to his bathroom and vomit horridly.

He found you there, on his pristine, beautiful floor looking like death, and you just knew this was the moment where he realized that you don’t let crazy women into your apartment and officially filed for a restraining order. You’d collapsed against the floor and he quickly made his way to his knees beside you. You thought for sure he would yell and tell you get the hell out of his place but instead he was kneeling to the porcilan god himself. What a fucking shit show.

“Holy fuck this sucks.” He muttered flushing the toilet and collapsing beside you. “I’m supposed to go to the studio today.”

“I feel like I may have had a small part in this and for that I’m sorry.” You mumbled.

He managed to peer over at you around the toilet with a look that said, “are you fucking kidding me?” and despite being on your death bed you still found it within you to bust out laughing. Shawn couldn’t help himself and quickly joined in only for both of you to realize that laughing hurt and you were kind of a couple of goddamn messes.

“This might be the wrong time to say this but...I had a really nice time last night.” He murmured.

You peered over to look at him, again around the toliet, and wondered if this man before you was actually real or if you’d died to alcohol posioning.

“I agree…. It’s the wrong time.”

He laughed at you again only to quickly start heaving and lurch forward for the toilet again. So, it wasn’t a fairytale by any stretch of the imagine. And the fries from the night before had probably all found their way into the toilet bowl. And you spent the rest of the morning on your neighbor’s bathroom floor praying for death to take you. But at one point, when your bones ached and your throat felt like sandpaper, his fingers touched yours on the linolium. And he smiled at you with this pathetic, tiny grin. And you decided that maybe living next door to a popstar might not be so bad afterall.

The End.

[ruthandliamgoplaces]

Last two weeks in Nepal!

Our last two weeks have flown by, and I am writing this in the air on flight number one to Oman. The next blog entry shall tell tales of our time in Pokhara, a yoga retreat, and then, similar to my fate in Portugal last year - the Great Malaise- I got ill for the last 5 days of our trip!

Back in Civilisation- Pokhara.

After the Annapurna Circuit we spent two nights in Pokhara, a large city located on a picturesque lake with a beautiful bustling and colourful tourist area. Pokhara, busier with tourists than Kathmandu, is the hub for most of the trekking industry and the majority of people stay here before and after their treks. It therefore has lots of amenities to please the tourists, and is awash with hostels, swanky (by Nepal standards) hotels and spa resorts. There are loads of eateries and coffee shops, some restaurants even do pretty spot on Western food and there is a KFC and a Baskin and Robbins! There are also quite a few bars. In this Westernised bubble, many tourists don’t bother to respect the local Nepali cultural customs of modest clothes, and lots of bum cheeks are falling out of short shorts, or biceps peeping out of vests.

After 40 days of the same menus (fried bread, fried rice, fried potato or fried omelette, with fried cabbage, fried onion or fried carrot), we got stuck in immediately to eating different food! Well, not immediately. As usual in Nepal, nothing quite goes to plan. The hotel we had booked had been overbooked... so we had to be moved to a different hotel... as usual in Nepal, no apology is really made for these mishaps, the proprietor just smiles your questioning face into oblivion with his magical spell of “no problem!”. It was a problem, as the hotel we were moved to was not as good as the one we booked, but we still had to pay the price of the original hotel.... ah well. We were so tired, it mattered little. On the plus, we were reunited with our bag (yay!) and spoiled ourselves by wearing some different clothes! Also, we were moved to the hotel we had actually booked the following day, and got to enjoy the luxury! The manager had at least given us the best room to compensate for the night before, and we had a beautiful balcony and amazing views.

We passed two happy days in Pokhara, drinking wine and cocktails, and browsing the many shops selling souvenirs and clothes, and replaced some of our tatty clothes. We also bought some clothes for yoga, as we had decided to go to a retreat for a week!

On the third day we moved to Begnas Tal Yoga retreat, and I took with me about 40 mosquito bites on my feet, acquired from the carefree cocktail devouring session wearing flip flops by the lake. Thank god I didn’t have to wear my walking boots again, as I am slightly allergic and the bites were hot, red, itchy and angry, and kept me unwanted company, right up until we left Begnas!

Begnas Yoga Retreat

We arrived in Begnas after a 25 minute taxi journey from Pokhara, and were greeted by a glorious lake and jungle. Begnas is a very small town, also very popular with tourists but far less developed than Pokhara. It is rural and peaceful, well... peace from traffic. On our first night I had one of the worst nights sleep I’ve had in Nepal due to a very very loud bird, whose song will forever be burned into my mind. The bird was defending its nest in a tree outside our window for the whole week we were there, by singing the same alarming song on repeat with no gaps. It was particularly loud at night, and we were glad we had ear plugs! The song always begins innocently enough, but quickly builds, increasing in volume, pitch and frequency until it sounds like a high pitched squealing menace. I honestly think the bird could be used as an instrument of torture. Everyone at the retreat joked about the bird, as we all suffered it’s pitched perils. We even prayed to it to try and ask it to move trees! Our prayers were mostly unanswered.

