#like bro why are you constantly squaring up with a 15 year old?

[butwhyduh]

Getting tall

Summary: Damian finally hits his growth spurts and the fam have opinions. Some damijon, timkon, jaytemis, and dickori mentioned.

Damian was an adorable tiny murder baby when he first showed up at the manor. Like a feral kitten. Short end of normal growth at 10 years old and thin too, Dr Leslie found. Make sure he eats 3 square meals and snacks when he wants and he’ll be just fine. Alfred had made it his mission, as he had done for both Jason and Tim, to put weight on Damian.

The first family member he outgrew was Cass. She reached over to ruffle his hair only to reach up above her head rather than below it. She didn’t mind. 5’4 isn’t very tall. She’d just have to remember that the next time they spar. Height wasn’t an important factor to her.

It was a few months later that Damian hit a massive growth spurt and grew 4 inches. He passed by 5’6 Stephanie.

“Hey little dude. What are they puttin in your food, miracle grow?” She asked when she noted how tall he was and how big his feet had gotten. Damian was a bit like the giant puppies all gangly. Alfred was adjusting the Robin costume monthly after Damian rushed to put it on for patrol one day and every time he raised his arms he felt his stomach show. Clothes were constantly being bought that met his newest height increase. The Kents were very appreciative of the barely worn clothing Jon got as Damian went through another pair.

“I’m perfectly normal in growth,” he said pulling on the hem of his shirt that was growing shorter by the day. Stephanie eyed him but left it. Tim hated the height jokes they would make when everyone started passing him in height. Nowadays Tim just rolled his eyes and deferred all short jokes to Bart who Damian was now taller than. Bart didn’t care at all because he was short but he was also at least top 3 faster people ever so who cares right?

For a very short time, Damian was taller than Jon. He liked that. Jon thought it was pretty funny.

“D, I’m going to be taller. My dad and mom are both taller than yours. I’ll be taller in the end,” Jon said with a grin before Damian pushed him off the roof. Jon giggled and stared at Damian with obvious heart eyes. The kid was definitely smitten.

Tim was half an inch taller. He didn’t acknowledge it in any way. But it wasn’t surprising. His mother was tiny, his father lower end of average, and Tim probably skipped too many meals with working during an important growth phase while he was becoming Robin. 5’8.5 is a perfectly normal height for a man. He had an easier time with stealth.

Bruce watched as his son grew more handsome and taller everyday. He recognized things he hadn’t taken the time to see with Dick or Jason and had missed completely with Tim. Aftershave, cologne, and deodorant budget went up exponentially and Damian was barred from bringing any of his shoes in the house and his Robin uniform had to double washed occasionally. He spent far longer in the bathroom doing his hair and agonizing over any spot on his face.

Bruce even once caught Damian do the lean on the doorframe while talking to someone they like when Jon visited once. He had to give the worst birds and bees talk of all time. Bruce also noted how Damian had Talia’s nose and his lip curled the same way hers did when he smiled. He stretched when walking to the breakfast table the same way Dick did.

Damian didn’t get another true growth spurt for 2 years. There was plenty of jokes that he jumped up to his height and didn’t move again. Jon was once again taller than Damian. Alfred was ready this time with the massive amount of food the 15 year old could put away and panels in his costume for easier adjustments.

Talia smiled proudly at her son as he grew taller than her. He was turning out handsome like his father but kept her feature and in her mind, that was the perfect combo. She never told Damian because she didn’t him to grow arrogant.

Dick didn’t notice it right away. He was so busy with Bludhaven and the Titans that he didn’t notice Damian had gotten a full inch taller than him. He only realized when him and Damian practiced a complex move that required a taller and shorter partner while training. They paired up as they always did and the maneuver completely fell apart. Dick was mentally putting together why it failed when Damian walked over and it clicked. Little D was not so little anymore.

“You’re taller than me,” he said brightly. Damian immediately grinned.

“So now you’re little D,” Damian said back. Dick laughed at that one.

“Don’t let it go to your head. I can throw you around like a tilt-a-whirl,” Dick warned. Of course, that’s exactly what happened the next time they sparred when Damian tried to use his height advantage.

“I can beat Jason so don’t think you can beat me just by being bigger,” Dick said standing over Damian who rolled his eyes.

Dick had no problem with Damian getting taller. It was his own height he had a complicated relationship with. See, Dick grew up as an acrobat. Being tall is a disadvantage. More weight to swing, more body to move. And his father had told him growing up that almost every Grayson man has been 5’8. It’s a legacy as strong as flying above the circus crowd.

And so when at 15, Dick was very distraught with the fact that he hadn’t stopped growing at 5’8. It felt like a part of his history and family legacy had died. He wasn’t one of the 5’8 Grayson men. He never told anyone beside Kori, late at night where she told him she loved him tall or small. She had already far outpaced Dick and was on her way to being 6’4.

Duke and Alfred and Damian were the same height for a short while. Duke would joke that he could just wear the Robin’s costume since they were the same size. Damian would threaten to disembowel him if he touched it and that made Duke laugh even more.

When he grew taller Duke once again joked with Damian calling him a not so jolly green giant and Alfred considered his nutrition attempt a complete success. Damian went from a tiny kid to a tall strong young man.

Damian and Jon were practically the same size for a while. Jon barely bent his neck to rest his chin on Damian’s shoulder as his partner worked on a complex mechanical part. Then Jon hit another growth spurt to end in his final height of 6’2, same as Bruce and his father. Damian enjoyed having a taller boyfriend for a while but would never say anything. High school dances were nice.

Bruce could see Damian getting taller and stronger and was practically grown. Dr Leslie warned Bruce that growth could continue until Damian was in his early 20s and he could end up a quite tall young man or stop tomorrow.

Jason liked being the tallest and biggest in the family. He had an entire inch in height on Bruce and was at least 20 lbs heavier. He was built like tank. When Jason had died at 15, he was terrifyingly thin. Alfred had tried his best but Jason had suffered malnutrition and hunger from practically birth. He was short and thin and Dr Leslie had told Bruce he probably always would be. And so when Jason came back to life a giant 6’3 and over 200 lbs, it was a shock. It took him forever to accept his size as anything more than an amour to create fear in his enemies. The first time he had accidentally scared a woman walking in the street at night, Jason had hated that he was so big. But within his family, it had become a source of pride. He was certainly taller than Dick and Alfred and even Bruce.

So when he visited Cass’s birthday party and Jason stood next to Damian and realized that the kid was taller than him, he was a little shocked. Damian had reached his final height of 6’4.

“When the hell did you get so big?” Jason asked while cake was being served. Dick nosed in the conversation.

“Little D is taller than you now,” he said with a teasing grin at Jason.

