#next week there's like a holiday photo workshop i can go to instead of my regular shifts for a few days

[aidenwaites]

Every day I commit myself to more things

[libraford]

Gonna say it first- you are never going to see nearly as many men in a flower shop as you are on Valentine’s Day. Close runner up is Administrative Assistant Appreciation Day, but given that this is our busiest day of the year and we don’t even hire temps for Admin Day, there really isn’t much of a contest. 

On an average day, our shop maybe sees between ten and twenty people walking in, with thirty to fifty deliveries. 

On V-Day, the walk-ins start at 7:30am and do not stop until past 7pm, with upwards 500 deliveries and we have to be there for all of it. 

But our V-Day week doesn’t start on V-Day. 

It starts an entire week before the actual holiday, and why? 

Because someone who should have honestly known better booked her $5000 wedding for February 9th. 

Now, when I say that she should have known better, I really do mean it. This woman works in the floral industry. She manages and operates a greenhouse. Her wedding was actually at the greenhouse. 

For context of what a $5000 wedding looks like, our average wedding account is around $1000. This bride got a discount on all her flowers. 

All of hers was greens and tropicals. Anthurium, orchids, succulents, ivy, African Mask. These were all live plants that we had to cut, and some that were being saved whole for a succulent wall. 

Setup had five locations. The church, the cottage, a corridor, the greenhouse, and the foyer. The average is two. 

Monday, February 4, a man calls and informs us that he has the shipment of flowers. 

“How big is the shipment,” Grandpa asks.

“86 boxes.” 

“...ah.” 

Live plants need to be taken out of their boxes to keep them alive- they need light, they need to breathe, and the wedding is at the end of the week. They began unboxing succulents and miniature orchids at 10:30 and finished with the english ivy and African Mask plants around 3:45. 

These take up a grand total of 5 carts. These are large carts- hardly fitting in a doorway and each holding between fifty and one-hundred plants. 

And the only place we can keep them... is in the front of the store. 

For an entire week- and this is the week leading up to our busiest week of the year, we can neither see nor hear any person coming into our shop. 

My desk is positioned in the back of the room, facing the wall. But when I’m working on casket sprays, I pull out a table and have myself facing the door. 

I became the sentry of customers. And unfortunately this meant that I had to deal with them. Just about all of them wanted to buy some of the miniature orchids and I briefly considered moving my desk to the front of the store so that I could hide among the carts like some kind of orchid goblin- smacking the hands of people who get too close to the plants before retreating back into the foliage. 

The number of people wanting to buy the stock from the wedding only increased when we put a big sign on it reading ‘WEDDING, NOT FOR SALE.’

We began working on them Wednesday. And for the next three days we had people asking ‘how much is this centerpiece?’

Too much. 

The answer is ‘too much.’ 

The Phantom of Phaleanopsis asks for nothing less than your soul. 

Friday-

We put the last of the centerpieces together- which includes fifteen very tall mercury glass vases (a shape henceforth known as a ‘pilsner’)  where the arrangements are designed in a dish and set on top of the vase. 

Because theses vases are so tall, they are set on the floor to be worked on. 

This puts them at about waist-height. 

You know where this is going. 

“Red, can you put this centerpiece away?” 

“Sure thing!”

Red stoops down and begins to carry the vase from the bottom, and just as Grandpa begins to say ‘no, the top- they’re not attached,’ his weight is thrown off and the entire thing topples over and a loud and high-pitched crash resonates through the room. 

If you know mercury glass, you know that when it breaks- it shatters into a million pieces. If you don’t know mercury glass, imagine the last time you’ve seen a busted lightbulb. 

Silence fell over the workshop, and for the first time since we’d opened that day, it was quiet enough to hear the radio. 

I-Iiiiii’m Speechless...., sang Dan + Shay on Central Ohio’s Best Country Station 92.3 WCOL

“Red,” says Grandpa. “Please tell me you know where another one of those might be.” 

Blue speaks up instead. “There’s still one at the front of the shop,” she says, coming to the rescue. Red is very sorry, apologizes profusely and spends the rest of the day outside a five-foot perimeter of Grandpa’s workspace. 

There are at least four more near-misses of the very last pilsner vase being brushed by someone’s leg someone barely grazing the draping ruscus as they walk by. We learn to stay away. Grandpa glares at anyone who comes too near. 

She has just finished the last one and allows Coach to squeeze through to get to the computer. We are cleaning up. We are done. Just one more day and the largest wedding we’ve ever done will be wrapped up and we can move on to Valentine’s Day. 

As Coach turns to go back to his desk, his knee just barely hits a single frond of asparagus fern and we all watch, in slow-motion, as Grandpa catches the centerpiece in one hand, but fails to steady the pilsner. And into a thousand shiny pieces, it shatters- to the tune of Cole Swindell singing ‘...even though we break up in the end.’

“That... was the last one,” she says. “I gotta stop making these things on the fucking floor.” 

That was the last one. There are no more. The only option is to order more pilsners to be delivered at night and hope to every god that they actually bring them. 

It is now Saturday and everything looks amazing: 

And we are due in at 10:30. 

There are no pilsners. 

And add insult to injury, the night driver came in under cover of darkness and stole all of our pegboards. 

Pegboards are thick, interlocking plastic panels with a grid on them intended to hold pegs of PVC pipe securely. Setting arrangements on them and then surrounding those arrangements with those pegs helps transport them safely. 

We can’t move these without pegboards. All of the vases are mercury glass. They will break. 

Grandpa, summoning the rage of every short person in her family tree, screamed into the phone until someone finally agreed to send back our damn pegboards and the fucking pilsners. 

“Do you not understand that this is a $5000 wedding and that the person getting married is one of our vendors?”  I can only imagine the reason they finally sent someone because the three-headed monster that runs this place felt a swift kick in the wallet.

As soon as a person arrives with our pilsners and pegboards, all four persons required to set up the wedding in four separate vans are out the door, and the bride... is on the phone. 

“Um... I’m due to get married in the next hour and none of your people are here.” 

“They just left a few moments ago,” I said to Kris Stapelton’s ‘Broken Halos.’ The fact that I can hear the country music is a sign that everyone... everyone... is listening. “They’ll be there in just a few moments.” 

“They better be.” 

This is the only time I have heard this woman mad. 

Hours pass and we have no word on anything. No word is good word. Phone calls are bad. We don’t like them here. 

The setup crew returns with good news- everything is fine. Red occupied himself with a standee cut-out of the Pope and took a number of photos with him posing next to him. I’m told this is a Catholic thing. No one could confirm it. 

It is 5:00 and we have made it through another day. 

Sunday morning. 9am. 

The phone rings.

No. 

Just... stop. 

“Hello, uh... this is the greenhouse. See the problem is that when we were taking your uh... what are these tall vases?”

“Pilsners?”

“Yeah, when we took them down we lined them all up. But one of the movers didn’t know that the flowers weren’t attached so... they all kinda tumbled down domino-style. And we kinda broke... all of them.” 

Grandpa did that thing where she kind of laughs and weeps at the same time, to the sound of Brothers Osbourne singing ‘Shoot Me Straight.’ 

[noradarhkpalmer]

go elf yourself

Title: go elf yourself

Rating: PG

Pairing: Nora Darhk/Ray Palmer aka Darhkatom

Warnings: None

Summary/Notes: Nora Darhk pulls out her elf costume every year to get her through the holidays, this Christmas though, she meets a special person who could help change her life for the better. (Modern AU)

Day one of the 2019 edition of 25 days of Darhkatom! Feel free to click the through the tag to see last year’s! Basically, like last year, I will be posting all loosely related (unless stated otherwise) fics for 25 days straight!

ao3 link: here

Nora was starting to feel like her ‘starving artist’ motif was getting old. This realization would’ve been much to her parents chagrin, god rest their souls. She’d done a lot of odd jobs to pick up extra cash: dog walker, Swyft driver, and now that the Christmas season was upon them: she was pulling out that damn elf costume. Sure she’d broken it in enough that it was no longer itchy and she loved seeing the kids light up at meeting Santa, yeah, but she didn’t like when the parents would force their kids for a dumb picture they wouldn’t remember, and pay, honestly in her opinion, far too much for one stupid picture.

But it would pay her bills until the new year, combined with watching her friends John and Gary’s cat, Cleo, while they honeymooned in the Swiss Alps, and that’s all that mattered.

Nora shuffled into the mall and listened to her boss debrief yeah yeah yeah there’d be two Santas this year because of pay cuts it was cheaper to pay two at less hours than one for all. Nora stopped listening and re-familiarized herself with the camera, she wished she had enough money to spare for even a basic model of one of those, her hands itching to get back into photography full time.

Finally after redundant training, the workshop was open. Kids and parents lined up to see Santa, an older gentleman who’d done the job for years. She went through the motions for a full two hours until she heard her name.

“NORA! You’re back again this year!”

Nora smiled cordially at her friend Mona who did this job every winter she had. “I am!”

“I’m so excited!” Mona bounced up and down, the jingle bells on her outfit bouncing with her.

“Could you go excitedly redirect the line?”

Mona nodded and sets off getting the line in order.

There’s a full week of this routine before Nora’s life completely changed.

“UNCLE RAY!!! Cmon!!! Santa’s gonna leave before we get to the front!” Nora heard a boy’s voice whine. She looked up to see through the crowd, a boy no older than six tugging on the arm of a man she couldn’t see.

“Yeah uncle Ray! Mom and dad always get here waaaaayyyy earlier!” Another whined.

Nora rolled her eyes and got back to work, at least when the boys get to the front they won’t be pitching a fit about seeing Santa.

It’s about a half hour later when she spotted them and looked up at the face of their Uncle Ray.

And holy mother of baby Jesus, this Uncle Ray is what she’d like to unwrap come Christmas morning.

“Can they get pictures individually and together? Their parents usually do that.”

Nora nodded, vaguely recognizing the boys from years past. “Sure thing.”

The boys scurried up to Santa as Mona animatedly explained the packages to Uncle Ray. Nora instructed the boys accordingly to get individual and then a shot with the two of them.

“This job seems like fun.” Ray said, and Nora realizes, to her.

“Umm yeah I guess! Lines can get a little nuts but Mona is super helpful.”

“Are you always behind the camera.”

“Most of the shift but sometimes Mona is.”

“So they allow you to take breaks? Have lunch?”

“Yeah what do you think we aren’t allowed to sit down our whole shift?”

“No…”

“This job is a lot harder when the pictures don’t sync, when the camera malfunctions, I have to exhaust all options before calling IT or else I’m in hot water. This is a complex job. It’s hard wrangling kids, making them look at the camera, and parents aren’t always nice and neither are the kids.”

“Lady I’m sorry I didn’t…”

“You didn’t think yeah, please take your nephews if you’re not gonna get a package and go elf yourself alright?”

Ray tried to hide a laugh.

“What?” Nora asked with the threat level of an angry bunny.

“An elf is telling me to go elf myself. It’s just funny.”

“Funny?”