The retreat schedule was roughly 6.30 walking meditation, 7.00 Nasal Irrigation (!) 7.30-9.00 Yoga, 9.30 Breakfast, 11.00 Treatment, 13.00 Lunch, 15.00 Yoga Theory, 17.00 Yoga, 19.30 Dinner and 21.00 Mantra and bed. Liam and I avoided the Mantra session and opted for bed and a western media meditation such as going on our phones!

The Nasal Irrigation requires some further explanation... apparently this is commonplace in Nepal... I remain unconvinced.

First, you pour about a decent sized mug full of warm salt water through one nostril, then the other. You tilt your head so the water pours out your other nostril... or if you have a blocked nose, your mouth. Then, you use a variety of techniques to evacuate the contents of your nose, blowing snot and water noisily all over the flowers and hillsides. So much snot comes out that it’s unbelievable that you could have so much. On my first day, water kept pouring from my nose for a good hour or so afterwards! Newcomers feel embarrassed by evacuating the contents of their nose in public... but quickly this process is normalised and you begin to become excited by the contents of your nose, and share tips for removing it, admiring each other’s snot loads. Yep.

The technique is said to clear your nose.. but my nose is never blocked anyway. I embraced it whilst I was there, but secretly mourned my delicate nose mucus which I’m sure does an excellent job and I suspect that my body harbours it for a reason. I also pushed to the back of my mind thoughts of the transmission of hepatitis, as we all merrily shared nasal baths together.

The yoga was really good, and we practiced twice a day in a glorious room with 360 degree panoramic views of mountains jungle and lake. We often stopped to watch birdlife and sunsets, or views of mountains, or laugh about The Bird. The only plague was mosquitos! Oh, and the Gurus mobile phone, his 3 year old daughter, and the ladies who came to take our food orders, who often also interrupted us!

The guru at the retreat was quite the character. As with everything in Nepal, the retreat was not quite like a retreat in the UK. The guru was quite often distracted during yoga or yoga philosophy, by his daughter, or tending some business, or by wanting to tell us some tale, or speak on the phone, or manage his staff. It was a new business, and sometimes it could be slightly chaotic! Things did not really run to schedules, and you never knew what you were going to get. It really didn’t matter though, we thought it was all part of the experience. Liam and I actually quite liked the lack of structure and discipline, we were tired and happy to lay around.

Not everyone agreed though, whilst we were there, one woman left three days early, and another left on the first night, creeping away under the cover of darkness, without telling anyone! We could understand why I suppose. If you were expecting a quiet nights sleep at a retreat, then you actually got a very loud bird, and a 3 year old who screamed periodically in the night! There was also the problem of the monsoon rains which flooded all the rooms several times (we learnt to stem the tides with towels), the lack of hot water (which we didn’t mind), and one guest’s bathroom smelt very badly (ours luckily was fine!). Or maybe it could have been eating your dinner sat on the kitchen floor with the ants and gigantic spiders (again, we didn’t mind).

All that being said, we had a wonderful time. The staff were all lovely and cooked us amazing fresh food every day. Much of the food was grown in the garden or collected from local markets. We saw gangs of wild monkeys cheekily stealing the food during the day! We were treated like gods, and fed constantly!

We also had some pretty amazing treatments. I had a mud bath, which included having my boobs massaged, which was, erm, an experience. In fact, by the end of the retreat, every female member of staff had managed some close encounter with my bare boobs. And I thought Nepal was a country shy about nudity. Not when it comes to doing beauty therapies it seems! The treatments were great though, we had massages, reiki healing, a steam bath, pedicure, oil bath... and were taken out on a boat and had a lovely picnic.

After the week was up, we were given a Buddhist blessing, and I felt close to tears feeling grateful for the experience of the retreat. It wasn’t quite the retreat I expected, but I got so much more. I got to share a week with a Nepali family and some lovely staff, and live in the jungle doing yoga twice a day. We learnt so much about local culture, from arranged marriages, road financing, education, the caste system, the Nepali wars and... unfortunately I also got to learn about illness...

The Great Plague

Having managed to avoid any illness for two months, Liam and I both contracted a sickness in the last week. We were both too grateful it hadn’t happened at any point before, such as at 5000m, to be too upset. Well, emotionally upset- our tummies were very upset! Liam got ill first, and his bug lasted 24 hours. I had to go and beat him.

The day before the end of the yoga retreat, I woke up and evacuated the contents of my stomach... and did so about 60 times that day, out of both ends. It was just litres of water coming out. Of course I googled cholera and thought it sounded the same, but Liam told me I was being a bit dramatic. Which it turns out, I probably was. Probably!

The illness was with me for four days, getting slowly better. But, it caused a great deal of concern as we had a plane to catch, and I wasn’t going anywhere considering I couldn’t even make the en-suite bathroom sometimes never mind go roaming in the wilds away from a room.

Never have I been more humiliated than to poo myself whilst we had an en-suite bathroom. And not just once. Four times.

Luckily, we had travel insurance and they had a telephone GP service. I sought some advice and the GP was hopeful my symptoms suggested a virus which would clear up in time for the plane (not cholera, after all, then). And she was right. Didn’t stop me spending the last 4 days of my holiday in bed though. I moved from the bed at the yoga retreat to a very nice hotel in Pokhara, and that was all I moved.