“And yet you insist on calling me Little D,” Damian said with an eye roll.

“I call him Big D,” Jon said with a smile. Dick blanched and Jason coughed out an awkward laugh.

“Good for you, bro,” he said patting Damian on the back. Jon blushed at the sudden understanding.

“No! I mean- he’s taller than me. I didn’t mean- uh,” Jon stuttered. Damian grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him away from his brothers who were laughing.

“It’s weird you know,” Jason admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

“The fact that he is dating Jon?”

“No, they’ve been together forever. That he’s taller than me,” Jason said.

“Are you- does it bother you that you aren’t the tallest?” Dick asked with a gleeful smile.

“No,” Jason said abruptly.

“It could be like how I learned my little brother was bigger than me,” Dick teased. “All of a sudden you were just massive. My tiny little brother was this big dude. Good thing I’m comfortable with my masculinity.”

“Your girlfriend is like 6 inches taller than you. If that isn’t emasculating then there’s nothing I could do,” Jason answered.

“Yeah, she’s always been taller than me,” Dick said with a fond smile. “You can’t talk with the Amazon you’ve been hanging with.” He pushed Jason’s shoulder with a grin.

“We’re just friends-I guess,” Jason said uncomfortable. “That’s not the same-“

“Well at least Tim will always be our little brother,” Dick changed the subject but mentally noted Jason’s reaction to the mention of Artemis.

“Yeah, he’ll always be a shrimp,” Jason agreed.

“Honestly fuck you both,” Tim said from across the room. With Kon standing next to him he certainly looked tiny.

“Hey, it’s my birthday and I am the shortest and I can still kick all of your butts,” Cassandra reminded them both and they laughed but neither corrected her because they knew she was right.

[algrolo]

can u PLS explain why the buildings in that post are the way they are, thank u so much for ur time

Alright folks, ask and ye shall receive. Follow up to this post.

Location: Paris, France

Name: Tour Maine-Montparnasse

Paris is fun because you’ve got one of The Most iconic skylines which is literally just a single building which isn’t really a building its actually a big steel tower Mr. Eiffel designed in the 19th century and Paris went “we like it, leave it up”. Because of this, Paris doesn’t have a lot of tall skyscrapers and thus isn’t “””modernizing””” like other old European cities because all the tall skyscrapers have to be away from the super big important tower but unfortunately that’s the center of Paris. 

So, some developer comes along, says to the Planning and Zoning Commission (the people who say ‘you can build this’) “we need to make Paris modern!”. The historical society says no. The planning commission says no. You say you will make a big tower that doesn’t looks like anything else in the area so as to “not disturb the local character” and the historical society buys it. You say “big tower means lots of people working means more taxes for city” and the city buys it.

You build a big tower. Everyone hates it. Paris bans more big towers in this area. This conversation will happen again in 15 years.

Location: Chicago, USA

Name: Marina City

History lesson! From like 1400-1800 architects say “hey, lets make really fancy, pretty buildings” - Gothic, et al. 1800-1900 “hey, lets make really fancy pretty buildings but now we care about the materials because we can use this steel stuff” - Gothic Revival, et al. 1900-1960 “Ornament? Hate that. Material? Hate that. We’re looking for clean lines. Clean walls. We can design the ultimate living experience.”- Modernism

It is the 1960s. Everyone hates modernism now because the buildings are constantly breaking and having super clean walls and lines is like living in something more sterile than a hospital. So you and your buds get drunk in the woods and then start thinking “shit, there’s no straight lines out here, maybe buildings should also be, like, organic?” You all pass out. The next morning you come up with brutalism.

Brutalism works on paper... for architects. Because we know the history. For everyone else they just look at this shit and go “yo, why the fuck is it like... that?” This building? It’s supposed to look like two big trees. The circular ribbing is meant to imitate the bark of a tree trunk. 

Is it stupid? Yes. Next.

Location: Seattle, USA

Name: Rainier Tower

Ahahahahaha. Okay this one’s funny. After taking a quick look at what’s happening on ground level, the answer is dumb.

You own a single story retail space on this office block. The code says you can actually build a lot higher because of your zoning. You go to an architect and say “listen I want to make my building a little taller so its worth more money.” They come back and say “we can make a skyscraper.” You say “oh sweet, not what i asked for, but yes, that’ll be worth a lot of money lets do that.” Architect says “k but we gotta destroy your existing building cause skyscrapers are kinda heavy and your building would be crushed.”

“Aww but I like my building” you say. Architect goes quiet for a week. They come back and say “Yeah i think we got something that works.” And then congrats. You have this dumb building. The giant concrete foot blooms outward and takes all the loads (weight) of the building. And since you aren’t doing any work on the street, you don’t infringe upon traffic or any other building’s or road’s structural stability.

Technically you got everything you asked for but, uh, was it worth it?

Location: Sydney, Austrailia

Name: Building 8, University of Sydney

If you’ve seen any other buildings that are all crumbled or unnecessarily curvy, it’s probably one of Frank Gehry’s. It’s still a coin toss if Gehry is designing the way he does to be funny and ironic or if he seriously thinks its the direction that architecture should be going in. Welcome to the era of “buildings should reflect the Nature (not nature) of what’s around them.

So what’s around this building? Students. How does he interpret this? “Student’s are like a brown paper bag: malleable, coming to college to be filled with knowledge. School is there to fill them up and the final product should be a paper bag that has been sufficiently filled, ready to step out into the world” -Frank Gehry, probably.

Sometimes, buildings reflecting the Nature of what’s around them works. Like when he designed the Guggenheim Museum Bilbao in Spain (curves represent boat building and the nearby river). Building 8? Bro, this just looks stupid. I didn’t go to college for 5 years to be called a brown paper bag. Stick to squares, please.

[colombiapola]

Cartagena, Colombia - At Peace By The Beach

I slipped on a set of loose-fitting cotton shorts, and stepped out of my coastline front hotel area for the night. Within a few steps, I remained in the middle of a folkloric dance group Pola Colombia

Women in white embroidered gowns were swirling around their male companions, at the very same time, generating a mild wind in the damp, seaside air.

This is regular of Colombia, a nation that takes the art of dance and also charm contests seriously. Integrate this with the all-natural, eruptive rhythms of Afro-Colombians who heavily populate the seaside locations, and you have actually obtained one continual road event.

Although their Spanish conquerors have long left, Colombians continue to discharge a flamenco-like atmosphere.

Founded in 1533 by Pedro de Heredia, Cartagena worked as a delivery course and storage space for emeralds and also gold that was later delivered to Spain.

This picturesque city on the Caribbean coastline was once the main access port of African servants to the Americas; currently it's a UNESCO World Heritage Site, as well as Colombia's favored vacationer location.