Ray can’t stop laughing and Nora realized how ridiculous this whole thing is. She’s burned out from snapping pictures and asks Mona to switch out so she can go on a break. She shuffled with her tinsel between her legs over to Ray once the boys have their photos.

“I’m sorry I snapped.”

“It’s okay. Even elves have their limits.”

Nora glared.

“Sorry last elf joke!”

“Did your nephews enjoy themselves?”

The boys flanking Ray nodded. “Yeah especially when you yelled at Uncle Ray it was really funny!”

Nora’s cheeks flushed red. “Oh umm well.”

“Do it again!”

Nora shook her head. “Sorry boys I try to not lose my temper.”

“Awwwww.” They whined.

“Do elves take hot cocoa breaks?”

Nora looked up at him and Ray retracts.

“Okay that was the last one, sorry it was my lame attempt at asking you out.”

The boys next to them gasped and cover their mouth in scandal and Nora smiled. “As long as you don’t mind that I put caramel drizzle on top.”

“Not at all.”

xxxx

It’s a few days later that Nora finally works a shift with the new Santa. She eyed him, he’s clearly wearing a fake beard, so he’s not old enough to sport the natural face hair of a Santa. She nudged Mona.

“What’s this Santa’s deal?”

“Oh he’s super nice! I haven’t talked to him much but he’s really nice.”

“Why did they hire a young Santa?”

“Most of the kids can’t tell and the ones that do we tell Santa shaved his beard but didn’t want to scare the kiddos.”

Nora eyed her in suspicion. When there’s a break in the day she shuffled over to Santa. She checked her phone, noting no text from Ray. After she’d formally introduced herself over cocoa with him and his nephews, they had exchanged numbers. They’d been texting non stop but today? Silence.

Nora sighed and Santa patted the space next to him. She slumped down.

“Ho ho ho, my elf, what’s got you so blue this Christmas? Is it something a wish to Santa can fix?”

Nora smiled and stared down at her lap. “I don’t know if you can fix this one, Santa, I’m just missing someone which is silly because I haven’t known them for very long.”

“A person can mean everything to you in a matter of days. And that’s quite alright.”

“I think he’s some big tech higher up, I’m just a loser artist, I don’t have a shot in…” she looked around at the passing children, “heck.”

Santa belly laughs again and pats her leg. “I think I can work some of my Santa magic for you, my dear, just you wait.”

She only had to wait a few more hours, after the mall closed. She cashed out the drawers when she heard someone behind her.

“We just closed for the night Santa will be back tomorrow.”

“I’m actually looking for the cutest elf in Santa’s workshop.”

Nora smiled wide, hearing Ray’s voice, she turned around and her breath left her. There he stood, half dressed in a Santa suit, holding his hat and beard in his hand. “You’re the other Santa? Why? Aren’t you like stupid rich?”

“I’m doing this for free so the other Santa who is getting up there in age, can have days off so it’s better on his joints. He gets all my pay though.”

Nora gasped. “Ray… so wait that means you heard…”

“You talking about missing me? Sorry I ran late this morning and well I was doing this all day.”

Nora nodded. “Right yeah… gosh I feel like such an idiot.”

“Don’t.” Ray takes her hand. “Don’t feel like an idiot because I’ve been missing you.”

“Well I’ve been right here all day.”

“But I haven’t been able to do this.” Ray cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her softly.

Nora smiled after the kiss breaks. “Is Santa allowed to kiss one of his elves?”

Ray rolled his eyes playfully. “I can stop.”

“Don’t you dare.” Nora poked him in the chest.

“I’m gonna make this the best Christmas you’ve ever had.”

“So does that mean you’re like one-up yourself every Christmas?”

Ray playfully dipped her. “You bet your ass I will.”

Two Years Later

“Did you set the timer?”

“Of course I did what kind of photographer do you think I am?” Nora rushed back over to her family and pulled Tori into her lap so she’s sitting between her and Ray. The baby clapped happily as Nora gently bounced her, counting down until the very last second and stopping so they get a good picture. Nora went to the camera and played back the pictures, they finally got a good one! Nora waved Ray over with Tori in his arms and smiles.

“Looks great, babe.” Ray kissed the top of her head. Nora took their one year old in her arms and kissed Ray properly.

“Thanks, think it’s good enough to use for the website?”

“Absolutely. Have I told you how proud I am of you?”

“Mmmm not today.”

“Well I’m so incredibly proud of you. You’ve come so far.”

“And managed to grow two humans while running a photography business!”

“Nora, we only have one… wait… are you saying…” Ray’s eyes grew wide.

Nora grinned and nodded. “I know you like to one up on Christmas but I couldn’t help myself. Apparently neither could you.” She elbowed him playfully.

“I love you. So much.” Ray kissed her and Tori fussed between them.

“Aww don’t like mama kissing Santa Claus, baby girl?” Nora kissed all over Tori’s face instead, making the girl giggle. “Gonna be a big sister!”

“Does this mean we can do family photos next year with us as Santa and Mrs. Claus and them as tiny elves?”

Nora let out a small laugh. “Sure babe. Why not.”

“Good cause they can’t know Santa fell in love with an elf. Might ruin his street cred.” Ray grinned cheekily.

Nora elbowed him again. “Oh go elf yourself.”

[aseriesofthrills]

Suzie Is Back

Suzie is back, and so are long, overly emotional, rambling posts.

I matched with Suzie mid-October 2020. Caileigh and I had broken up earlier that summer after 3.5 years together, and my plan was to take some time off dating to “figure myself out.” Caileigh was the first person I ever dated, so I thought being single and out at the same time - for the first time - was a necessary step in figuring out my identity as an individual. Well, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but there’s this big thing called a Global Pandemic going on that’s forcing us all to choose between our physical health and a social life. Put simply, I was lonelier than America’s Dad Tom Hanks on a deserted island before he found Wilson. Or maybe even lonelier than America’s Dad Tom Hanks after he struck up a friendship with Wilson, because after all, Wilson was a volleyball. I wanted to find my Wilson.

And boy did I find a lot of Wilsons. Unfortunately for me, I found a lot of off-brand Wilsons that were the wrong color, didn’t hold air well, or came out of the box with fabric missing. This is not to say these Wilsons are undesirable. I’m sure any of them would provide solid companionship to the next unfortunate soul whose fallen plane renders them a castaway. They were just not for me.

There was Emily, someone who I had strong feelings for and made me realize I’d really like to date someone who’s also Jewish. I was wowed by her philanthropic agenda of making candles and donating half the proceeds, until she did a very gay thing™ and got back with her ex, which was when I began to wish I instead had simply donated that $100 directly to charity and didn’t have to stare at her Tender Flame (more like Tinder Flame, amirite) candles sprinkled around my house. Looking back, we really were not compatible. Emily taught me that just because you have good banter with someone and a shared belief system, it doesn’t mean you wont clink teeth when you make out for the first time. It might even mean she will be extremely silent while you go down on her for what feels like hours, then not reciprocate because she is… probably thinking about getting back with her ex.

Then there was MK, someone who I’d actually met once before at a Hollywood Ladies Drinks Night Before The World Shut Down We Used To Have It So Good Oh My God. I remember wondering that night if she might be queer, but my gaydar couldn’t figure her out and I was in a relationship so it was a moot point anyway. I was hesitant to send her a “like” on Hinge because what if she didn’t feel the same way and then I ran into her at a work thing in 2023 and she KNOWS I liked HER but we BOTH know SHE didn’t like me BACK and -

It took me 3 seconds to get over that existential crisis because I remembered that thousands of people were dying every day and nothing actually mattered. So I liked one of her photos, and she matched with me in literally 4 minutes. I normally like to talk to someone for at least a few weeks - pandemic or not - before meeting in person, but she almost immediately suggested getting together the following weekend. Maybe that’s just her, or maybe she felt confident that I’m most likely not a serial killer since we have mutual friends, but she went for it and I agreed because I hadn’t yet figured out how to assert my own boundaries. But also, why not. It was just a picnic.

It was not just a picnic. It was a picnic conveniently a few blocks from her apartment. It was a picnic and then it was dinner and sex. I enjoyed spending time together at first, but the more we talked and hung out the more my feelings dissipated. In the middle stretch I thought for a second that I had perhaps cracked the mythical Friends With Benefits code, but after a few more dates I realized the code was far more complicated than I’d originally anticipated and what I thought was the treasure map key was actually just meaningless hieroglyphics and OK I will stop this metaphor now. It was time to take the high road and be honest, which for me manifested in telling her I was going to quarantine the next 2 weeks before flying home so this would be the last time I saw her before 2021 and we should check in when we’re back in LA in January - and then I texted her once I got to Florida to say lets just be friends. Not my proudest moment, but we’re learning.

There were a few other short-lived dalliances, but we all have places to go and people to see (from a distance). Just know I somehow managed to make the Pandemic Year my own personal Slut Year. And we’re using the term slut lovingly, simply to describe that 2020 was the year I managed to sleep with more people than any year prior. Tell me I can’t do something, then watch me work.

If you pay attention to detail, as I’m sure my 2 consistent followers do, you’ll remember Suzie and I matched mid-October which was in the midst of my MK chronicles. I am not exaggerating when I say that I was lovestruck by Suzie just from her Hinge profile and pictures. I don’t mean like, “Oh, she’s pretty, I hope she likes me back.” I mean like, something happened to my brain immediately that can only be described as some version of virtual pheromones invading my bloodstream. It felt uncontrollable and biological. And if we learned anything from Dr. Fauci this year, it’s that science knows best. The first real conversation we had - meaning that sweet sweet moment someone on a dating app finally admits that they, too, were looking at the app at the very same moment you messaged them - felt engaging and electric and right. At the end of the conversation I gave her my number and she immediately texted me “Talk to you tomorrow *kissy emoji*,” which probably made me precum. 

What ensued was months of talking every day. I’ll drone on for paragraphs if I let myself, so I’m not going to let myself. I’ll just say for a while it felt amazing. I liked her so deeply. It took us a good stretch of time before we broached the subject of seeing each other in person, but then a combination of her horrific time management skills (her words), a potential Covid exposure, and a highly contentious presidential election got in the way and lead us down a windy path ultimately culminating in a Zoom first date… a week and a half before I was supposed to fly home for 2 months. The Zoom date was everything I hoped it would be and more. I’d never felt more sad to click “End Meeting For All” but was too giddy to notice. She asked me about my holiday plans, so I told her about my impending travel, and then she more or less said we should have sex before I go. So we did. And it was the best sex of my life. And then I left the state of California, our mutual residence, for 2 months.  

Things were somewhat fine at first - we were still talking every day, with a few more Zooms sprinkled in - but then she went home to New Jersey, and suddenly we weren’t talking every day. It was more like every 3-4 days and rarely in actual conversational form. It was more like me waiting for her to reply, then waiting to respond since she’d waited so long, then we’d do it all over again. I felt anxious and tortured and dejected and had no appetite and my mom asked me on more than one occasion if I was ok. I was not ok. But I told myself to bE cHiLL, something that is often diametrically opposed to my natural state of being. I reminded myself that, despite the fact that we had spoken every day for 2 months - which is practically one step away from engagement in LesbianLand - we had only had one in-person date. I was careful to not make It seem more serious than It was, so instead I workshopped a lot of dramatic WHAT ARE WE? texts that I sent to all of my friends and never to Suzie.