We didn’t mind too much. We had air conditioning, room service, a very comfy bed, and a TV! Liam even got to watch the football.

The end of Nepal

So, I recovered enough and now I’m in Oman airport. Our last day was spent on a bus to Kathmandu, a bus which we paid double for to have a bus with a toilet (just in case). A bus which broke down, and then we were promptly transferred to cheap bus, with no toilet (thankfully I didn’t need it) and no refund. Futhermore, the bus dropped us off on a different part of Kathmandu, so we had to pay extra on top for a taxi. But it’s ok though, the driver said “no problem”, so there was no problem. Paying double and some more to go on a bad bus. But hey, we made it!

Next stop... driving to France in a week!

[tatooedlaura-blog]

At the End of the Road

a standalone venture into the world of fine diner dining ...

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&&

Their first time at Waffles and Stuff, they had the heavy mantle of deadly 10-year-olds weighing on their shoulders, the diner dim with midnight shadows, the waitstaff mellow through pouring rain. Settled awkwardly at the counter, Scully felt around until her feet found purchase on the footrest while Mulder wrestled with sodden coat to hang dripping from the back of cracked vinyl swivel seat. Eventually, the foam finished giving way, shaping to backsides and thighs, warming to damp wool while the pair studied separate menus, quiet in debate over patty melt or salad, burger or chicken, coffee or hot chocolate.

Finally, the ancient waitress, small, quick, tight bun of hair, sweater hugging narrow shoulders, ended her conversation with the cook, coming over at just the moment Mulder decided what to order. How she knew, he’d never know, but know she did and stopping in front of him, “ready to order? Coffee? Tea? Space heater?”

Mulder, tired but still kicking, gave her a crooked smile, “you can’t warm space. It’s too big.”

“Given enough time, I could probably crochet it a blanket though. Maybe that would help.”

Her name was Catherine and he adored her instantly.

Scully, beside him, only absorbed half the conversation, mind caught between grilled chicken with lettuce and avocado and death by double cheeseburger, eyeing the deep-fried pickles for the interim moments between fry consumption and hot chocolate stupor. Hearing Mulder vaguely finish his order of waffles and eggs, she bit the bullet, ordering things the doctor in her screamed about at 3am when she couldn’t sleep from the heartburn singeing her esophagus.

The hot chocolate arrived first, whipped cream high, little bit of cinnamon classing up the plain, chipped mug; second came the pickles, mixing terribly with the drink and Scully loved it, the weird flavors, the grease, the ranch, the tang all smoothed out with warm milk and sugar. Mulder didn’t ask to have one, waiting quietly until she offered, holding out the small coin of fried delight, which he took, thanked her, didn’t ask for more but smiled when the flavors hit his tongue.

Scully’s feet were falling asleep but her belly was filling nicely, cheeseburger sitting precariously first on plate then in stomach, chasing away the gnawing hunger that had plagued them for the last three days, not satisfied with Payday bars and M&Ms, held barely at bay but not providing the shear beautiful thing that was deluxe cheeseburger and mound of vegetable oil crisp potatoes.

She caught Mulder staring at her at some point and when she raised her eyebrows at him, question sent non-verbally given her full mouth, he smiled his second time since they entered the restaurant and answered, small amount of egg caught in his front teeth, “I think you just moaned in satisfaction there, partner.”

Wondering if she should protest, turn red, sink in embarrassment, she instead gave it half a thought, then shrugged, talking through her mostly chewed mouthful, food in cheeks to speak without spitting bits, “damn good fry.”

Catherine refilled the hot chocolates for free, offered them pie, or cupcake in Scully’s case, given she was an ardent pie hater since the beginning of time, didn’t rush the check and circled a large smiley face on the bill, her ‘come again’ cheery against the thundering sky.

“Take as long as you like folks. I’ll be over here working my crossword and crocheting that blanket.”

Mulder snagged the bill, keeping it out of reach in his hand, “I like her and the Bureau will be tipping her double.”

Drifting towards a food coma, she propped her elbow on the counter and balanced her head on her hand, tilting enough to look him square, “if you give her triple, I bet she’ll let us nap here until morning.”

With a gaze that barely hinted at the next 70 years, he nudged her with his knee, receiving a lip twitch in return, the slightest eye twinkle she would never acknowledge having the power to do, before beginning the long slide to the floor, wiggling a little to straighten her pants, free damp cloth from the sticking places against her skin.

He saw that wiggle.

He would remember that wiggle.

Once soaking wet, 2:45am glowing on the dash, hair dripping, stomachs filled, in the car in a splashing dash, he gave her a glance, his diminutive partner already curled around the heater vent, safe in the passenger seat, “you’re going to fall asleep before we get to your apartment, I guarantee it.”

“It’s twelve minutes. I will not fall asleep in twelve minutes.”

Big fat liar.

He had to shake her arm for at least a minute before she even began thinking of forcing an eye open; ten minutes later, she was finally in her front door, Mulder holding her elbow the entire way, navigating her like a slack-jawed drunk up the steps. Setting her bag on the floor, he debating shoving her towards her bedroom so he could drop comatose on the couch but he fought gravity and overstuffed pillows to bid her g’night/g’morning.