Cartagena was attacked sometimes throughout history. The British and also French stormed the city looking for cached prizes. Pirates additionally navigated its waters trying to find other hidden riches.

Among the most significant attacks came from Sir Francis Drake, that in 1586, shown up under the cover of darkness with a large team of men. By daylight, they required a lot of the city to run away. Prior to leaving eight months later on, they torched residences, services, and extorted local government authorities out of substantial amounts of cash, as well as swiped useful jewels.

The last major assault happened in 1741, when British Leader, Edward Vernon, as well as George Washington's half bro, showed up with over 25,000 soldiers and a fight group of 186 ships. Although the Spaniards and African servants were exceeded 7 to one, they withheld the assault and placed a counterattack which compelled Commander Vernon to withdraw his troops. Sadly for him, not before he lost virtually fifty percent of his men, and a lot of his battleships.

Today, Cartagena is a city which continues to hold much of its old Spanish splendor. Spread throughout the older barrios are balconied colonial buildings, repainted in a wide variety of shades.

The old, main component of Cartagena is reinforced by 14 miles of stone walls, and various other fortifications. Numerous locals still believe the material used to hold with each other these stones, was combined with the blood of African servants. Whether that holds true or otherwise, lots of servants died below while assisting to fortify the city against pirates.

The Castle of San Felipe de Barajas was built in between 1536 as well as 1657. The very same citadel that endured the attack of Commander Vernon as well as his soldiers still overlook Cartagena. One glimpse and it's noticeable why it could not be penetrated.

Contemporary Cartagena is overcome consistently by a stable circulation of Colombian, as well as international visitors. The majority of their emphasis is on the old city, where they extend down slim rock streets in search of historic sites.

As you enter Plaza de los Coches (Train Square), directly underneath the city's famous clock, you encounter a huge sculpture of Pedro de Heredia, that established the city in 1533. Simply to the left of the statue, pastel colored early american buildings load the Plaza's landscape.

In the daytime, ladies line the sidewalk with their sweet stands, marketing standard desserts. Individuals relax on the benches and delight in traditional music and also dancing, road comedy efficiencies and even an occasional lecture from a curbside preacher.

At sundown, horse-drawn carriages line up right here, all set to take vacationers on a lantern lit tour with the heart of midtown. It's possible to shut your eyes and go back in time as the equine's hooves resonate off the tight patched streets.

At the end of the plaza (concerning 100 feet), is an open square with a Christopher Columbus monument. This is Plaza de la Aduana (Traditions Plaza), and stands for a dark side of Cartagena's past.

In 1564, Cartagena came to be the portal to the Americas for lots of African servants. Those that survived the treacherous passage got off the ships, and were then aligned in Customs Plaza, displayed around, and also auctioned like animals to the highest possible bidders.

Straight behind Plaza de la Aduana, is the Plaza San Pedro Claver. Named after Saint Peter Claver, that was warmly nicknamed "servant to the servants," this tiny square houses a sanctuary that births his name.

Daddy Claver revealed empathy for the servants who got here. He welcomed a lot of them when they were off loaded, and promptly honored the dying children and the unwell. He spent several years providing treatment for hurt and ill servants, and baptized hundreds of thousands throughout his life time.

5 mins stroll outside the walled city, as well as you're standing in front of Castle San Felipe. It's worth the brief climb up the high hill to reach its doors. You can explore the castle's enormous premises, touch the original cannons, and also peer via the portals. You can likewise stare over the wall surfaces, as well as see the view of the city.

Around 20 maritime miles off Cartagena are the Rosario Islands. This island chain contains 27 environmentally varied islands which have actually been picked as a National forest by the Colombian federal government. If you are trying to find the best area to unwind, it's here. Good snorkeling, diving, windsurfing, kayaking as well as walking are readily available. The outside fish tank and also dolphin programs are constantly a hit with taking a trip households.

Several boats leave early in the early morning from the downtown pier, and also slide over the calm waters to the islands in regarding 45 minutes. The last watercrafts of the day return to Cartagena around 4 p.m. So, you can load a lunch and also make it a day outing, or invest a few peaceful evenings on the islands.

Throughout the majority of the barrios in the city, you frequently pick up that you remain in a smaller town. Throughout the day, vendors stroll the neighborhoods hawking everything from ripe papayas and also fresh fish, to pots and frying pans, and also lotto tickets.

Throughout the city, you can locate makeshift football fields where lots of young children play, football in the blazing sunlight (and occasionally in gale rainfall) kicking goals like specialists, wanting to be the following Carlos Valderrama, or Ronaldinho.

After watching the dancing efficiency, I strayed down some backstreets and also located some pairs nursing cool beverages near an open pit grill. The waft of barbecued hen filled up the muggy night air. The food selection looked tasty, too.

Cartagena cuisine is a variant of authentic Caribbean as well as Creole, although you can discover a vast array of food as well as drinks. Outdoor dishes generally feature the sounds of Vallenato, Reggaeton, Champeta, or Salsa music, typically thumping from tall speakers, however sometimes live.

Generally, Colombia is a suitable gateway to South America for new vacationers; whether they're backpackers, cruise liner guests, or even those on a family journey.

From the majesty of the walled city, to scenic beaches, to casual street events, Cartagena is a location you will always bear in mind.

Where to remain:

If you get on a shoestring spending plan, hotel lodging in Cartagena can cost as little as $5-10 a night in the Getsemaní location. However, for that price, expect a basic bed, follower, with a shared washroom and also shower. Include one more $15 and you can find comfy spaces in this historical area of community, which occurs to be the oldest area in Cartagena.

The Bocagrande area has one of the most hotels in Cartagena. Right here, you'll locate many resorts on the beach. From tiny family members hotels to 5-Star, there is a rate variety for everyone.

If you intend to be pampered, attempt the Charleston Hotel. Not just does it supply 5-Star solutions, it's skillfully concealed between the city's old wall surfaces, and it sits near many tourist destinations in the old city.

The Charleston includes an impressive roof pool and also restaurant location. Right here, you get a bird's- eye sight of the Caribbean, Cartagena Bay as well as the wonderful old city.

Arriving:

Copa Airlines has direct trips from Miami and Panama City, Panama.

AirMadrid has straight flights from Madrid and also Barcelona, Spain.

Visa:

American visitors traveling to Colombia need to have a legitimate U.S. passport, however not a visa. This allows you to stay up to 90 days. This can be expanded for an additional 90 days at the Migration office (DAS).

[dahmer]

oh pi! at es. ples. ples.