We had mutually agreed upon “See you in January,” so I told myself I’d just ask her to hang out when we got back. Then she postponed her flight to LA for 2 more weeks because our Covid numbers were at a scary peak, the worst it had been since the beginning of the Pandemi Lovato. Finally she told me she’d rebooked her flight for the 15th, and I optimistically thought to myself, “You simply don’t tell someone the exact day you’re getting back into town if you don’t plan on seeing them! Right?” Wrong. I shot my shot, and she shot me down. She replied with a long series of texts explaining that her mental health wasn’t in a good place, and she couldn’t be accountable for communicating effectively. She sprinkled in some compliments for good measure, making sure to take a pit stop in “I think you are so wonderful so please don’t think this has anything to do with you” Town, which was reassuring but did not override my brain’s instinct to rethink everything I’d done and said the past few months. But I felt connected to her on a human level, and I didn’t want to lose that simply because she didn’t want to bump butts anymore, so I suggested we be friends and she enthusiastically agreed. End of conversation.

Until later that night, when she texted me Greetings after landing at LAX. I was confused, but I assumed that just meant she was taking me at my word, and this friendship started n.o.w. What followed was some of the most perplexing behavior I’ve witnessed as a living person and hands down the most confounding I’ve ever experienced in my dating career. She’d text me about a new vibrator she bought, or send me a song link then simply “heart” my response and be done with the exchange. It felt like she was just reminding me she existed, as if my small brain could forget. Sometimes she’d ask me how I was doing and we’d have semblances of a real friendship, but other times she’d tell me that I’m SO HOT or send me DMs of a sexy Phoebe Bridgers photo or a Normal People instagram post of Connell telling Marianne she’s pretty. Somewhere in the middle of all that my patient friend Caroline finally hit me with some tough love and told me I needed to block Suzie’s number and hide her on social media. For all intents and purposes, Suzie couldn’t exist anymore. Caroline was right, but I couldn’t do it, so I compromised that for the next week I wouldn’t reach out to Suzie first. Caroline told me “Alcoholics have to quit cold turkey, they don’t get to say well I drink on the weekends” but I decided I was simply not able to do anything more drastic than not text this freshly 25 year old girl who was slowly unraveling my emotional stability first for a week.

You will not believe this but I survived the week and actually felt better, so I did it again the next week. And the next. And the next. Until it had been a month and I hadn’t reached out to Suzie first. She was still texting and DMing me, but I felt my feelings finally waning! Gone were the days of finding her high school ex-boyfriend’s blog in the depths of the internet or looking her up on Venmo to see who she’d gotten Chipotle with the night before. I absolutely still liked her - those fucking pheromones are relentless - but it felt less fresh, so I started to formulate a plan. Once I felt FULLY (lol) over her, I’d text her the next time I was horny. Best case scenario she’d come over, worst case scenario she’d be so disgusted or insulted that she’d never want to talk to me again and I’d actually get over her, not pretend-get-over-her-so-I-could-trick-myself-into-safely-bootycalling-her. But then she sent me potentially the most flirtatious message yet, and I took my opening at 12:53p on a Wednesday and simply said “when are you going to fuck me.” She fucked me that Saturday night.

So. Suzie is back, and Saturday night (and Sunday morning, *wink* she slept over) was great. But now it’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad again, to borrow some words from Judith Viorst.

How we left things this time is that she does want to see me again, but it can’t be a talk-everyday-thing because she’s ~bUsY* and moving to NYC this summer anyway for grad school (did I forget to mention that? Oops!) and for whatever other reasons that exist that are preventing her from being obsessed with me. She asked what my boundaries and needs are too, and both her actions and words that night really felt clear that she still liked me. I asked if she thought she’d ever see me again. There are some things you really can only ask while cuddling post-sex, and that’s one of them. She paused and said yes. She explained the context around her poor communication and that she never wanted to stop talking to or seeing me, and the way she was holding me felt like she was feeling just as connected to me as I was to her. You can tell when someone just isn’t there with you, and this was not that. We were both right there.

But we were also right back to there being a power imbalance between us. There’s no escaping the fact that this is really on her terms in its present configuration. Our best plan was to promise to be honest moving forward, which felt like it had a lot of potential at the time, but it turns out being honest is hard. Things sort of reverted back to how they were, except with all of my feelings and expectations that I’d worked hard to push down rushing back to take their place on the frontlines of my brain.

It’s been almost 2 weeks, and we’ve talked a few times every 2-4 days. I’m fighting the urge to memorialize exactly what’s transpired, but there’s simply no use in holding onto the details. What finally made all of these not-at-all latent emotions bubble up to the surface and inspired this Intense Feelings Word Vomit is two pronged. First, because I love to torture myself, sometimes I look at Suzie’s Hinge profile to see if she’s changed anything. For some reason, if it stays the same, I feel safe that she’s not seeking out anyone else but me. Which is somewhat logical but also farcical in this particular situation, and I fully understand that. I guess I was really wanting to invite some pain into my life tonight, because even after she texted me yesterday and then proceeded to stretch a very short conversation into something that still is in limbo, I decided it would be fruitful to check her Hinge profile. I’m here to report that all 3 of her prompt questions & answers were different. And readers, I had previously checked it recently enough to know this was a very fresh edit.

The second thing that pushed my feelings over the top, out of my mouth, and directly onto my keyboard is that when she finally texted me back at like 11:30pm, she seemed to entirely brush over two clear attempts, in my opinion, at relaying that I’d like to see her again. And that feels not good. My instinct is to tell myself that maybe my comments weren’t as overt as I first believed them to be, but I think that’s a thinly veiled excuse and a defense mechanism. If someone wants to see you, they will.

I’m almost certain (I am certain) all of my friends - ALL of them! I have A LOT! - are up to their eyeballs in Suzie-flavored-shit, so before writing this I must admit I did the loneliest thing of all: instead of being honest and sharing my feelings directly with her, I texted them… to myself. Raw, unedited emotions that I hope to never re-read one day but probably will and when I do I sure hope I’m in a healthier place and can laugh about it and think about How Far I’ve Come.

The truth is, I’m sitting here all over again picturing the dates I could take her on (the Carlsbad Flower Fields), what restaurants she should experience before leaving LA (Pace), and what fun at-home activities I could plan for us before the world fully returns to a post-Covid society (the DIY pottery kit I bought for myself, fully aware she loves to make clay art). Dare I admit I even daydream about the cross-country road trip that I’ll offer to accompany her on when she moves back East. I look at the contents in my fridge and think, “Maybe I wont use that ingredient tonight in case I need it to make us dinner next time she comes over.” I was ready to plan trying to get vaccinated this weekend around her availability, which is actually insane. You look up simp in the dictionary, and there I am. I took the crumb she gave me and turned it into a huge fucking Mrs. Fields birthday cookie cake that serves 20. No wonder I feel sick.

Unless I’m entirely miscalculating, which I can safely say I am not, Suzie is not sitting in her home thinking the same about me. I think she does like me - I have to allow myself to believe she does, because she said she does, and if I don’t believe it now I never will - but I also have to admit that 6 months into this game of Suzie Mental Gymnastics, I can recognize that all signs are pointing directly to the fact that I like her far more than she likes me. I don’t say that as a form of self-flagellation; it’s just a fact that I need to finally accept. Not just accept, but also let go of the possibility that it’s going to change. That’s the hardest part. I naively thought we were getting back on the ride again, and I buckled up for what turned out to be just a detour.

It can feel nearly impossible to pull yourself away from someone, especially when it feels like their claws are deeply embedded in your brain and your heart. That sounds wildly dramatic, but it is genuinely how I feel. What’s doubly hard is being able to trust my own instincts. I can get attached very quickly, and then it’s almost indecipherable whether someone is actually mistreating me or if my unrealistic expectations don’t allow the other person a chance to actually meet them. This whole essay could potentially be described as an overreaction, but the more I think about it, the more confident I feel in the validity of my feelings. Even if part of the issue is setting my expectations too high, the bigger issue is how I’m being treated. Suzie and I did agree on a low-pressure situation, but it doesn’t take much more than the bare minimum effort to consider another person’s feelings. And I don’t think my feelings are being considered all too much.

Not that Suzie ever really left my life in a real way, but I’m starting to think she came “back” for me to get a second chance at prioritizing my boundaries, my feelings, myself. I don’t want to overreact and call a party foul too soon, but perhaps I need to readjust my idea of what constitutes too soon. After all, maybe it was a mistake to not have asked for clarity sooner the first time. It would have probably allowed me to enjoy my time at home with family more and saved my brain a heck of a lot of overtime I am still saving up to pay. A not-no doesn’t mean a yes, and waiting does not change the outcome. It’s a natural reaction to hold on tighter to someone while loosening your grip on your own needs when you feel them pulling away, but it’s often something you can’t stop from happening. And that’s a tough pill to swallow. Sometimes you have to assert your needs when they’re not being met and watch things fall apart, not because you have those needs but in spite of them. You start again. I will start again.

[pines-troz]

Christmas Dinner

This is a secret santa gift to @887705 for the Time Squad Secret Santa, presented by @fuckyeahtimesquad . There isn’t much of a plot, but there is a lot of humor and fluff to be shared. I hope you enjoy!!! In the satellite living room, Otto was perched on the couch working on his latest project. He gathered all of the photographs from his most recent missions and placed them into his photo album. The boy stuck out his tongue while he eagerly placed each picture into the plastic slips.

The past few weeks leading up to Christmas had been hectic work-wise. The Time Squad had to go on some ridiculous missions, such as convincing Theodor Seuss Geisel to write his children’s books under the pen name Dr. Seuss instead of his Teddy McHugginstuff and forcing Stanley Kubrick to film Dr. Strangelove as a satirical dark comedy in black-and-white instead of a technicolor big-budget musical with a cliched Hollywood ending.

As much as Otto loved his position as an unofficial time cop, he loved spending some down time with his adoptive family just as much, if not more.

“Otto!” Larry called out.

The boy closed his personal book and sprinted from the couch to find the uptight robot. Larry was prepping up for Christmas Eve Dinner for the family as well as Sheila Sternwell and X-J5.

Otto arrived in the kitchen, Larry, donned in his frilly pink apron, took out a tray of crab rangoons from the oven.

“Hiya Larry!” Otto greeted.

The robot looked over at Otto and beamed. “Why hello Otto!”

“So is there anything you need me to do?” The boy asked.

“Yes actually,” Larry replied. He took off his apron and began to lead Otto from the kitchen. “Since we’re having guests over tonight, I need you to look festive!��

Larry spotted the giant gift bag and rummaged through it. He took out a small green sweater with a blue narwhal wearing a red ribbon around its horn. Larry gave the article of clothing to Otto.

“I made all of us holiday sweaters!” The robot said gleefully.