He nearly crashed twice trying to make it to his own place with both eyes open.

Falling asleep on his couch, snuggled up tight under two wool blankets and a layer of flannel and fleece, Mulder listened the rain and thunder, wondering if they’d ever find the time to go back to the diner.

He wanted a full order of those pickle chips all to himself.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Waffles and Stuff glowed in the night. Pitch black around them, savior in fluorescent and neon, it called to them after the longest drive known to man. They were just this side of the Bureau’s cutoff for driving to a crime scene, planes too expensive when a six-hour drive could take care of business.

It wouldn’t have been terrible save the flat tire, the stench of spilled gas from the can in the trunk and the persistent squeak, thud, thump from whatever under the car. Mulder didn’t want to look and Scully didn’t care to look so they suffered the rhythm while trying to keep the other from hangry overtones in their conversations with stolen M&Ms and Starbright mints from Scully’s secret forgotten stash in the side pocket of her suitcase.

They really should have stopped but the thought of Waffles and Stuff by 1:30am, navigator Scully estimated time of arrival, kept them driving past crap fast food for glorious Catherine and her bottomless supply of chocolate, hot or cold form, and the newest special, banana pancakes with whipped cream and strawberries, side of bacon, side of ham, one egg over easy, two wheat toast, grape jelly, one biscuit hold the gravy.

Actually, that was the Mulder special at the moment, of which he’d been extoling virtue since exit 4b or 610, whichever was further back and farther from destination.

Scully, on the other hand, had been drooling, physically and mentally, over the thought of mushroom swiss burger with lettuce, tomato and bacon, bun toasted, fries on the side, crisp side salad with exactly four cups of ranch dressing and croutons by the pound, mozzarella sticks, marinara dipping and for the love of God, some kind of strawberry milkshake.

In the three years since they’d began frequenting Stuff, their combinations had changed drastically in contrast to pricing, décor and staffing but the cook kept cooking, Catherine kept knitting and Mulder kept tipping his usual Bureau approved 30% tip. Finally, in reference to the glow from earlier, Mulder spotted it first and Scully, to this day, swears she heard a small whimper of want escape his lips, forcing his foot down further on the gas pedal.

Scully had just slightly more decorum to keep her sounds to herself.

“Well, hello, my weary travelers.” Catherine waved to the empty room, “your usual is open.”

Mulder gestured Scully forward to the only blue booth, the one that had been reupholstered at some point and by accident done in blue. He’d always meant to ask why blue but tonight, like every other time, the thought fizzled out before fully forming and he was perfectly fine with this. Once they were both in, coats shoved to the sides, dry, not needing a place to drip, Scully tucked one foot under her leg, swinging the dangling one lightly, the breeze of her movement ruffling Mulder’s pantleg every second or third pass by, “cheese?”

Before he could answer, Catherine called out from near the coffee machine, about to begin the hot chocolates, given the chill in the October air, “we’ve got a new item. Max thought it up about a week ago.”

Manly squee loud enough to make Catherine smile, “really? Please say it’s a fried chicken and waffles with a side of home fries and scrambled eggs with green peppers, tomatoes and just a hint of Tabasco sauce and maybe a spritz of lemon.”

Max stuck his head over the order counter, “give me a few weeks on that one but tonight’s is pancakes with crumbled sausage and bacon cooked right in, four egg omelet with jack cheddar, peppers and onions, two biscuits and sausage gravy, perfect for sharing.”

Mulder held up a hand, “I’ll take it. Burn the bacon first please.”

Looking at Scully next, “how about you, Miss Scully? What can I get for you this evening?”

After she told him her order, Catherine came by, drinks in hand, settling into the chair she bought with her, “all right. What’s happening in your world today?”

Their nights at Waffles and Stuff were part therapy, part inquisition, part intellectual debate, part necessary nonsense, Catherine helming it all, feeding them, waiting on them, listening to them and when necessary, pretending to have somewhere else to be when she saw them lock eyes, drop off the Earth, the quiet bubbling them together for what she hoped would be eternity.

Or until the sun came up.

Sometimes it was Scully who looked about to faceplant in her dessert; this time, however,  it was Mulder, yawning every thirty seconds like clockwork until Scully, the other foot dangling by now, nudged him gently on the shin, accidently on purpose running her foot closer to his knee than she ever suspected she’d do in daylight.

He didn’t wake up so much as give her a sleepy crook of smile that made her wonder if she really needed to drop him off or if she could just take him home, stash him in her spare room, make him breakfast sometime the following afternoon.

Reluctantly she paid the bill, left the tip, held the coat, guided the body, drove the car, escorted the warm puppy, called the good night, drove the car, opened the door, locked the door, shed the clothes, pulled the covers, hailed the Mulder, succumbed the sleep, dreamed the partner… woke up with a smile to find him banging on her door, donuts in hand and casefile ready.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

From spinning barstool to lone blue booth to corner haven, feet on seats, hands on ankles, smorgasbord between them, plates lined up, a fry for a carrot, a bite of burger for a slice of tomato, one chocolate shake, one strawberry, one mint, each with two straws and spoons for skimming whipped cream, two cherries to Scully, more mint to Mulder.