Oh! just, subtle, and mighty opium! that to the hearts of poor and rich alike, for the wounds that will never heal, and for 'the pangs that tempt the spirit to rebel,' bringest an assuaging balm; eloquent opium! that with thy potent rhetoric stealest away the purposes of wrath; and to the guilty man, for one night givest back the hopes of his youth, and hands washed pure of blood.... qtd // thomas de Quincey // Confessions of an English Opium Eater

here’s a man, once ill-tempered of turks and trendsetting vices, speaking to the grand stage of the world fashioned in this season’s epide-mock. a warm, fuzzy coatish wear nestled in the covers. small american towns know these styles too well to count body bags, along cotton pads and china scabs, among mother’s basements and luxury high risers graduating all from the fancy-feels certificate of blues. those roxy pebbles, how they start us so--an endless invitation to long summer warmth that childhood bathtubs and lawn-mower sundays would once bring.

when did the foil side decision set in. was there truly a technique to not waste the evaporated smoke, or just somedaze endless-ego-talk of the mighty soldiers in the opium army of guilt. shame, yes sir! solute to toot, scrap the straw edges as the hours pass waiting for the guy with the goods. were you in california when fent came along, past the liquid patch of time-released days. the recents 16s, 17s, two thousands eighteens. labs grade, synthesizing variations to parade as china. “east coast man, east coast shit. it’s the best ever. no, nah nah bro, i got you. bud took one point, was on his ass for hours. nod on fire.”

did chemists know the china rhetoric will turn fent-for-all. markets of east coast fantasies, oblivious to west coast privileges. of potency. of people. of starry nights in smashing pumpkin music video dreams, riding through hollywood as a secret member of the powder variety. it’s a plague paraded as a epidemic because that word has no world of meaning to the good folk playing their igno-rent; recycling stigmas of junky choice rattling thrillists. despite the proof inside the bottles. the truth in every bottle. in every cabinet. of every person. with every doctor. who ever felt. the normalcy sensation of one of the most blanked words: pain.

pain is surely what that just, subtle, and mighty opium! creates in the hearts of the poor and rich alike. the rich die often in the experimentation state of emergency someone labeled as ‘the opioid problem’--problem? oh lily, you know as much as your wilted leaves and neighboring trees the silly stamp we slap when using ‘problem’ to critically deconstruct something magnificently complex.this ‘problem’ has destroyed empires for centuries. it’s notorious and makes no attempt to conceal its power in narrative recollections of the living  authors that have spoke the truths of humanity across language, land, and lives. yet big pharma pulled off opana and roxicodone in the last 20 years. if there’s any declaration of the fools ruling the castle in modern times, this must be the great exemplary act. the profit of pain, oh yawn. i’m sure the academic discourse that has capture this best is brilliant it construction and nature, but what difference does it make in an opiated masses?

i’ve not canceled my subscriptions to the periodical dual tragedies of the early 21st century, as they remain unchanged and unchallenged: (1) a sheer lack of empathy in the common man; (2) the curious and devastating complacency and lack of outrage to what seems to unfold before our eyes, rapidly and carelessly so now that it’s almost as if those navigating the unseen lines of powers that be mock us, appropriately so. if we’re no opiated, we’re not outrage or active either. generalization? yes. but for those who fall outside of this, fight causes that continually reveal themselves as premeditated chess pieces in the political playing field that has seep into dominating the social sphere that delivers use a constantly-running facet of media and targeted, privatized ads.

i am an addict.

i can clean. M knows. some family knows. the weight that has been lifted is ineffably enduring. i’m frustrated, naturally, at the golden years missed. the creativity, the goodness of my heart, kindness of soul, charity, intellectual ability, sincerity, and passionate interests. how they dulled and disappeared. the weight of their reappearance should be the least of my worries, and for now have been. i’m only a week into my methadone treatment program. but my partner knows now. and that was the missing link, that was needed for so long. he left. i stay in the apartment alone. had the worst week. four days into starting treatment, i get arrested on a fix-it ticket that never was completely closed in a difference country because the DMV didn’t inform the courthouse I’ve squared everything away. I was given a new court date to bring this documentation in myself after final payments were made and the matter seemed settled. but the letter was sent to my old apartment, so i was completely unaware a warrant in los angeles was issued. a few short blocks away from my new apartment in newport beach, where M returned for the first time since walking in on me and learning of the addiction that exposure so much (that was the most bittersweet, hard, important, thankful, and devastating night of my life--but revitalizing. I never realize how much everything rested on just M being told or finding out.). I’m almost home, about to see it, sirens go on. get pulled over. second car arrives. i’m in cuffs. call my works, and text M to say I wouldn’t be coming home to give him space.

at this point, i was told i would be transferred to LA that night, and see a judge in the morning. have everything taken care of. but orange county SA jail is notorious for lies and abuse. there was no intentions of this, and i went from holding cell to orange jumpsuit soon enough. smart this time, i disclosed my sexuality. was given a special block, with an actual two-person jail cell. like the movies. my cell mate was great. jason ciega. curious sexuality. talked heavily about girlfriends, but made subtle jokes that went: “when you’re expecting pussy, but life gives ya dick... but hey, there’s nothing wrong with that too.” He vaguely mentioned his sexuality was “whatever”--I respected and explained why I identify as queer. i have some hidden white china fent mix left i snuck in, even after the cavity search. I stressed needing the bathroom for diarrhea, in fear of the 4-6 gram rocks being found. they kept stressing if i had drugs, it would be another charge. but with my profession work title, they didn’t really consider that with me. i hated that i had to use again so early in treatment, but this avoided the sickness. and made me sleep through the day and a half before M bailed me out. when i got celled up with jason, he shared his rations he bought, like cookies and stuff. i shared my china, in very small doses. he still O.D.’d. turned blue and purple, unconscious, eyes behind head. he took off his shirt after sniffing the first baby bit. i snorted probably 30x what he did, and barely felt something, tolerance. his speck had him worried after 5 mins. “I don’t feel it”

I tell him it wait another 5-10 mins at least. he starts ripping up my mattress and sheet to make a pillow and bedsheet. at first i’m scared this would cause the jail keeper to punish or abuse me. i saw it happened. beds are supposed to be returned in the form they were given. but the special blocks for “protective custody” and queers were treated with more respect, out of fear I assume. The regular jail area is a massive shared space with dozens of rows of beds, and people organized and grouped by race and gangs that you must join right away. I was glad I didn’t have to endure that. I did briefly at 19 for an alcohol in public ticket. only spent 4-6 hours in actual jail-orange-suits area after 10-15 hours of hold cells then. realized how racially divided even jails were. but this experience was more pleasant, given the circumstances. before jason began nodding out, he was fun and talkative in an enjoyable well. he revealed a great chest and body--small frame, but bulky build with tattoos. an insecure boy turn nice guy that acts like one of the guys. referenced odd jokes that seemed code for him being a bottom, and wanting sexual companionship if we ended up bunking for awhile. mutual only, of course. i laughed these attempts off. jason was lonely, and i wasn’t there for inmate sex. i’m in love with M, and still spent every moment worrying and texting about him, and what i’ve done to him. how little he knows about this addiction, how much his family might enable him to think narrowly or ignorantly about the realities of this as a disease.