“Aw, thanks Larry.” Otto responded as he began to put it on. He knew that ugly Christmas sweaters were worn as a joke back in his time, but he appreciated the time and effort his guardian put into crafting them. Otto wanted to be apart of Christmas past times, no matter how tacky they can be.

“Oh you’re welcome.” Larry sweetly replied. Once Otto put his sweater on, the robot squealed in delight. “Oh you look so precious Otto.”

The boy chuckled nervously as his cheeks blushed. Wanting to change the subject, he looked over at the large bag with the other sweaters. “So what sweaters are you and Tuddrussel gonna wear?”

Larry grinned. “Oh, I’ve made us these lovely sweaters!!”

He put on his red sweater with the word NICE written on it. He pulled out Tuddrussel’s sweater, which read NAUGHTY.

“Oh no, I ain’t wearin’ that thing!” A low southern voice boomed.

Otto and Larry turned to see Tuddrussel approaching them with a sour frown on his face. “I ain’t wearin’ no ugly sweater.”

“But I made it special…” Larry whined.

“Come on Tuddrussel, Larry put a lot of effort into it. And besides, we’re wearing our sweaters!”

Tuddrussel sneered in response, causing Larry to sadly wobble his robotic lips. Otto sorrowfully exhaled, looking away from his other guardian. The longer Tuddrussel stared at his downtrodden family, the longer his heart couldn’t take seeing them in despair.

“Oh alright!” Tuddrussel surrendered, yanking his sweater from Larry. He begrudgingly put on his naughty sweater. “I’ll wear it for you guys, but I ain’t gonna like it one bit!”

Otto and Larry smiled at Tuddrussel and lovingly charged towards him. Otto hugged the southern man’s legs while Larry embraced his midriff.

“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” Larry gushed, smooching Tuddrussel’s cheek.

“All right, settle down you two,” Tuddrussel playfully replied. “No need to get all crazy over an ugly Christmas sweater.”

The group hug was interrupted when the doorbell sounded through the satellite.

“Oh shoot, Sheila’s here!” Tuddrussel exclaimed.

“I’ll answer the door.” Otto suggested as he began running down the hall.

“Now Otto, you remember where the shuttle area is?” Larry asked.

“Sure do!” The boy answered. “I know the satellite like the back of my hand!” With that, the boy ran to greet the guests.

Larry and Tuddrussel looked over at their surrogate son with great fondness.

“Our Otto is growing up so fast.” The robot sighed contentedly.

Otto ran at top speed towards the shuttle area. When he arrived, he saw Sheila Sternwell and XJ5 emerging from their spacecraft. The boy was surprised to see Sheila without her Time Squad uniform. The woman wore a red cashmere sweater and black dress pants. She also held her autumn red hair in a ponytail per usual. XJ5 simply wore a black bowtie for the occasion.

“Hi Sheila, XJ5! How are you two?” Otto eagerly asked.

Sheila gave the boy a friendly smile as she and her mechanical partner approached him.

“I’ve been doing well for myself.” She answered.

“I’ve certainly seen better days.” XJ5 drawled.

Sheila rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him, he’s been fairly grumpy since our recent mission. We traveled back to 1889 Japan to help the founder of Nintendo, Fusajiro Yamauchi, build his company on playing cards instead of monster cards.”

“I was highly offended when Yamauchi insisted on defaming all robot-kind by exploiting our image on his mediocre cards!” XJ5 snapped.

“Fortunately, we were able to resolve the situation with ease,” Sheila added.

Otto’s eyes lit up as he heard the time cop’s story.

“You guys went back in time to work with Nintendo?! Oh my gosh, the guys and I also had to work with Nintendo as well!!” Otto exclaimed.

Sheila chuckled at the boy’s eagerness. “So what went down?” She asked.

As the three walked down the hall, Otto retold his mission.

“So a while back, the guys and I traveled back to Japan circa 1980 to help Shigeru Miyamoto develop Donkey Kong. They were gonna make a game based on of the Popeye cartoons, and Tuddrussel was actually on board with that. But Larry and I were able to pull out the copyright laws, much to their dismay, and we suggested that Miyamoto make a game with a similar plotline, but have the main characters be a giant ape and an Italian plumber. But Tuddrussel was so upset that his creative vision was being destroyed that he found a nearby pile of wooden barrels and started throwing them off the building, which only fueled Miyamoto’s inspiration to create Donkey Kong!”

Sheila stifled a laugh by covering her hand over her mouth, while XJ5 guffawed at the story. The three of them were close towards the living room when the time cop playfully shook her head.

“That’s Buck alright,” Sheila noted with the sentiment. “I could remember how ridiculous he could be when he’s angry. Back at the academy-”

Just as the woman was indulging Otto with her amusing anecdote, Tuddrussel caught wind of the discussion and immediately bolted towards the three in haste.

“DON’T SAY ANOTHER WORD!!” The brutish man declared.

“So that’s how you greet your guests?” XJ5 sneered. “Outstanding.”

“Relax Tuddrussel, I was only telling Otto about the group project we had to do on Great Peace Treaty that united all world’s nations.” She explained. “How could I not tell your boy about how you terrified our professor into giving us an extension by lifting him by the collar of his shirt!”

Tuddrussel took a moment to reflect on the memory before laughing heartily. “Oh, I remember that class. That extension was my saving grace I tell ya.”

“It most certainly was, Buck.” Sheila agreed with a chuckle.

Larry arrived on the scene, carrying a tray of assorted drinks; Two cold bottles of craft beer for Tuddrussel and Sheila, and a glass of soda for Otto. “Why hello Sheila,” He happily greeted. He took a look at the state-of-the-art robot next to her and grumbled, “XJ5…”

“How do you do old-timer,” XJ5 spat. “For a homemaker, you sure fail to have control over your human companion,”

“Well I never-”

Otto noticed the verbal assaults between the two robots and quickly intervened. “Hey fellas, let’s settle down.” He recommended. “How about we all have some dinner Larry made.”

“I’m game!” Tuddrussel cheered as he grabbed his bottle. 

“Sounds like a great idea.” Sheila agreed. The time cop gave Otto a nod of approval as she followed behind her ex-beau. 

As Otto trotted behind the adults, the two robots walked beside themselves.

“The boy does have a way with words.” XJ5 noted.

Larry smiled proudly at his adopted son before giving his rival a smug grin. “It is one of his best attributes, if I do say so myself” He boasted.

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

The two units shared a hearty meal filled with appetizers and a wonderful Christmas ham, all provided by Larry. After they all had had their fill, to their, they gathered on the antique sofa as to watch whatever Christmas movie was on television. Forty-five minutes later the group watched the final act of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer unfold.

The brave (and supposedly deceased) Yukon Cornelius arrived at Santa’s workshop alongside the Abominable Snowman.

“But- but you went over the side of a cliff!” Rudolph cried.

Yukon chuckled. “Didn’t I ever tell you about Bumbles...Bumbles bounce!!”

Rudolph, Herman and all the other elves erupted into laughter, as if Yukon told a hilarious joke, and decided not to ask anymore questions about Yukon’s sudden appearance and miraculous survival.

“What?!” XJ5 shouted at the screen. “What is this ludicrousness?”

Sheila patted her robot companion. “So Yukon apparently bounced off of the Abominable Snowman and made it out unscathed?”

“I always figured that the writers didn’t have the guts to kill off one of the important characters in their movie, so they pulled a cop-out explanation so he could live,” Otto explained.

“Now Otto, you know you can’t have death in a family movie!” Larry scolded.

“I can name a few movies that go against your statement,” Otto responded dryly.

“Aw come on, Yukon Cornelius had to live, he’s the best character in the movie!!” Tuddrussel argued.

“So that’s why you dressed up as him for Halloween back at the academy.” Sheila recounted.

“Really?” Otto inquired, his curiosity piqued.

“I need to see this!” Larry added enthusiastically. 

“I’ve got photographic evidence.” Sheila asserted as she retrieved her phone.

“Don’t you dare-” Tuddrussel shouted.

“Too late!” Sheila declared, holding up her phone for all to see.

Otto and Larry looked at the image of a young Buck Tuddrussel, donned in his Yukon Cornelius cosplay, goofily smiling as he stood next to Sheila, who had dressed as an elven warrior.

Larry felt his engines heating up at the picture of Tuddrussel dressed as the famed arctic prospector. He never thought that the bulky time cop looked so ravishing. “This is a goldmine!!” Larry gushed.

“Oh hush Lar!” Tuddrussel responded gruffly.

“I think you looked pretty cool,” Otto added, poking at the Texan’s side. Tuddrussel playfully grabbed Otto and gave him an affectionate noogie.

“Thank ya, Otto,” Tuddrussel responded, keeping the boy within his gentle hold.

Otto chuckled lightly. The boy looked at Sheila and XJ5, who were both enjoying themselves. The woman looked over at Otto and gave him a warm smile. Even though Sheila initially threatened to report his unit for ‘adopting’ him from his own time, she had softened up to him over time. Especially after learning how he had managed to keep Larry and Tuddrussel in check. Otto returned the smile.

He then looked over at his two father-figures, who were happily getting along. They mumbled to themselves about dressing Tuddrussel up in some hiking gear, to which the time cop chortled in response.

The boy was happy to be apart of their lives. After years of suffering in the orphanage from his own time, he finally felt wanted and loved by his unusual family.

I apologize for not working JT’s crew into the story, but I managed to keep the focus of the story about Otto, Larry and Tuddrussel interacting with Sheila and XJ5. Plus I wanted to write Sheila as a cool aunt for Otto. I hope you enjoyed this belated Christmas gift!!!

[sapphirethesexyone]

2017 came in like a bitch and went out like a champ. It’s been a hell of a year. My whole life changed.

 I know this to be true because I went back exactly one year and read My end of the year blog post from 2016. It starts like this

 “I’m living a double life (or maybe triple lol) but I’m definitely living more than one. I appear online through My photos to be a vixen, a woman of the world who can make men fall to her feet. That’s a part of Me but not one I let out regularly. I play vixen.  Those who only see My words and never My pics would think I’m a nerd. Outside of My modeling, I am a paid blogger who writes 3 days a week for an urban blog. I am a magazine columnist for a monthly mag and on staff for another urban magazine, which I write for bi-monthly. Additionally, I work on My own writing projects and am completing My first book of erotic stories.  I also run a talent promotion and resource website. I build websites. I love to help people reach their dreams as I’ve been lucky enough to do a few times. I love knowing I’m on the cover of a book and magazines. I love that My xxx business led me to the top. I fucked the man himself, Ron Jeremy in 2012. I am ecstatic that My talent promotion business is opening a whole different set of doors for Me. I can’t wait to add published author to the list.

Outside of My work, I spend most of My time on the couch honestly. I love to spend a day lost in documentaries, a good book, or raunchy cartoon. I’m a pothead. I’m generally quiet because I find that the people I send time around are not as intelligent as I and we can’t communicate on a level I feel peaceful on. I hate arguing with an idiot or   trying to explain something to someone whose mind is closed. I rather tell them just do your own damn research and shut up. I LOVE to agree to disagree. It keeps the peace.