He stole sips of her water while she talked, she slid pickle coins her way while he nibbled crusts from her buttered toast. Their fingers lingered when reaching for the same crouton soaked in dressing, sliding past and through each other, hanging on with white knuckles one second, back to eating the next.

Hours later, instead of stumbling into the night, he slid quietly in beside her, thigh warm against thigh, hand flat on tender muscle, kneading lightly, waiting as unseen forces pulled her head to his shoulder, tired eyes closed against the world. Mulder set his head against hers, eyes meeting two pair behind the counter, the slightest upturned cheek and chin nod in their direction before closing his own eyes, not worrying about the day ahead, only the Scully beside him and the quiet around.

Catherine looked at her husband, leaning against the counter across from her, “we did good, Max.”

“We did very good.”

[ofcloudsandstars]

✧ . 🌾 Summer Crossquarter Solitary Rituals 🌾 *✧

The Summer Crossquarter is also referred to as Lammas and or Lughnasadth. Summer’s Pinnacle is only next week! It is the zenith of Summer (like the way the full moon is the pinnacle of the lunar cycle, this is the pinnacle of summer) where it's at it's height and it's hottest but after will begin the steady transition into fall and shorter cooler days. This is also the middle of the year where we start to enter the darker half of the remaining year and we acknowledge what we've gained so far (reaping what we sowed) yet seeing what it might take to reach our goals which lies ahead. It’s time to finish projects and enjoy the first harvest of the harvest season! Enjoy the wonderful concert of crickets, the height of summer and the wheat and corn feast. I have a personal correspondences post that might help explain why I chose certain things! (Also here is my personal tag!)

A lot of us witches practice alone and have our own solitary rituals for each sabbat that we observe (or the ones we’ve created just for ourselves that we observe alone!) Like any solitary eclectic witch I do things my own different way but some of these things might line up with others practices.

When I am alone and casting spells a lot of it is visualization/intent so my solitary rituals are more like activities I like to do then specifically casting a spell. If I am doing a spell with an activity based on it a lot would be listening to music to get in the mood and focusing on a candle while visualizing for a period of time! Eves are also important to my celebration as I like to stay up until midnight and cast a spell then!

August’s Eve

Monday July 31st 2017

Go to a farmers market and support the summer harvest there. If you have a bee farmers tent, support them and buy beeswax carved candles for your ritual and some honey. They often have beautiful beeswax candles that can make wonderful energetic centerpieces to rituals. The farmers market at this time of year will have delicious and many ripe things along with glorious summer flowers.

If you have a garden or work with a community garden, give your garden some offerings. Offer it water, crushed eggshells, and your gratitude. If you take things for your feast remember to thank it.

Enjoy some snacks while doing crafts like popcorn, wheat crackers, sunflower seeds, fruit gummies, peach rings, potato chips, fries, corn on the cob, there are lots of delicious snacks that are grains, potatoes, corn and summer fruit related. 

Decorate your Altar and coat it in sunflowers, wheat, things that are bee related, maybe even potato related, corn husks, wheat structures and corn dolls, lazy eyed susans, ivy and beeswax candles. Use the colors that remind you of summer’s pinnacle and the harvest! I also like to add gold coins or even chocolate coins that are coated in gold foil that symbolizes prosperity and the rewards that come with hard work.

As a mixologist I love to make my own infusions and liqueurs and I also think alcohol drunk with intent can be very magical. This time of the year as everything is in season and herbs are at their peak I love to do an infusion with mint and gin or vodka, basil and vodka (most things with vodka cause vodka is like the ‘water’ of alcohol since its just ethanol diluted with water with no flavor. It’s like the clear quartz of spirits haha), rosemary and vodka, jasmine flowers and vodka and summer fruits with vodka too. I usually let them sit in large mason jars and when I shake them up I shake it with my intent. I take shots when getting into a headspace for magic or when I go to a circle with friends I make special drinks with them. If you work with entities it can make a wonderful offering. If you want to turn any of them into a liqueur (a sweeter smooth alcohol) just make simple syrup and you can add the same ingredients into the syrup to make it flavored to enhance the flavor of the infusion once you mix it in there. 

If possible if you have a nice park somewhere or an area that's safe that you can go to, go camping! Spend a night under the stars and sing with the fireflies. For me to do a midnight spell under the stars would be glorious but I am also lucky to have a massive backyard with a massive lawn space and little fear of anyone bothering me there (other than racoons lol). I also have a sunroom I can sleep in.

Midnight Spell:

Focus on what you would like to complete and goals to accomplish. This sabbat is great to set goals and help break through obstacles.

If you prefer a more physical activity based ritual than a visualization one you can do a practice by making a vision board of what you want to accomplish. Place it down on the floor like a grid and light a candle in the center to focus energy and intention to what you want (also energetically charging it) before hanging it in front of your bed. 

Basil is also in season and basil is an herb of prosperity. You can eat basil in a spell to symbolize the wealth you will gain or make an oil spell with it by infusing it in a carrier oil to bring prosperity into your life when you apply it on you. (Oregano as well!) 