M abandoned me the day I began treated, 2 mornings after he caught me and everything in our lives froze. we sat on the bed that night, side by side, for hours. him crying in his hands mostly, for hours. me frozen in a wave of emotions. i was a fault. i was honest and told him everything. this was the only thing i kept from him, and told him why. the shame, the guilt. the fear. losing him. rejection of me, disposal of my efforts and love from him and his family. he said we needed time apart. i begged him to be there for me, no matter what the outcome was of our relationship, at least in the beginning. knowing this is the most crucial time to have a support system. he expressed things like believing I’ve just been high this whole time, and asked questions that extracted as much shame and guilt as possible. he had every right to. it’s all i’ve see him and his twin ever do. to the point of their older brother needing serious psychological helping, crying out literally shouting how suicidal he is, but they fail to understand how mental health works, how humor and jokes are masks that should be taken seriously. M was hurt most that I lied. I did lie. Not directly, but did lie at times when he asked why i was in the bathroom for so long. It was unspoken, so it didn’t feel like lying. More like protecting, but it was lying. And I will forever be in the wrong.

Going to jail may have ruined any chance of him coming back. And I can’t stand that thought. He doesn’t know what I’ve been going through. How long it took to be honest about my addiction, what steps I took to try to get clean on my own, the lies you convince yourself off--that you can do it alone, that it’ll work out, that you’ll run out of money so you’ll have to stop. My only other treatment attempt told me I must tell M. He’s the closest to me that I love and trust, who is a good influence, not a user, and could be my support system that sees me through this, and can monitor me during the first 3-7 days that are most crucial. M mentioned how he could have come home to find me dead. O.D. we watched docs and podcasts on the epidemic, but they don’t go into how hard this experience is. How withdrawal is considered one of the hardest things a human can possible do in life, and takes incredible amounts of courage, strength, and dedication that M will probably never even experience in his life. The reports just assume people know this stuff. And under-represent who is most likely to O.D. I’ve never come close. I haven’t been high in, years. I used to stay normal. M, and others like him--those who don’t know--don’t understand that. I was never chasing the dragon. I hate the addiction, quickly. I was too smart for it. Too focused and dedicated to have this problem.

But I did, and unless I dose a certain amount, I couldn’t function. Bedridden in the worst sickness imaginable. To those who’ve experience withdrawal, it’s not just the constant, non-stop, extreme physical sickness. It’s the relentless psychological sickness. Torture. That doesn’t even given you a 30 second break. Hearing that your sick for 3-5 days might sound easy because we call it “getting sick” or “dope sick”--but it’s a far worse experience that can even be fatal for some. My finances and lack of wanting to be doped out, nodding and unproductive all day luckily allowed my addiction to plateau at taking a certain amount to stay well, and doing that everyday for over a year. Til I was caught. It would slightly increase, but fluctuate, based on product, potency, and source going around. I never shot. Only snorted, that was my ritual. And when I was stupid, I would smoke. It was a waste, that burned through product much faster. Which meant more money and time dedicated to staying well. The consistent tolerance and dosing makes my chances of O.D’ing incredibly low. If M knew me as an addiction, which he couldn’t--I never disclosed--he’d know this was hell. Torture. Something I spent endless nights up all night wishing, hoping, begging for change. 

The fright came from the Friday I got into a detox treatment program. I told him two nights before I needed him for supported. He made a sly remark about “what, you’re going to force me to stay around or you’ll OD and die if I don’t”--but it was among other things, so it was unclear what would happened. And days past, with little words exchanged, but M stayed around. When he returned from work, I was in bed and he has if I stayed treatment. I said yes, but didn’t explain or speak confidently out of fear of him not knowing what these treatments were, how much research I’ve done, how I picked this on purpose with a goal to get off treatment drugs soon too and never be dependent on a substance. He didn’t ask much questions. He shortly said it’s good, then revealed he’s packing up and staying at this parents for the weekend. I froze in silence. He packed and said some of the same narrowed perspective claims from the other night--how my sibling and her spouse are there to help me. M thinks because they’ve both been in AA, and one is an ex-heroin addict in healthy, long-term recovery that they can just drop their full time college, 3 jobs, and toddler to take care of me. They’re wonderful support systems, but the detox clinic described who needs to be around the first 3 days for my outpatient detox, and it perfectly defined M. 

But I must respect M’s decisions, feelings, angry, and pain. He has his own healing to do. All I said was that I need support more now than ever, so please don’t forget me. This was in response to him saying I could always call him if I needed something--which was worded in a way that read like ‘call in emergencies, but I’m out.’ So I went through it alone, all 3 days. In bed. I called a friend for xanax, even though you have to be very very careful taking both. I was, and needed to sleep if no one would be there to check on me. At this time, I thought either M felt his hurt and pain outweighed what I was going through, and that’s understandable regardless of my experience actually being a life-threatening disorder. What I wish he knew was that most people who O.D.--the ones on the news all the time. It’s most from relapse. Stopping, detoxing, getting clean. Then a trigger happens, or hope gives up, opportunity comes, or you feel alone and no one cares. Whatever the reason, you return to the drug and take a similar dose, or even smaller dose, than what you were doing before. But your tolerance fades as quickly as it builds, and is different for everything. So most O.D. deaths are simply from people relapsing and taking too much without knowing where their new tolerance stands. Any temptation or relapse could be my last breathe.