I don’t date. I tried. I quit. Men suck, no seriously. They look at Me   and form and idea of what I am, what they want from Me and they run with it. They don’t give a fuck that I don’t want the same. I’m tired of saying no more than once, tired of fighting men off Me, tired of men hanging around Me thinking I’m going to be the fantasy they’ve concocted in their heads. I’m not, I’m just plain ol’ Me. I don’t date.” Read the rest of this blog post http://sapphirethesexyone.tumblr.com/post/154933706857/2017-sapphirewho-is-this-chameleon-now

 Just reading those 5 paragraphs, I have no choice but to acknowledge how far I’ve come in 12 short months. A year is 365 days and this year, they flew by so fast, it felt like we had only half of that. My whole life is different. When I look back at the words I wrote last year, I am so proud of myself.

 Not even taking my individual accomplishments into account, I am extremely proud of the mindset shift that I’ve had in 2017, which led to a life I would have never anticipated 365 days ago.

 This time last year, I hated Myself and life. I felt lost. For the first time in My adulthood, I felt that I had no choice but to stand on My own two feet. I didn’t think I was ready. Since the age of 20 I have had a guardian angel, a man I called My best friend, he was so much more. He was My everything. He was My father figure, My best friend, the man who loved Me most in the world, My spiritual guide and My role model. I was mourning him this time last year, in a way, I have all year still.

 In April on 2017, we went out for a typical day out, lunch, movie and a long walk around the harbor talking. It was the last time we spent real time together, the next day I was at the hospital as he was rushed in for emergency surgery. His appendix had erupted and at the age of 73, he had other complications. He never woke up. His extremely religious family wouldn’t let him go. It’s been a year and a half, he’s still in a vegetative state I hear, he may have had a leg amputated.

It was My best friend that I always spent holidays with because I’m not close to My family. I hadn’t had him for the holiday season, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years’ Eve…..without him, I was miserable. Instead of My closest friend, I was spending the holidays with the person who had stepped up to fill his spot. The problem there, was that we weren’t getting along. After three years, we were still having a hard time finding balance in our relationship, like most men I encountered, we met through something sexual. We weren’t sexual, but he met Me as a cam girl.

 Because of how we met, as our friendship evolved, I had a hard time understanding if he was looking at Me as a friend or as a woman who turned him on. Some of his actions and gifts felt more like manipulation. He had recently helped Me get My dentures, which cost 6K. After helping Me, he started to say things that were borderline “you owe me” and I couldn’t deal. We were fighting constantly. On New Year’s Eve, we had a huge blowout. I was inspired to create a yearly goal for 2017, to strive for total independence because to Me, independence meant freedom.

 I live on My own, but I’m legally disabled. I work in the ways I can when I can but normal day to day activities and schedules don’t work for Me. I pay My bills with My disability check and whatever money I make is a supplement, it helps but I haven’t gotten to a point yet where I even make steady money to pay My own bills. This time last year I was in a much worse situation. I was barely making any money from My side business. Every month I needed help. My friend was paying My phone and cable every month and I still would be struggling.

 January 2017 was like every other January for Me, I was broke, miserable and trapped in the house for the most part. In the winter, My fibromyalgia flares up so badly that I am pretty much incapacitated in pain. February found Me hopeful, I was going to work towards independence and freedom. I just wanted to be happy, but getting there would be an adventure.

 February found Me hopeful of a new start, I didn’t realize just how different it would be. For Valentine’s Day in 2017, I decided to give Myself the best gift that I cold, freedom. I had been sexually chained to men whom I felt had no real use for Me beyond sex. If they had any other use for Me, they hadn’t made it known in so long, I had forgotten. Truthfully, I had little use for each but craved a friendship at least with the men I was sleeping with. All we had was sex. I told them all for Valentine’s Day that it was time to end it. This included men I had been sleeping with for 10 years down to men I had been sleeping with for 10 months.

 Life hit Me with another curveball right after that, another loss. I had been working intensively with My therapist for 7.5 years at least 1 to 3 days a week for over 7 years. I walked into my therapist’s office one day and she floored Me. After 7.5 years of weekly interaction, she told Me she couldn’t see Me any longer. Since I had started seeing her, she’d returned to school and obtained more degrees. At this point, she no longer could accept My state sponsored insurance.

 I went into a deep depression, I stayed in bed for about two weeks, crying and trying to figure out how I would go forth. Eventually, I dragged Myself out of bed.

 In late February, early March, I attended a workshop that changed My life. I thought I was going to learn how to publish a book in 30 days, I didn’t what I was attending was a sales seminar. The facilitator wanted to sell us her program, not give us her knowledge. I could respect that, but because of where I was in My life, business and writing career, I was able to take the knowledge she did give and figure out how to publish a book.

 I mapped out a plan of action and was ready to take the leap….as soon as My tax returns came in. After preparing My taxes, I realized I would only be receiving $300 back and that was nowhere near the $2000 I was expecting. I was discouraged. Realizing I didn’t really need that much to get started, I started thinking about how I could publish My book. I told a fan/customer My dilemma. They offered Me money, no strings attached. He started with $1.,000 Canadian money which turned out to be a little over $750 U.S. I took that and published My first book, SapphirErotica, bought a few domains names, built a few sites and purchased a bunch of marketing materials. I also paid to be a apart of a women’s empowerment tour that was popular at the moment.

 Once I published that book I felt like I had accomplished My main goal and it was time to move forward. I had 20 books in Me, I knew it. I immediately published a second book, then a 3rd and fourth. I started to publish anthologies, which I hadn’t anticipated doing from the beginning. Learning what I did in that workshop, I knew it was the way to go to gain real attention as a writer and make money as a writer at the same time.

 I had no clue the attention My new business and movement would start to attract. I told people I was stronger than my struggles. I had been fighting to be stronger than the things that had been trying to break me for a long time. I already had started to share My story via My Youtube series, The Sexy Sapphire Chronicles and Sapphire Says and had been blogging about My life for 10 years on and off. I had been wanting to connect with more women because I knew that My story and determination would resonate with Me. Because of My past in the sex industry, I had a hard time connecting with women. I had no female friends and though I was putting My story out, I wasn’t connecting with women like I wanted to.

 I’m shy and quieter than people would expect as I quoted from My post last year. In May, I decided that I would challenge Myself for the month of June to do 30 days of Facebook live. I had been wanting to do live videos but had been avoiding them because I was terrified about who I am and how it would display itself on camera. I’m unpredictable and prone to saying whatever, My mouth is reckless. I didn’t know how I would be received or how it would appeal to women. I didn’t want to sell, I wanted to connect, I wanted to be real.

 When I started my Facebook live challenge in June, I had only published two books and was working on My third. I started telling people about My aspirations, how I really wanted to move into office space or start earning enough money that I could easily rent space for the events that I wanted to have, including a free weekly writing workshop. I went in depth about how I wanted to be an asset to survivors and my community both/ I also talked about support and love. I was still beefing with My male friend who had been doing so much for Me, now I wanted and needed someone I could talk to who held no resentments, wanted nothing from Me and who would hear Me out. I had already cut off all My lovers and this point, not only did I feel friendless, but alone.

 Through My almost daily Facebook live videos, I found Myself opening up in a way I hadn’t in years. I’d get on cam and talk sometimes for three hours straight and people would turn in from start to finish. It was then I realized that I wasn’t alone. I just didn’t have the conventional support that I had been seeking. These strangers via Facebook started to become a part of My life in a way, they were My support, My family. I couldn’t wait to log in and share My day.

 By the end of June, I had amazing news to share. In My boldness and happiness from feeling so free and accepted I had filled out an application to move into the Impact Hub. I had first found out about the place a little over a year prior to My joining. I had been attending free monthly networking meetings there and had attend a few other events in the space. The building was beautiful, and the vibe was familial. I had checked out the costs of membership a few times and hated life because it was out of reach for someone like Myself, on a fixed income. Something drew Me back in June, the same voice that said that it was time to go live.

 When I went to the website, there was a link that had not previously been visible. It said scholarship. I filled out the form, hopeful but not thinking they would pay Me much mind. I bared My soul, telling them how I used to be a former whore and that I was working to now run legit businesses and I wanted a creative space to belong and rejoin the community.

 Within a week I had received a message that they wanted to meet Me, once I arrived, I was told that I was in. I immediately leapt into action on putting My workshops into play.

 I wanted to get acclimated at the new office, but I had to wait until July 5th for My member ship to start, after the holiday. I had recently started spending time with a woman I had met in a writing workshop a few years back, one day she suggested we go to lunch. I had recently discovered HoneyGro and took her there to eat and then to the museum to enjoy the sculpture garden. I had the bright idea that I’d show her the building where I would be having My new office, we stopped past the Impact Hub.

 As we left to head back to our respective homes, it started to rain and instead of our normal bus, we hopped the first one that came, a free purple route circulator. The moment we stepped on the bus, My eyes were immediately drawn to the back of the bus. There in the back, in the center seat, sat the most perfect chocolate man I had seen in years. He was Black, dark, locs cascading down his back. He looked up and smiled, his smile was gold, literally. He had fronts but his smile was still beautiful. He was on his phone and I was on the prowl.

 My girlfriend and I sat across from each other on either side of him and I started to engage her in convo that I hoped would get his attention, it did. He spent the rest of the bus ride engaging us both but focusing on Me. When she got off the bus earlier than us both, we weren’t complaining. Turns out he worked near My house and was headed to work. I could have enjoyed some time with him on the rest of the 40-minute ride, but I had to make a post office run in the rain. We parted, he immediately text Me. We’ve been seeing each other since, in 2 days it will be 6 months.

 He’s far from perfect, in fact, he’s stronger than his struggles and that is why I have fallen for him. On our first visit and time spent alone, I was overwhelmed by the chemistry between us two. I felt like a snack and could tell he was hungry. I told him day one that I had herpes and had been infected for 19 years. He held Me while I cried, kissed Me and then told Me it was okay. We made love. He also came clean about himself that day, he was a former street dude, a thug in a lot of ways, a criminal in others, he had been to jail and for a 10-year period or so, he was an addicted deadbeat. He had fallen into this culture of pill popping and lean sipping and went years without a proper job, he had been homeless, he has 8 children.

 He was honest that at the time, he was living in a transitional housing situation. Technically, still homeless. However, his personality was so refreshing, so humbling and his spirit so beautiful, that none of this mattered to Me. In fact, for two months or so, we were happily moving along until he told Me who one of his two baby mothers was. It devastated Me, she and I used to be like best friends in high school and he has 4 kids with her. I immediately cried and stressed, loving him felt wrong but I wasn’t willing to walk away either. I asked him to tell him, it’s been 4 more months, he hasn’t yet. But we had a good convo about it yesterday because he’s ready for Me to start meeting his kids I think. He started talking about it and I told him I have no problem, after she is aware of who he is dating. She can only hear it from one of us, I would hate for her to find out any other way, though we sure don’t hide in public.