Summer Crossquarter (lughnsasadth) Day

(Wednesday June 21st 2017)

Go on a journey! If possible take a trip to the woods! Hiking and just spending time outside where it’s sunny is nice too. The beach during this time of the year (August to mid September) is IDEAL because throughout summer the heat has warmed up the water so the water is a lot warmer. 

Bake Bread! If wheat is not your thing then corn bread or corn muffins are lovely! There is also zucchini bread as zucchinis are also in season and zucchini bread is delicious! If bread isn’t your thing at all no matter it’s contents then you can always enjoy a baked potato! 

make a bee fountain because there’s always time and wonderful magic in making a bee fountain. 

Do an enjoyable physical activity like hiking, bike riding, rock climbing, swimming, archery, fishing or kayaking. Lugh was a god of friendly sport and competition and this sabbat can be enjoyed by engaging in fun sport. If none of this sounds appealing to you (highly understandable) there are other ways to enjoy the summer outdoors passively without much physical effort. 

Evening

Celebratory Dinner Cook a dinner with foods of the summer harvest! Eat corn, wheat, potatoes, berries, melons, peach ciders, bread bowls, pastas, popcorn. For the 'meat' selection I love to eat fish as it resembles wealth in many cultures and catching a reward.  and enjoy any beer, cider or fruit juice that corresponds with summer’s harvest as well. 

Make a plate for any entities you like to work with.

Also practice feeling gratitude for the things you have accomplished and acknowledge the rewards of your hard work.

[superfitbabe]

Yesterday I decided to explore the weird world of YouTube, someway somehow exploring ASMR. I understand that everyone has their own preferences, but for me...NO. GOD NO. NO NO NO NO NO. 😖 Hearing microphone scratching, whispering, scalp massages, and other incredibly unpleasant sounds like lip smacking and loud chewing would definitely keep me up at night. I’m just not one to find it calming...it freaked me out, if anything. 😳 What also kept me up at night was thinking about how excited I have been to exercise, eat good food, and head off to work before a glorious weekend! 🌞 Some bowls of strawberries, blueberries, @kindsnacks dark chocolate protein granola with @lovemysilk unsweetened almond milk, and @livevegansmart chia pudding with freeze-dried strawberries and @traderjoes bean flakes in an @eatdrinkvegan glass served as the perfect post-workout meal! 🍫🥣🍓 All of these are foods I can eat my bodyweight in except for the chia pudding, as I’m not a huge fan of chia puddings in general. But, it was a nice way of switching things up and integrating chia seeds into my brunch! I could also probably eat my bodyweight in roasted Japanese and Okinawan sweet potato, kabocha, grapes, pistachios, kettle corn, sautéed eggplant, shiitake mushrooms, and bread of any kind. I’ll admit that some “naughty” foods like donut holes, Lenny and Larry’s cookies, chocolate covered pretzels, blue corn tortilla chips, sweet potato fries, brownies, cake, dumplings, and vegan chicken nuggets/tenders/drumsticks would be the same case. I wouldn’t ever attempt to try, though. 🙈🙉🙊🍗🍰🍪🍞🌰🥜🍩🍿🥟🍠🍇🍆🥖🍟 (at Los Angeles, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bml8h8OnIX2/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=z3m7n4v0c4ay

[placetobenation]

PTBN Learns Jeff #1

or…

Things Jeff Loves/Hates?

Jeffrey! Hello!??

Jeff on Things???

I don’t know. maybe I don’t need a title…

If you have listened to the “Jeff Learns Wrestling” podcast (and frankly, why wouldn’t you?) you know that I have seen some hard times the past few months. Chief among my woes is the end of my four-year relationship, which at times I was sure was one of the top five or ten best love stories in history, both actual and literary. So what happened? How did I lose my fiancé? How does someone, with absolute certainty, agree to spend the rest of her life with me one day, then decide she never wanted to see me again the next? The answer lies within my very complicated relationship with that which makes up the entirety of existence: things.

The days and weeks following the breakup were defined by tormenting moments of solitary thought and exasperating conversations with loved ones. One particular conversation will go down as my most memorable, as I was ranting and raving about the situation at my sister’s house. I came to an abrupt conclusion from all the fights we had had: “I just hate everything… I guess that’s the main problem”. To which my sister very calmly and matter-of-factly replied, “Yes”.

Quite a revelation. I got dumped because my fiancé thinks I hate everything. Who wants to spend their life with someone like that? My sister isn’t about to stop hanging out with me, but that’s what makes relationships different. My sister will always be my sister, no matter how big of a douche I am. But to have a successful relationship, regardless of the person, you have to work hard. Really, really hard. And such is my failure, because with regard to my perceived hatred of everything, from even those closest to me, the sad fact is this: IT”S NOT TRUE!!!!

I love lots of things. And you can all take me at my word by listening to my podcasts. I love Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul, Josh Richer, wrestling (maybe… the jury is still out on that one), talking about those things, laughing, making people laugh, and many more things. This is why I am here, to talk about things. Things I love and things I hate, and how my feelings toward any particular thing are constantly evolving and confusing to people who know me. My high school biology teacher once caught me napping in class, so he slammed on my desk and asked me to explain the cellular wall of a plant cell, which I did with perfect eloquence. His comment was among the wisest description of me ever made: “Machado, you are a paradox”. He was such a good teacher I went to a college with an awesome biology program… and then I realized I hated biology.