I still live in that fear, but I’m motivated and happy to finally get clean. It’s all I wanted, I just couldn’t do it alone. And knew this. The summer realized it most. I spent the summer trying to find the right time and opportunity to tell M. He has no idea how many plans and times and moments I wanted to. Even my trip to NYC. I wanted t come back clean so bad. It doesn’t work that way, You need those in your life who support and love you to help. That’s what a relationship is. It’s like if I was diagnosed with cancer. But social misconception and outdated conception allows this opposite, toxic reaction. Where now I exist in this constant mental cycle that centers on figuring out what to do for M. It would hurt my sister, so that would be my biggest regret, but I think M wants a gift from me more than anything; however, knowing him well, he’d never ask. If I just gave it to him, he’d be free. No more doubts or embarrassments or beating himself up about not knowing or what others would think. No more hating and shaming me. He wouldn’t ever have to deal with it, which is what I realize he wants in life. Where we disagree. I can’t play video games and ignore maintaining healthy efforts all day. He’s made great improvements, but blind to others that allowed him to say hurtful things like without even consciousness of it, but would be shocked and hurt if someone said the same back to him. This created a state where if anything that required him to get up from playing video games in his ‘free time’ (non work hours) is a drag that he resents or avoids at all costs. It cost the friendships built between my closest friends, who love him and he claimed to love them. This constant thread was something I battled with most. I would count the weekends I would spend doing whatever he wanted--hanging with siblings, friends, work functions, friends parties. 11 weekends go by, then one movie night with my friends and he wouldn’t even pretend to want to go. It hurt, but I learned other people’s needs are an annoyance or deterrent to his rightful ability to be glued to the computer. I know this was a big factor in never bringing up my addiction. Already he hated any serious conversations, even if I tried to make them positive about reaching goals. Even mentioning one would cause eye rolls and audible disgusts, vocalizing how he just doesn’t like them or “aren’t good at them”--which never made sense to me. I understand he didn’t like to have conversations that implied he’s less than perfect or right, but it creates this wall around you where no one will ever be able to grow or talk or really improvement your or our lives together. I didn’t think much of it. But now that I’m learning my triggers, I’m not blaming M. It will always be me. But I regret starting to pick up his habits in attempts to try and connect more with him, and be closer. I started playing video games more and more, and all my interests disappeared. There was never a time I played video games that didn’t require going to the bathroom and dosing. I couldn’t live that life. But I wanted to build a life with M. When he stopped talking an interests in sharing my activities, I doubled down with his. But things that felt non-productive and antisocial to me became triggers.

There are other issues that caused distance and perhaps his lack of interest or investment in my friends and desires. One, my addiction. Where my interests began to dull. A terrible cycle that grows like a fungus, and can stem from one activity to get closer, but affect another. Also, I gained a considerable amount of weight. This was before my addiction started, but at a time that M became less physical. Then associated it with my weight gain. This was always curious. All compliments, words of encouragement, positive reinforcement, or sexual intimacy ceased, yet I was expected to work harder on health. I should have, but I never went a period of my sexual life where exercise and health were part of my routine because it continued my ability to have a sexual life. In a serious relationship, taking this element away makes it hard to understand how or if anything would restore such intimacy sense there’s no expression, communication, or honesty from M. Just gestures and small hints. He experienced some weight gained, and when he finally got a job after college--after 8 months of playing video games all day as I worked 2-3 jobs 6 days a week plus went to the gym, cleaned the house, and made dinner most nights for him and our roommate--he took up the gym and has done a great job focusing on getting in shape. I expressed this once, and it was something that was some important and meaningful because it consumed by consciousness, but I still wonder a year later if he understood or truly took to heart pointing out that when he got a full time, professional job and began working out after work, he came home daily needing positive reinforcement, acknowledgement, and encouragement about his gym efforts. Even in the early stages when not much can be seen.

I expressed that before grad school, when I really gained the weight from the stress and demands, I too signed up for the gym after my first, full time professional job after college. On top of this, I continued working on Sundays at a restaurant doing back-breaking labor I underplayed because tips were good. My one day off--Saturdays--I spent putting our first apartment together, shopping, planning, going to every family event or friend invite he extended, while keeping up with cooking and cleaning. During this time, M never acknowledged my gym efforts, progress, or work. I think once he complimented me in a tank, but apart from that, I believe he saw that this was just my role. Expected and easy, like it was nothing to essentially try my best to be the best version of myself, be the best boyfriend I could be, build a relationship together, and not ask for anything in return. This felt like my nature, so I didn’t think much of it at the time.

It wasn’t until I started grad school, and he began what I had already gone through: entry level at first professional job. I don’t know why I’m writing about it now, but it hurt he was doing it in a way that made it seem I had no idea what this was like because of my current shape, and my support was expected, not appreciated. M has never been too expressive, but any acknowledgement or encouragement while attending Gold’s gym after work each day in DTLB would have done so much for my self-esteem, our intimacy, his care and support, or just mutual respect I guess when the tables turned later. I still continue to compliment and support. But the thought is always there. What is it about me and what I do, the effort I put in, that seems just expected. Demanded. Not a privilege or sign of care, affection, and love. But “do your damn job”--but then anyone who does the same or a fraction of the same things has the right to guilt or shame me in not being supportive or caring enough. Why do I just exist to replace the role of M’s parents, perhaps, but my efforts aren’t even acknowledged to the same degree in how M views what his parents do. 

The shortcomings are what he’s most expressive about. Like I have a savings account like him, and just not paying  for things I literally cannot. I didn’t have my parents pay for college, a car, half my rent, bills, and little things in life M takes for granted. I pay for everything. And even having one or two things taken care of by parents allow young adults to live remarkably more comfortable lives that they’re blind to. They don’t understand the luxury of saving every paycheck because their parents pay for everything else. Or maybe it’s me, and my fault for having interests, and occasionally spending money on exploring interests to acculturate my life. Understanding myself, people, and culture better. Be a strong global citizen,

I don’t know. A lot of these claims are unfair to M. He avoids serious conversations, but most of this has come up. It’s just been treated with silence. When he caught my addiction last week, he kept repeating how hurt he was that I lied about it. He’s right, but I couldn’t shake the feeling... when would I ever been able to tell you and you wouldn’t act this way? Was there a time limit when you would have been supportive? Where you would have stayed and ensured I didn’t die during the most crucial period? Would there ever been a time that you didn’t just dismiss it as all my fault, so shame and guilt are the only things I’ll get from him while I need to seek treatment options on my own. That’s not how treatment works. In everything I’ve read, it says the same thing. This is a family problem. You need support. Loved ones. Care. Compassionate. Understanding. If these were never things that would have been offered, why is the main drive of pain from me lying? I did lie, so that’s valid. But it hurts because I don’t know how he truly feels, and sometimes it just goes through my head that this is the reason he’s been waiting for. I haven’t lied or cheated or hid other things. I’ve talked to other guys online, but came clean when caught. And that did hurt trust between us. But I never lied or hid something when we talked about it.

I write all of this because last night he texted me asking to meeting up this weekend to talk. I get excited because it means, after a week, maybe he wants to just sit and ask questions or express anger or frustrations or what’s on his mind. I send him my availability all weekend, with details. He takes hours to respond, but around 2am he says he’s free Saturday and Sunday. This is Friday night, and I see he’s at someone’s house--probably a party--that I didn’t know of. So maybe he’s drunk, but oddly he responded to my availability with just saying he’s free Sat and Sun--not setting a day or time to meet and talk. I don’t respond. It’s late and he says he’s out with friends since I mentioned I was even free that night back when I responded at 9pm when he first asked if I was free to meet and talk this weekend.