 I couldn’t believe how My summer was going. By August 1st, I had gotten comfortable at the Impact hub, published a third book, was head over heels for the guy I had met and had facilitated My first two workshops. I was on top of the world. My year had started tumultuous, but I noticed that since I started making determinations and plans in February, My life had changed. It was as if I took control.

 From August forth, I was unstoppable. There were workshops and speaking engagements. I saw Myself on a skyscraper billboard. I published 3 more books and made plans to launch a publishing company. My blogging had led to such great assignments as being paid to interview r&b legend Kenny Lattimore. My curiosity led Me to attend networking events that would have before scared Me in size and nature. I learned to walk into room that I once would have felt uncomfortable in, with My head held high. I met celebrities, heard media and business icons speak live in person. I even met a Ghanaian Queen.

 In October I launched My coaching programs. I had been doing coaching sessions, which are almost like therapy here and there but was unhappy with the way I could monitor the progress of the people who were paying Me for help. Launching My signature program gave My coaching structure and allowed Me to help them in a better way and also to keep track of their progress.

 I was shocked when a woman whom I had met in August at one of My workshops signed up for coaching. In August, she had driven from Connecticut to attend My book publishing workshop and have a one on one meeting with Me. We really got along well, but truthfully, I was a little intimidated by her. She was tall, beautiful, outgoing and had the letters PhD, behind her name. I’m glad I took her one as a client, Over the last few months, she’s taught Me more than she knows and has helped Me grow in more ways than one.

 She’ll be publishing her book this month and I can’t wait. She approached Me in the last week twice with statements that made My day. Once she asked about investing My business, the next time she came back and told Me she wanted to write a book with Me. I was amazed, not only do we make a great team and work well together, but I can’t get over the thought of seeing My name on the cover of a book next to that of a doctor. I’m here for it though, you hear?

 A woman I met in the summer has become My closest friend, My business bestie if you will. I had been doing local radio spots and promo to advertise My book in June or July. After a few appearances on a particular show, the host told Me about another show he thought I’d be a good fit for as co-host. Once I met the main host of the show, it was obvious that she had checked out. I could see her passion beneath the surface for another project she had That was her baby and where he energy flowed. I told her I’d come out and support her event. I did the following month.

 I went in shy, not sure what to expect and by My 3rd month there, I felt like family. I found Myself anticipating the day of the month that we could go fellowship. The woman was so nice and open that I felt comfortable enough to ask her to support My writing workshop, she obliged. Back and forth it seems we would trade favors or compliments until I looked up to and realized that I trusted her. We had become friends. I haven’t had female friends in so long. The bonus? Her wife is just as cool and down to earth. I made one friend and got two.

 2017 was a year of progress and growth with just a sprinkle of real life bullshit thrown in. My ex has continued to weave his way in and out of My life, getting my hopes all up that he’ll change. He won’t’ and in 2018, I won’t even allow Myself to be fooled into thinking he will. We spent Christmas night together. I think I will look at that as closure. My son has determined that he will be a lost cause and there is nothing I can do to stop him. My step mother has joined his cause. I’m literally so tired of her undermining My authority as a parent that though I know she has been allowing My son to run the streets of Baltimore at all times of night when I have not approved of it, I’ve said nothing. Instead I’ve checked out and went back to basics. The government said food, clothing and shelter, I provide those, leave Me alone for the rest.

 Giving up on your kid is hard but condoning who he is becoming is not an option and trying to change someone else is fruitless. He has to decide eh is tire do f living the way he is. Sadly, in less than a year, he will be 18. I’m not the cut you off at 18 type parent, IF you’re doing what you’re supposed to as a young adult. He has no hope. I don’t see him getting it together til about twenty. I’ll be here then.

 The biggest obstacles I faced all year were trying to make My son care about his future, figuring out who I am love and relationship wise, (am I monogamous or poly?) missing the two people who had been the most influential parts of My life, My therapist and best friend and the constant battle for respect with the guy who stepped into the role of best friend when Mine no longer could fill the role.

 The biggest wins I had in 2017 were

 ·         Becoming a published author and releasing 6 of the 9 books I finished

·         Moving into a co-working space

·         Launching My Stronger Than My Struggles

·         Becoming more a part of the local arts community

·         Falling in love

·         Being taken seriously as a coach

·         Being booked to speak in front of so many people

·         Getting closer to My goal of financial independence. I now pay My own bills every month.

·         Cut off the men who were using Me sexually

·         Found out that I was indeed capable of being successful without My shrink

·         Learned so much about entrepreneurship

·         Being named honorary BADD Girl of the year by BADD Magazine

·         Interviewing Kenny Lattimore

·         Made female friends

  And there were so many more wins. 2017 was great. For the first time I even beat the holiday blues season. I didn’t get depressed, hate life and avoid everyone after thanksgiving. Thanksgiving was a little hard on Me, it was the second without My best friend who was really My everything. I was better afterwards though and Through Christmas and the new year, the holiday blues never took hold of Me.  For once, I looked at engagement pictures and happy family photos on social media and said, “they deserve that”, instead of why not Me. I have come a long way.

 Yesterday was New Year’s Eve and I didn’t make any significant plans. Thanksgiving I had chosen to spend alone. Christmas eve into Christmas morning I spent with My ex, getting the closure that a woman deserves after almost 3 years of nonsense. Christmas Day, I spent with the friend who had taken My best friend’s place. I already knew the guy that I’ve been seeing had to work, besides, he has eight kids, there was little hope of spending time with him. Though I hadn’t planned on seeing him, I found Myself bothered by his lack of communication over the holiday. I was ready to call it off.

 I snapped at him and told him I felt insignificant and I don’t allow that. He apologized and said he wanted to do better and that he loved Me. It was the first time he had said it and it caught Me off guard. He surprised Me on New Year Eve and wanted to spend the day together before work. I was ecstatic, I understood not only did he want to see Me, but he wanted Me to not be mad, he wanted Me to know I matter. I already had plans to hang out with a friend but cut them short with the swiftness. I made us some dinner, cleaned up and prepared to feel loved on. He didn’t disappoint.

 When he walked in My door looking like God in human form I was reminded of the day we met and how this attraction has been instant from moment one. We spent the day in bed, laughing and talking, cuddling and figuring out our future. We discussed what we wanted from each other and where we were both at mentally in the relationship. It was so different and needed. I was able to confess to him that I was glad he wasn’t ready for commitment because I was afraid I wasn’t ready either and the idea of Me fucking up and losing him totally scared Me all the time. He mentioned Me meeting his kids finally, I told him how My son could benefit from hearing his story.

 All day, we did what we do best, comfort each other, listen to each other and watch cartoons. Before it was time for him to prep for work, I got up and made him a plate then kept him company while he ate. After he left, there were still 3 hours before midnight, I called a long-time associate and told them come bring in the new year with Me. We got stupid high and watched the new Dave Chappelle stand ups on Netflix until I finally passed out near 2 a.m.

 I woke up at quarter to five this morning, on the couch, hung over from weed and smiling. I sat up and started to finish typing this on the brand new 2018 laptop I received for Christmas. My new best friend still does things for Me, but the dynamics of our friendship has changed. He does them now understanding that it gives him no leverage at all. With or without him I will have the things I need and want and I won’t tolerate any bullshit being sent My way. We’ve found balance.

 I had spent the prior day with 3 men but had only been intimate with one. For those who know about My sex ocd, that was a big step, right? I am secure in the fact that while I currently don’t want anyone but the guy I am seeing, that if I slip up and exchange physical energy with someone else, it won’t ruin what I have, I just have to be safe unlike when I fucked My ex unprotected.  I took control of My life in 2017. I called all the shots and visualized the things I wanted before getting them.

 In 2018 I will continue to move forth with the same purpose and passion. I have things in store for Myself and My business that I can’t wait to embark on.

 Yet, the most important milestone of 2018 will be October 11th, the day My son turns 18. I have tried for years to get My son back on track and it has been disastrous. As a parent, for the last year, I’ve wanted to check out. The law doesn’t allow that however, and I’m fully responsible for My son, no matter how fucked up he decides he will be. That changes on October 11, 2018. I will always be his mother, but no longer will I be his scape goat or the one they call when he fucks up. This kid has 10 months left to blame Me for why his life is shit and then I get to say oh well. I’ve been looking forward to it and I can’t wait.

 2017 I set myself up for a life of financial freedom, in 2018 I will claim it and My son will no longer be My responsibility, just My son.

 2018 here I come. You ready?

Check out My books on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Melony-Hill/e/B071NF1ZCL/ 

Check out My website and other blog at http://www.strongerthanmystruggles.com 

Add Me on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100011090133858 

Follow Me on Instagram http://www.instagram.com/strongerthanmystruggles 

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

Candy Kane

I’ve never been a big fan of family pictures, or holiday celebrations. When I was about seven, my brother Derek and I had our picture taken with our cousin Kyle, who couldn’t have been much more than a year old. Kyle was smiling, but also pointing at something off in the distance (probably a prop the photographer was using to make him laugh). Derek and I had on clip-on ties that were recycled from a previous Easter. I wore thick, almost square-framed glasses. if I left the house with them on today, they would almost certainly impede my ability to successfully procreate. I had little choice at the time since I needed corrective lenses, and wouldn’t start wearing contacts for at least another six years. 

By the time I’d made the switch, the photo of Kyle, Derek, and me belonged to a museum exhibit—frozen in time like the Iceman—of pictures my grandparents loved, but their grandchildren wished no longer existed. By 1999, they’d moved into a house much smaller than the one in which they’d raised their six children, and the photo had been relegated to a literal wall of shame in their basement. Along the wall were senior pictures of my mother and her siblings, and various photos of the nine grandchildren, including that of a triumvirate of boys c. 1988. I can’t think of a time anyone whose picture was on the wall expressed fondness when looking at it. Each of us probably thought about what we’d tell our younger selves if we passed them on the street, or secretly wished to remain arrested in that state of childhood development, our entire lives uncertain, unfolding, before us one day at a time.

The biggest reason I’ve never been a huge fan of holidays, family pictures, and especially family holiday pictures is because the only capture one moment in time, moments that, for better or worse, are frozen on film or stored in cloud of data and never really gone. Whenever the holidays come around, I have a tendency to cram an entire year’s worth of socializing into 48 hours, or however long I get to spend with my family and friends.

In my family, those occasions are typically when we celebrate some Puritans surviving a hard winter despite wearing ridiculous hats, and the birth of a boy who somehow managed to erase his teenage debauchery from the record. You know he had to screw up those miracles dozens of times in private before nailing them (oops) in public by his early thirties. This must be why we never hear about the zombies of Arimathea he couldn’t quite bring all the way back from the dead, or the numerous weddings he crashed around Nazareth during puberty, flexing to prostitutes about how he could turn water into wine in exchange for performing a number of sins his Dad didn’t have to know about (but would later be considered deadly because Mary Magdalene couldn’t keep her mouth shut) only to deliver vinegar.