This column will therefore be my attempt to solve The Jeff Paradox (trademark pending). I’m here to talk about things. Anything and everything. They tell you in school a noun is a person, place, or thing. I always thought that was dumb, since people and places are also things. When people say I hate everything, they think I hate people. Also not true. In fact, the thing I love second most in the world is people (we will get to the number one thing in a later piece. Probably…). Not specific people, I mean I only truly love a small number of people with names and faces and whatnot… I mean the idea of people. The phenomenon of a race of animals with conscious thought, who can love each other, and entertain each other, and make fun of each other. 

Since I am not an expert on any one particular thing, for example, I know a lot about movies and TV and literature, but not as much as say, JT knows about wrestling. My expertise will simply have to be self analysis; they say to be an expert in something in takes 10,000 hours of practice, and I have spend that times a million obsessing over anything and everything relating to me inside my head. OK intro over, let’s talk about golf.

Before we get to golf I have to interrupt with a dream I just had before I forget it. I hate when people talk about their dreams but I love talking about my dreams. I was half Luke Skywalker and half me. I was moving through some underground lair searching for what must have been the Emperor and I slayed three beasts: a lion (cut its head off), a spider (strangled with its own web) and a Tremors-like worm (set it on fire). I got to the Emperor and he kept shape-shifting and it was clear his magic was far beyond mine, but we just kept sword-fighting, unable to land any blows, and I wondered when the lightning bolt to the face was coming. (During all of this terror, I never felt afraid. And every nightmare I have had over the past decade or so, I’ve never felt afraid. This is both reassuring of my usefulness in a crisis, and deeply troubling, because generally, the lack of fear denotes some kind of broken personality issues. But anyway… ) Eventually I said “OK, timeout. Can we call this a draw? I mean it’s been like five solid minutes already and enough is enough” to which he replied “OK. It’s a draw”. So he led me to the exit which was lined with guards and desk secretaries, and I hugged everyone on the way out like I just completed the ninja warrior course or something. When I got to the surface, it was 1950something. I thought this was cool, not seeming to mind that nobody I knew was around, nor considering how I had time-traveled or whether I could ever get back. I walked into a restaurant (because, as I was about to wake up, I was hungry) and the meals on the tables consisted of a fried chicken, Twinkies, and a pack of Camel cigarettes, and there was a sign in the window that read “Daily Special: 75 cents”. The moral of the story is I hate how expensive cigarettes are now.

The U.S. Open was last weekend. There is no greater perennial disappointment in sports than the U.S. Open. The Masters is always great, the British Open is pretty cool, even if the competition sucks it’s fun to see the gloomy, rainy landscape. The PGA isn’t a real thing. It’s just another tournament and the term “grand slam” is too cool not to use, so here you go, here’s a fourth one. But the U.S. Open is supposed to be the big one. Father’s Day weekend, the democratic nature of qualification, the hardest courses, it has all the ingredients for high drama. So why does it suck? Only boring guys win it.

Look, I’m not going to sit here and cry about Tiger Woods. Just because he is one of my top five athletes of all time, and watching him dominate during his peak gave me hope that there was some greater purpose and meaning to life, and the hope of him winning again at 42 would validate my own potential assent to prosperity after 30. No pressure, Tiger. But if he’s not going to be at the top, who am I supposed to route for? I hate Jordan Spieth. I hate Rory McIlroy. And goddammit I hate Brooks Koepka! I blame Tiger for him. Tiger made real athletes start playing golf as kids when they should be knocking each other out on the football field. Koepka should be a linebacker. Linebackers don’t have to do 15 minute press conferences every day because nobody wants to hear how confident they are. And no human being should be able to hit a golf ball 400 yards. I am a strong advocate of wooden rackets in tennis and wooden woods in golf (stay tuned for the article: I love/hate technology).

To answer my own question: I’m rooting for the fat guys. Patrick Reed won the Masters. I can get behind this guy. He is currently not speaking to his parents because they didn’t want him to get married to his hot wife. I always hated Phil Mickelson, being a Tiger guy. But they are friends now which means I can make room for both. Going into the tournament, I thought it would be cool for Reed to go back-to-back or for Mickelson to win his first Open and complete the career grand slam (see how cool that sounds? It means you’re better than anybody else who may have won four random tournaments that you haven’t won). Instead we got Koepka versus the most boring figure in sports since Pete Sampras: Dustin Johnson.

Let’s go back to the fat guys for a second. I think people like them because they’re fat. People love John Daly. I understand the struggle, having gained 30 pounds since being hit by a car. I’ve only been in shape once in my life and that was when I first became a mailman, when the shock of walking 15 miles a day took hold of my sub-30-year-old metabolism for two glorious years. But these guys are rich, on TV, and paid to play a sport! How are they fat?! Seriously. If I could pay for a chef and trainer, I would be Brad Pitt in Fight Club level ripped. I guess the answer is why do they need to bother, I mean they got hot women to marry them anyway. But if I were them, I would be motivated to get in shape because of the constant realization that these women only married me because I’m good at golf. 10s don’t marry 3s. It just doesn’t happen. But, like Annie says in Bull Durham, “this world wasn’t made for people cursed with self awareness”.