Today the morning goes by and I don’t hear from him, but he sent the last text. S at Noon I ask: “do you want me to pick a date and time then?” No answer.

A couple hours later I tell him I’m going to the gym later, and an NA meeting the next day (Sunday) if he wants to join me at either of those for an alternative meet up option--hopefully implying if he doesn’t want to just chat face-to-face, we can do something healthy that shows him I’m working hard in recovery. No response.

Both texts show read receipts. He read that right away, and Find My Friends shows he’s still just at his parents house. Been there all day, but ignoring my texts. Perhaps he was drunk when he texted me Friday night saying he wanted to meet up. I ran with it too quickly then because I miss him like crazy, worry about it, and just think about him and this situation constantly. Plus he bailed me out of jail for $5K of his own money this week on top of all of this, and that’s the last I saw him. 

As the day progresses, it starts to dawn on me. Most of his stuff is still at our apartment. We still live here in how it’s set up, and how he’s briefly used it this week. But he’s mostly stayed at his parents, which is understandable since he needs time to figure out how to make sense of this or what to think... which is how I believe he worded it when he left the day I started detox. I think he said “because he feels conflicted.”

But if his stuff is still here, and he knows my schedule, and I know his, he knows we’re both mostly free Saturdays and Sundays. So he could come home either day and sit down to talk when he sees I’m home, Granted, he hasn’t asked about how recovery or detox is going, or shown interest in caring about how I’m doing. He’s not there, and clearly I’m in a state where I agree in the sense that I worry about him most. He doesn’t express his feelings, and this is not something he can just avoid or pretend to go away. He needs to face it. But then I realize what “we need to meet up and talk” means in a relationship after a major issue happens, and one person moves out for a week, leaving the status open-ended, stating we need time apart, and then gets stuck paying $5k while trying to distance (on top of all the money I own him for rent and impound fees last summer). This talk usually means one thing, and I start to panic. Even more so because he’s dodging my texts to follow up about setting a meeting time and date. If M had the liquid courage to ask, but not is faced with following through sober, it would be like him to just ignore me. And he’s definitely ignoring me. Maybe because he just wants me to suffer or leave him alone. But my fear and anxiety has skyrocketed since last night. I’m consumed in fear with the idea that he’s wanting to meet up to end our relationship. I would understand why, but I realize, despite everything, I really really am in love with Michael. My addiction made me not a great boyfriend to look at or be around I’m sure, but I’m confident the person I’m returning to now that I’m free and in recovery is someone that he would benefit from growing with. Many also have expressed they think  this process will help M in the long run too, as things became static and this may needed to happen to reevaluate things and take us to the new heights we wanted and deserve.

M would have a hard time standing up for himself and dumping me, so when I was asking him if I should set the date and time, I starting thinking.. am I actually having to plan getting dumped for him? That’s not fair. This is the most emotional fragile state I’ve ever been in, and although he has every right to make that decision, and reasons to back it up, and not care about actually exercising real support that couples give each other, that’s fine. I would have to just respect the decision. I fucked up. And I knew who M was before we started dating. I just always think.. is he going to find someone else who doesn’t care about wanting basic needs and emotions and thoughts exchanged, shared, and supporting in a relationship? Abandon me, but that wouldn’t make these issues go away. Anyways, no one around him can offer me insight to his state of mind. So I fear the most devastating and hurtful decision and experience of my life is around the corner. Maybe even tomorrow. And despite our lease tomorrow until April, and the life we built together, M may just walk away from it all. Claiming he can’t trust me anymore as the main reason. And that trust is solely from hiding my addiction. Something I see now, given his reaction, why I did. 

Jonathon Van Ness, in a recent podcast “Getting Curious” with an addiction specialist at UCLA discusses shame in addiction, and defines it as this idea where “if you knew this one thing about me, you wouldn’t love me anymore.” This definition makes a lot of sense, as to why I could never tell M. If he knew, I would lose his love. And his love was holding me together, and giving me hope that someday I can fix this, overcome this, get help, get better, get fit, be the best version of myself again and beyond.

But now I just wait by my phone, wondering if I should send a 3rd text. The last one was around 3pm, when my day was freeing up for the rest of the weekend. So he could have arranged to meet at any time. Maybe inviting him to the gym or a meeting was too off-putting--like i WANTED that or something. But I just want to give options since just asking for a basic plan yielded no results. I don’t know if I should leave him alone. If he needs more time. If I push, I push him farther away. Or if ignoring makes me feel insecure and think I don’t care or think about him. That I just think about using again or getting clean, and he’s not longer important. This is farthest from the truth. All I want is to not fall asleep alone in bed anymore. I want M back by my side, cuddling me and us to sleep. But even then, I fear or believe that M doesn’t feel he can do that and feel safe or comfortable anymore, even though I think he wants this again too. But the trust that’s missing is something that will come in time. Through my actions. Through my recovery. And if only he were here to hold me, he would understand that my recovery means everything. Not for him, for me. But I am his, so a better me is a better him. I just want him to know he’s loved and cared for. I don’t want him to feel alone, upset, and sad. I want him to ask questions, even yell, shame, guilt. Do what he needs to do. Isolating himself alone in his room at his parents house is not going to help him heal, with or without me.

And for some reason, as I heal, I need to know who I affected most is healing. Because the truth is: I can’t stop thinking about killing myself since this happened. Not because I want to, but because I think it’s the one thing that would end his healing process, and make his life better. Even if it meant I would lose mine. So be it.

[theliterateape]

When Crowdfunding Resembles Opportunism or The Greed in Your Ask is Getting Obvious

By Don Hall

I most recently joined the World of Crowdfunding with my new Patreon Campaign. I’m torn as, in general, I’ve seen far too many of these efforts resemble either a corrupt civil servant trying to raise money for bail or legal fees, someone desperately using it as a replacement for medical insurance or Ian Belknap using GoFundMe to help pay for an office space so he doesn’t have to deal with his kids at home while churning out pedantic screeds on Faceborg. 

Go ahead and Google “crowdfunding abuse” and the list is long and ugly.

When Angela Vela asked me to perform a piece about Greed for her monthly show The Seven Deadly Sins, crowdfunding abuse was my target.

Dear Roger –

I know I haven’t been in touch for a while and I apologize right off the bat for not reaching out to you when you got your new job three years ago or when you got married two years ago or when you and your wife had that baby last year. Obviously, you were in my thoughts but I never took the time to connect after college. My bad, bro.

Remember the time when we both got so drunk that we ended up streaking in the Dillons parking lot? LMAO! I barely do. Thanks for bailing us both out, right?