I guarantee you Jesus promised Joseph of Arimathea eternal salvation as thanks for the years of resurrection practice, and in return for the use of his tomb one Friday night. Mary Magdalene showed up at the tomb three days after the crucifixion because she finally realized how serious Jesus had been about her fucking up his chances to keep holy the Sabbath day with a bridesmaid, before he hit it big and all the lepers wanted a piece (oops again) of him.

Anyway… If family pictures remind me of who I used to be, holidays remind me of things I used to wholeheartedly believe in.

My first picture with Santa was probably taken in 1982, before I had the surgery to straighten out my leg that left me with a cool scar. My enthusiasm for the holidays faded as I grew older and began to challenge my beliefs that one man could deliver presents to all the world’s children in a single night, and the three wise men could find Jesus just by following a star.

After passing at least numerically through teenage angst, I started to realize how incredibly fortunate I’ve been instead of complaining about what other people had that I didn’t. But what really got me comfortable in my own skin was volunteering, a series of activities in which I put myself in some very uncomfortable positions by surrounding myself with people and places I didn’t know. Still, my desire for the uncomfortable hasn’t weakened my ability to attract the absurd.

I recently had a chance to volunteer at Santa’s Workshop. I put on my elf hat (which I later found out had been on backwards all night) and got to work in the arts and crafts area, but that didn’t last long. Macaroni pictures weren’t doing it for me. I needed a different challenge.

Soon enough, I found my way to where Santa was. My backwards elf hat and I had to keep the line moving so every kid would have a chance to see Santa before closing time at 6 PM. Thee were all kinds of characters around me. Rudolph was there, and so was this character that had Pinocchio’s face, but looked how I imagined the Frisch’s Big Boy would if he’d been on a liquid diet for six months. “Who’s THAT?” I asked the event coordinator. “That’s the Elf on the Shelf,” she replied. “Oh… shit… I was way off,” I said. Whenever I caught the characters waving to children and their families as they passed by, they looked like those people from 80s and 90s workout videos who got stuck doing the low-impact versions of the exercises everybody else was doing at full speed. I wondered if they were secretly asking themselves why they agreed to do this, quietly cursing themselves for not auditioning to sell shit on QVC instead.

I’m not sure if the first child whose Santa aftermath I’ll remember for a long time was just really upset, had a cognitive deficiency, or both. Either way, he or she was not happy. My first post near the man of the hour was standing outside a fence they’d set up around Santa’s chair. My job was to wave the kids and their families forward once the previous family had enjoyed their moment in the makeshift winter wonderland. As the child left Santa’s lap screaming bloody murder and passed through the fence with his/her parent or guardian, they let out a sound I can only describe as a Home Improvement-era Tim Allen grunt mixed with visceral cry for help: UHHHAAHHHOOOOO! 

Before I knew what was happening, the child headbutted themselves against the exterior glass of the Lazarus building, like Kane and the Undertaker from another spoiled childhood fantasy of so many— professional wresting. All the person accompanying the child said was, “Now honey… Don’t hit your head.” All I could think was, “Damn.” But as a man wearing a backwards elf hat, I couldn’t say shit to them.

Not long after witnessing a pediatric concussion, I found myself in the path of low-impact Rudolph herself. I slightly embarrassed myself by giving her a fist bump and talking to the person in the suit as though they were the red-nosed reindeer in the flesh. I came back to my adulthood while low-impact Rudolph was in the middle of muffled sentence about candy canes. I noticed had a bucket in her hands, which I assumed had been filled with the striped holiday icons. There were no candy canes in her bucket, but I did notice a set of Toyota car keys. In my confusion, I almost blurted out, “Shouldn’t you be guiding a sleigh instead of a fucking Camry?” Some things are best left unsaid.  

For the first two hours we were there, the line to see Santa seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, which made the next encounter I remember even more excruciating. A lady walked up and stood right next to me, thus blocking my view of the line and preventing me from doing the one volunteer task I was explicitly asked to do. To make matters worse, she started offering a running commentary on all the children she saw in Santa’s lap, like a color commentator at a sporting event who didn’t know when to just shut up and let whatever moment they were witnessing wash over them.  

It didn’t matter whether they were boys dressed in identical suits for the obligatory in-lap picture with the big man (Oh, how cute!) or babies whose faces became contorted with red hot agony upon being separated from their mothers and embraced by a strange man (Oh, he is NOT having it!) The line seemed to grow infinitely longer during her soliloquy and I found myself thinking it was a shame the crucifixion of the guy whose birthday everyone would be celebrating in few weeks didn’t draw a crowd like this. In Survivor, Chuck Palahniuk observed that on some crucifixes, Jesus looks jacked enough to be modeling Ray-Ban sunglasses and Guess jeans without a shirt on. I can’t help thinking Chuck would concur that since not everyone will reach that level of supposed piety or physical fitness in a lifetime, it’s a bigger draw to remember God’s only son immediately after he humbled himself to share in our humanity the same way we all started—as a baby.

Anyway… as her commentary droned on, found myself wishing I could be the elf in the holiday classic A Christmas Story who tells Ralphie to get a move on before Santa kicks him down the slide, “Let’s Go!!!” But it bears repeating that in my backwards hat, my powers of persuasion were limited.

Not long after the soliloquy ended, I was approached by what I assume was a mother and daughter pair who were wondering if they’d ever get to see Santa. “I don’t know if we’re going to make it,” the older one said. “Let’s just take my picture with the elf.” “Actually, my name’s Dav…” I wanted to protest, but with my powers weakened, all I could do was acquiesce to their demands. The younger woman held a smartphone at what seemed like six different angles during our impromptu photo session. By the time they were done, I felt certain I was destined for Instagram infamy.  

Eventually, the powers that be decided that I should move inside the fence and stand on the glitter-covered red carpet in an effort the speed up the queue after sunset. Before I went to the other side of the fence, someone asked me if I knew whether or not they’d be cutting people off at 6 PM. I didn’t, but I wished they would. I was growing tired of head injuries, seething, teething infants, and watching people taking selfies or recruiting the other elves to take pictures of them standing under one of the arches leading up to Santa’s chair.

I must have been distracted. The next time someone tried to get my attention, I was accused of holding up the line. The man had on a white, short-sleeved polo shirt. The woman wasn’t wearing a coat, but had on something I never thought I’d see on Santa’s red carpet: a leopard-print dress and dull pink high heels. “I used to be a Santa’s helper in this building,” she exclaimed. She said something else, about 1978, but I was too busy trying to avoid another “Damn” moment to really pay attention. “Actually, we just want our bathroom done. He’s working on our house.” “Fine.” I muttered. She proceeded to throw herself at Santa like he was Hugh Heffner, and she was Playboy Bunny. The whole scene looked ridiculous, but so did I.

After the final patrons had paid Santa a visit, the other volunteer elves and I sat for our own picture with the man himself. It was likely the first time I’d had my picture taken with him since the year the picture of Derek, Kyle, and I was taken. I wasn’t filled with regret over my evaporated childhood and its beliefs, or terribly concerned that no one said a word about my backwards elf hat the whole night. I was glad I’d put myself in another uncomfortable position and come out clean on the other side minus the glitter that will be stuck to the bottoms of the shoes I wore that night for months. I was reminded of the importance of not trying to cram everything into one season, or in Santa’s case, one night. Let the kids have their beliefs and grow up to challenge them. I didn’t have to sit in Santa’s lap to tell him that wish come true was all I wanted for Christmas. I have a funny feeling that whoever he is, was, and has been, he knew what I wanted long before I ever asked.

[battlesportfolio]

Letter to Santa - Story Idea Development 2019

This was a fiction piece created for my Story Idea Development class. The assignment was to create a three-act story.

ACT 1:

A tall, skinny man, is sitting in the front room of the Hell Casino on the Las Vegas Strip. In the corner stands a small Christmas tree. Actually, it’s not a tree at all, it’s more like a dying plant with lights. The casino is slow this month because, as you can imagine, the Christmas spirit and holiday cheer really puts a damper on sinning. As he waits for people, he sits playing Uno with a group of large men, but all the cards in the skinny man’s hands are exclusively draw 4’s. His game is interrupted when his assistant comes in with a large stack of envelopes. He looks through it briefly; it’s mostly bills and a few fan letters. He throws it all on his desk. He finishes his game and as everyone leaves he takes a seat to look through the mail. However, as he looks closer he sees that one envelope is unlike the others. This one has colorful glitter and drawings all over it. He pulls it out of the stack and stares blankly at it. The envelope reads “To: Satan” He opens it and reads the poorly written words,“ My name is Miranda. I live in Phoenix. I am 6 years old. I have been very good this year. For Christmas, I would like for my brother Michael to get no presents. He is very mean to me. He breaks my toys and steals my good snacks. This is all I want, Santa. – Miranda” He looks around as if looking for a secret camera and calls his assistant back in. They look at the letter, puzzled about what to do. Satan then glances at a picture on his desk. A family of 4 are in the photo frame, but where the head of the youngest child should be is a large black mark, clearly done with a permanent marker. The mark is so large you cannot see who is under It, but next to that child is a young Satan. He glances back at the letter and at that moment, decides to help Miranda. So, as he sits at his desk he spends the next several hours coming up with a plan. 

ACT 2:

His first idea is to mail the letter to Santa himself. This, however, as he soon remembers, will not work. All mail sent from Satan to Santa has been marked “return to sender” since 2017. A series of flashbacks start and we see several packages being delivered to the north pole on several different occasions. As Santa opened the first package paint and glitter was splattered all over the workshop. This took the elves a whole day to clean up. The second package addressed to Rudolph and was full of corn. This seems like a nice gift until you google it and realize corn is deadly to reindeer. Finally, on the last occasion, one of the elder elves opened one of the packages and had a heart attack and died when a much tinier evil-looking elf jumped out of the box. 

So, Satan had to think of more ideas. He thought about delivering the letter right into Santa’s hands. But, this wasn’t an ordinary wish and he believed that even if Santa saw it, he still would not grant it and instead Miranda would just get a stupid doll. Plus, the north pole was way too cold. He wanted to help Miranda, but there were some things he wouldn’t do for anyone. It was at this moment that he figured it out. He opened his calendar, ran his finger through the weeks, and landed on December 24th with a smile. He had a game of Monopoly with the boys that evening, but he would have to postpone it. He had decided that he would sneak into Miranda’s house after Santa came and steal her brother's presents. It was both a genius idea to grant Miranda’s wish and a devilish act that would make Satan’s heart feel warm. 

As Christmas eve approached Satan began setting his plan into motion. He had enlisted his best friend, Leonard, to be the getaway driver. If done correctly, they would be in and out of Miranda’s house in less than 10 minutes. As the big day drew closer, Satan became more and more excited. He had bought a new all-black outfit and a large black duffle bag. The time had finally come and once the sun had set on Christmas eve, Satan and Leonard packed their 2006 Hummer H3 and headed to Phoenix.