Dustin Johnson holed a bunker shot, to extend his lead in the U.S. Open, and tapped the sand out of his cleats and raised a hand to the crowd. How is this possible. How does someone put in all the work he must have put in to become this good at a sport, and show so little emotion? He’s like a giant squinty-eyed robot. The main reason I can’t root for him, and I can’t believe nobody talks about this, is that his huge package is always out there for the whole world to see. Now that I’ve mentioned this you won’t be able to look at him again and see anything else, so you’re welcome. He’s like seven feet tall and wears tight pants made out of some soft sweatpants-like material. It looks like a sack of potatoes, as in, more than one potato. If I were gifted in this way, I would not be able to hit golf balls all day. Talent is wasted on the wrong people, I swear to God.

Robots win the U.S. Open because if you have feelings, and creativity, the course eventually causes you to lose your shit. Most people lose it internally, and just keep shooting bogeys, then try not to blame the course in the post-round interview while deliberately blaming the course. Except Mickelson, of course, who swatted a moving ball that was about to run off the green. He is getting a ton of criticism for that, which naturally means I loved it, and I now like him that much more. I hate “respect for the game”. These guys need a philosophy coach. All they care about is par, and there’s no such thing as par. There is only what the other guy shoots. Zach Johnson clearly doesn’t understand what Einstein was talking about with Relativity, and that’s why he’ll never win the U.S. Open. 

Congrats to Brooks Koepka. I’m sure he celebrated with some standup sex, which I’ve never had the arm strength to pull off. Tough break for DJ, but at least his wife is happy. (Have you figured out what the thing I love most is yet?) Maybe he can win the PGA Championship, whatever the hell that is. A “major” is a “major” I guess. 

Maybe Tiger can try WWE? He did train with the Navy SEALs…

[mountainspigsandfood]

Breakfast/Pondicheri/We’re all connected

breakfast is my favorite meal.  It’s true.

I don’t really indulge in THAT kind of breakfast that often but when it comes to travel and eating I’m always most obsessed with seeing what kind meal every culture indulges in to start their day.  

And I will tell you nothing gets you into the swing of a new place like eating what it is they eat there for the day’s first meal.  It’s true.  Feeling out of place or jet lagged or still pissed it’s god-knows-what time at home and in your body but 9am where you are and you’re still all dry from the airplane air?  Lost your luggage on top of that?   Eat their breakfast.  Sure, you can eat their lunch if it’s time for that but I’m talking breakfast now because I just love it so much.  

Costa Rica has a strong, strong breakfast game.   They even know how to seriously rock the granola and yogurt in the middle of the jungle.  And not “eco-lodge middle of the jungle” either.   Carambola juice that glows like the sun.  You know what?  I haven’t been there in easily 20 years and I remember how great my breakfasts were there.

Italy, the barely there lingerie of breakfast holders---still epic if you’re there just steps from Piazza Navona with an espresso and cornetti.   

When I had Lassi we had a great time coming up with breakfasts.   We didn’t open for breakfast for that long.   It wasn’t the neighborhood or street for it but the cooks and I started making each other breakfasts from then on.   Great paratha and egg curries.   Savory rice puddings with mango.   Carrot parathas with raita.   I always say the part of Lassi I miss most was the food.

I recently became friends with Chef Anita Jaisinghani.  After two successful restaurants in Houston she has come to New York with Pondicheri.    I never go out to Indian restaurants.   But I go to Pondicheri.  So good.  A great review from the New York Times as well.

AND THEY DO BREAKFAST AND IT IS GLORIOUS.  I’m going to have to go back 1000 times to make sure and eat EVERYTHING.

This is the breakfast Thali.     I can’t even look at it and stay sane I enjoyed it so much.

That’s a carrot paratha with a fried egg. Between 12 and 1 that’s a potato cake with strawberry preserves. To it’s right is uppma, a thick porridge made from semolina.  After that is lamb keema and salad and raita.  It hits the soul.   

This may sound nuts but I remember the first time I went the Loveless motel in Nashville.  Sweet Jesus I never recovered.  Literally.   The amount of whiskey from the night before plus the drive plus the biscuits bigger than my head.  There was also a truck stop outside of Sewanee with insane biscuits and gravy and it’s own prostitute named Debbie with glitter all over her shoulders.               I digress but Pondicheri brings me that kind of excitement.  And those things really excited me

I have to confess it’s really hard to write about breakfast when so much in the industry I call home and family is threatened right now.   Everyone I work with is an immigrant, a person of color, a woman, someone just trying to stay afloat while the numbers in restaurants are going down, a small business owner, a student, someone with or without health insurance.   If my writing seems different or not as quirky or restrained, it’s because the business pressures are immense right now.  If you can, support your smaller guys.  Your businesses that are owned by the gal behind the counter.  The one that’s run by your neighbor.  

And don’t forget to have breakfast. It’s the most fabulous meal of the day if I have anything to say about it.