Anyways, I’m writing to you now because I’m kind of in a bind. I wrote some bad checks about two months ago—I totally thought I had them covered but the places cashed the checks before the date I put on them—I thought you couldn’t do that but apparently you can—and the bank is totally fucking me over. Thank god I’m living with my mom, right?

Seriously, is there any chance I could borrow, like, $450 for a while until I get this all straightened out? I’m good for it, bro.

If it is, here’s my Paypal account or you can just send it directly through Chase Pay.

Thanks.

Yo, Rog!!

Long time, no see, right? How’s the wife and kid? I hope great!

The reason I’m writing is to first, apologize for not getting you that $400 back yet. I know it’s been a couple years but things have been moving really fast around here and I’m thinking you’ll thank me once you see how I spent the money I owe you. If you think of it as an investment into something amazing, I’m sure of it.

I moved out of my mom’s house into her garage (I pay rent so it’s not like charity or anything) and decided that I was going to go into a brand new field. Yes, my degree in Contemporary Greek Philosophy is valuable to me but is not what a sustainable career is made of, right?  So I looked out into the world in search of my calling, right? And it hit me right in the jaw—social media. I spend a huge amount of my time writing funny things on Facebook and Twitter, why not parlay that into a full-time career? So...

I’m in Chicago now, and I’m going to take classes at the famed Second City Training Center. You know, the place that spawned the careers of Bill Murray, Stephen Colbert, that guy from the “Sledgehammer” TV show and the voice of Homer Simpson? I figure that a degree from such an esteemed comedic institution is bound to bolster my street cred with companies looking for clever and sarcastic social media responses so I’m currently enrolled.

Here’s the thing: the $400 I owe you went to pay for some of my first eight weeks but once I get my degree and a job writing the Funny Ha-Ha, I’ll pay you back with interest. OR...

Below is a link to my new Kickstarter Campaign to raise the money to pay for all 15 levels of Second City training. I only need to raise $22,000 for this and after all those levels, I’m pretty much guaranteed a spot on SNL which would be even better than writing for Facebook. LOL! Winky emoji.

Any amount is acceptable and you know I’m good for it. A donation of $500 will get you an autographed photo and front row seats at a live taping of SNL!

Thanks!

Dear Roger –

After Second City level 7 and my continued work at Boston Market, I wanted to die every single day of my life and it took me several years to realize it was because of the environment I was in. So, I picked the next best place: San Francisco, which is close to my dad, since we’ve never gotten to have much of a relationship and I like the weather up here. I found a job (I was hired the same day as my interview, in fact) and I put a bunch of debt on a shiny new credit card to afford the move.

I got the job thinking I was all set to write those funny quips on the company’s social media (I mean, I did have seven levels at the world famous Second City, right?) but I was told I’d have to work in support for an entire year before I would be able to move to a different department. A whole year answering calls and talking to customers just for the hope that someday I’d be able to make memes and Twitter jokes. But that’s neither here nor there. Let’s get back to the situation at hand, shall we?

So here I am, 27-years-old, balancing all sorts of debt and trying to pave a life for myself that doesn’t involve crying in the bathtub every week. Every single one of my coworkers is struggling. They’re taking side jobs, they’re living at home. One of them started a GoFundMe because she couldn’t pay her rent. She ended up leaving the company and moving east, somewhere the minimum wage could double as a living wage. Another wrote on those neat whiteboards we’ve got on every floor begging for help because he was bound to be homeless in two weeks. Fortunately, someone helped him out. At least, I think they did. I actually haven’t seen him in the past few months. Do you think he’s okay? Another guy who got hired, and ultimately let go, was undoubtedly homeless. He brought a big bag with him and stocked up on all those snacks they make sure are on every floor. 

I haven’t bought groceries since I started this job. Not because I’m lazy, but because I got this ten pound bag of rice before I moved here and my meals at home (including the one I’m having as I write this) consist, by and large, of that. Because I can’t afford to buy groceries.

Will you pay my phone bill for me? I just got a text from T-Mobile telling me my bill is due. 

Look, I’ll make you a deal. You don’t have to pay my phone bill. I’ll just disconnect my phone. And I’ll disconnect my home internet, too, even though it’s the only way I can do work for my freelance gig that I haven’t been able to do since I moved here because I’m constantly too stressed to focus on anything but going to sleep as soon as I’m not at work. 

If you could help me out, my PayPal is paypal.me/jimmyzee, my Venmo is jimmyzee (no hyphen). Square Cash is cash.me/$JimZee.

Thanks, bro.

Rogerio!!

You've been so generous in the past and I'm trying to raise money to get a plane ticket and funds for the final auditions for the 2016 season of American Idol.

I went to Disney World a few years ago and did the American Idol experience attraction at MGM. I auditioned and got on the show. They do 5 shows per day where an audience picks the winner of 3 performers. At the end of the day, they have a big show where the 5 winners compete for a Dream Ticket. 

The Dream Ticket is a pass to get to the front of the American Idol Audition Line. I performed and won the small show during the day, then won the final show at the end of the day, getting me the Dream Ticket. They don't expire and you can use them at any auditions. I thought I had lost it, but in a stroke of luck (and possibly fate), I just found it in my files at home.

This could be my last chance to do it and I can't live my life wondering,"What if?" I have this amazing opportunity and hoprfully, with your help, I can live my dream and live life to the very fullest!

Thank you for the chance!!

Hey Everyone!

As many of you know, I am a HUGE fan of ULTRA Music Festival in MIAMI. This will be my 14th year attending and marks my 2nd year moderating the Facebook group. I admittedly have put in TOO MANY hours running the group, making sure it is free from spam and trolls. It has been a lot of fun but it has also stolen a ton of my time. I am hoping that some of the friendships I've made will inspire people to be generous and help me make this trip possible.

Normally March is an abundant month for me but this year I am financially "running on fumes." I have spent the last 2.5 months recovering from a broken ankle, which has kept me from working. In this time I have used up all my reserve cash and now with my trip to Florida right around the corner my credit card bills are looming. I will use this money to pay for the flight, ticket, lodging and food for during the trip. It would be the best birthday present if I got a great response.

I will be eternally grateful to everyone who helps out and would LOVE to meet up with you and take some photos at the festival. Thank you so much for your support. <3

–Jimmy Zee

Roger –

I know why you haven’t returned any of my recent texts or direct messages. You don’t believe that I’m actually sick and I guess I don’t blame you. I can assure you, the cancer is real and I don’t have anyone else to turn to. I need $4,500 to help fund a trip to St. John where there is a shaman there who they say can pray the cancer out of me. Outside shot but I’m also told that when your prognosis is this bad, you gotta bucket list that shit, right?

I know I have no right to even ask but, in case you find it in your heart to help an old (31 years is now OLD!) college buddy out, my GoFundMe profile is linked below.

Jim