During the time it took Satan and Leonard to drive to Phoenix, Miranda and Michael got ready for bed. Both were excited, but Miranda was far more than Michael. Tomorrow was going to be all about her. The two children jumped into their beds and quickly fell asleep so that Santa would arrive faster. When they arrived, all was quiet. They pulled up to Miranda’s house and Satan got out of the car. He peered into the living room window to make sure Santa had already dropped off the presents. He had. Satan began checking the windows to find a way in. Fortunately, the kitchen window was unlocked. He lifted it up and crawled in.

Now inside the house, Satan made his way to the living room. In it, was a large tree, beautifully decorated with ornaments and lights. Next to the tree was stacks of presents of all different sizes. Satan opened up his duffle bag and began placing all of Michael’s presents inside. One by one, the living room began to look barren. Then a light suddenly turned on upstairs. Satan grabbed the huge duffle bag and booked it to the kitchen. Along the way, he accidentally bumped into the kitchen table, knocking over the ceramic manger set. He continued to the window but looked back when he heard a crash. On the floor, shattered to pieces was the tiny baby Jesus. He began to move even faster, throwing the bag out of the window, and climbing out after it.

  He raced to the Hummer and jumped in. Leonard began to drive away, but Satan stopped him. He wanted to see Miranda’s reaction. They waited for the sun to rise and the family to gather downstairs. Once there, Satan left the Hummer and watched from the front window of the house in order to get a better view. To Michael's surprise, he had no presents. So, he sat and watched Miranda play with her teddy bear. Tears filled his eyes and he soon began to cry. His crying grew louder and louder until it was no longer bearable to hear. His mom decided to get him some juice to calm him down. On the other side of the room, Miranda looked over at her brother and realized this isn’t what she wanted at all and began to cry herself. She moved over to her brother and handed him a small bear that she had gotten as a gift. He hugged it and wiped the tears from his face. As the crying slowed, the two began to play with Miranda's new toys together. Satan’s attention was then shifted when he heard a shriek come from the kitchen. The mom had stepped on the shattered pieces of baby Jesus. 

Act 3:

As the mom waddled around on one foot, screaming, her family ran to surround her. The father offered her a chair and the children gathered supplies to clean the wound. Satan watched, but he wasn’t looking at the commotion from the family, he was staring at the tiny pieces of shattered glass still scattered around the floor. Miranda then left and came back with a broom and dustpan. She swept up the pieces of shattered pieced of baby Jesus and threw it away in the trash bin. Only the last piece was still stuck in the mom's foot. As the dad pulled it out, the mom yelled Jesus’ name in vain. Although this was a sound Satan usually enjoyed, he couldn’t help but feel sad. He looked back at the family, who were getting all together and supporting one another and decided his work here was done, he had failed. He walked back to the Hummer. Satan and Leonard drove back to the strip in silence.  

When they got back to the casino, Satan walked in and went straight to his desk. He was the only one at the casino. He looked at Miranda’s letter that was still open on his desk. Then he started to cry, but at the same time, he tried to hold in his tears. However, he couldn’t hold them back and a single tear ran down his face. He grabbed the picture frame on his desk and threw it on the floor. It shattered immediately and the whole picture was now visible. The face that was covered with the black mark is revealed to be Jesus. Satan picks up the picture and places it next to Miranda’s letter. He sits, looking at the picture. He hadn’t seen a picture of him and his brother in years. After a few minutes passed he picked up his phone and dialed a number. The phone rang and a familiar voice picked up. It was Jesus. Satan then wished him a happy birthday and they continued talking as if they had spoken every day of their life. 

[tiffanie-nicole2011-blog]

Reg Varney, 11th July 1916 – 16th November 2008

Reginald Alfred Varney, 11th July 1916 – 16th November 2008: Photo: Moviestore Collection Ltd.

Extracted from www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/3469283/Reg-Varney.html

Reg Varney, who died on 16th November 2008 aged 92, was an actor, comedian and singer who became a household name as the central figure in the popular situation comedy On the Buses, which began in 1969 and ran for seven series.

Varney managed to capture the quintessential spirit of a happy-go-lucky London bus driver in the character of Stan Butler, a cheeky barrel of laughs with an eye for the girls. And it is a testament to his skills as an actor that he managed to play so convincingly the role of an immature 35-year-old when he was in his mid-fifties.

Always conscious of his lack of formal training as an actor, Varney was an earnest man when on set. He took his work seriously, constantly learning and rehearsing his lines – as well as those of the other cast members, to give himself a complete understanding of the situation in which a comedy episode was set.

Although to a large extent he played himself in On the Buses, Varney went to considerable lengths to research the role, even taking bus-driving lessons and a test to gain a heavy goods vehicle licence so that he could be filmed driving a bus on the open road.

He would truly relax only at the end of a series, when he would throw a "Cockney party night" for the programme’s cast and crew at his home in Enfield, north London. It was his little joke to get his co-stars eating whelks, cockles and jellied eels while he drank whisky or performed old East End songs at the piano.

In the 1960s and early 1970s he was rarely out of the public eye, appearing on the television screen in sitcoms such as The Rag Trade and Beggar My Neighbour as well as in 65 episodes of On the Buses and in three spin-off films.

The public, however, never fully forgave him for leaving On the Buses. His popularity waned, and his television and film career collapsed. He ended up working as an entertainer on cruise ships and touring Australia with his one-man show. He then contracted a severe viral infection which for three years made working hard for him; he decided to retire to Devon, where he painted landscapes and wrote his memoirs.

Reginald Alfred Varney was born on July 11 1916 at Canning Town, east London. His childhood was a happy one, although his parents struggled to make ends meet. His father worked in a rubber factory, and was a great story-teller and a talented pianist. The Varney household throbbed to the rhythms of East End social life: there were parties at which the women downed glasses of port and lemon and the men drank pints of ale while Reg’s father entertained them with popular tunes on the piano.

Reg’s show business career began when he was 15, at Plumstead Working Men’s Club. The club’s chairman booked him after hearing him sing Ramona in the front room of the Varneys’ family home and declared: "I’m going to make this boy a star." The young Varney’s debut was a remarkable success: he reduced the audience – many of whom were elderly – to tears by rounding off his performance with a ballad about old people ending their days in a workhouse. He went home with 10 shillings, a princely sum in those days.

Soon he was a regular on the working men’s’ club circuit and was singing to great acclaim at most of the major venues in and around London. But, as he admitted later in an autobiography, The Little Clown (1990), all the applause and flattery he received made him "self-opinionated, smug, cocky and swollen-headed". This culminated in an unfortunate night at a club in Kennington, South London, when he over-confidently performed the song Chapel in the Moonlight as an encore, even though he did not know the words. He left the stage to a humiliating silence.

Varney made his West End debut in May 1938 as a solo pianist at the Windmill Theatre. During the Second World War he joined the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers but failed at first to gain entry to the 30 Corps Theatrical Pool. Instead he started and took charge of his own concert party, the REME Revels.

Varney found juggling his soldiering duties with those of an entertainer and concert party manager utterly exhausting. He was working day and night and still expected to entertain others in his mess on the piano when he returned to catch up on his sleep. After demobilisation he became an actor. He appeared at the Finsbury Park Empire, north London, in an act in which he pretended to be a ventriloquist and his dummy. He also worked in summer shows at Margate with Benny Hill as his stooge.

In 1950 Varney made his film debut in Miss Robin Hood. But it was not until 1961 that his television break came in the situation comedy The Rag Trade, set in the dressmaking workshop of Fenner Fashions. The show was taped on Sundays allowing the producers the pick of actors on the West End stage, who would not have been available for work during the week. The star-studded cast included Miriam Karlin, Peter Jones, Sheila Hancock and Barbara Windsor. Varney was aware that he was the only performer without West End acting experience and worked hard to make up for it.

At read-throughs of the script his performance would give the writers cause for concern. But on the day of recording, he would know his lines and the comic potential of the episode better than anyone. He moved on to his own show, The Valiant Varneys, which ran for a year from 1964, and the next year starred in Joey Boy, a comedy feature film about the Army. He appeared in The Great St Trinian’s Train Robbery in 1966.

Between 1967 and 1969 he played an affluent fitter in the sitcom Beggar My Neighbour, in which he co-starred with Pat Coombs, Peter Jones and June Whitfield. But it was the television comedy On the Buses, written by Ronald Wolfe and Ronald Chesney, that made Varney a household name. Screened from 1969 until 1973, the series revolved around a bus driver’s capers with his conductor, played by Bob Grant, their home life, and their efforts to put one over on the bus depot’s lugubrious Inspector Blakey (Stephen Lewis).

Varney also starred in three On the Buses feature films, made by Hammer: On the Buses (1971), Mutiny On the Buses (1972) and Holiday On the Buses (1973). But when he finally left the role for good, his career suffered.

He made a television comeback in 1976 in Down the Gate, a series in which he played a Billingsgate fish porter. But, like the film The Best Pair of Legs in the Business (1973), in which he played a female impersonator, it did little to revive his career. Retiring to Devon, Varney wrote a series of books about his life. These were noted more for their detail than fine writing style.

A dedicated family man, Varney was close to his daughter Jeanne, who lived nearby. He was much grieved when her first husband died suddenly of a brain tumour. Reg Varney had been living in a nursing home at Budleigh Salterton. His wife Lilian died in 2002, and he is survived by his daughter.

Bless ya Reggie. x

Posted by Lady Wulfrun on 2008-11-17 18:45:32

Tagged: , On the Buses , Reg Varney , Stan Butler , Blakey , I hate you Butler , Arfur , You stupid great lump

The post Reg Varney, 11th July 1916 – 16th November 2008 appeared first on Good Info.

[workingontravel]

It’s a bit of a love-hate relationship

(You can find a Swedish translation of this text here.)

I have often crossed routes with Gestalta Judd, who is one of the few in Europe who teaches bondage for a living. I wanted to speak to her because of her intimate knowledge of what has been coined as “rope nomadism”, which I think of as an interesting parallel to travelling for performing arts – but also because I was curious about how Brexit would affect her travel. Gestalta brought another subject to the table: her attempt to stay on the ground in 2019 for political reasons.

Gestalta Judd: My income is entirely based on doing rope, mostly teaching. I have to travel to teach – I wouldn’t make enough otherwise. What I usually do is a combination of workshops and performances, where the performances don’t really give much income. It’s really more of a break-even situation where I offset unpaid work with a paid job in the same place. This is how I usually manage to do creative things that I like, such as performing or photo and film.

I’ve been travelling for rope events since about 2014, but I was travelling quite a bit already before: for photographic modelling and stuff like that. So actually, I’ve been travelling my whole adult life. There is no clear pattern to how I travel, but I’ve been to most countries in Europe at some point. For a while, I did lots of trips to Prague in a row, and now I’ve done lots of trips to Norway. It’s similar for most teachers, I think. You teach what you have, and then you won’t come back to that particular area again until you have new content, or until the group has changed enough that there is new interest.

It was rope that made me go outside Europe; I’ve taught in Australia, for example. But I’ve never been to the States. One of the reasons is that I’m afraid of being turned away at the border and then both losing the payment for the job and not being reimbursed for the money I spent on the ticket. No one is ever going to get me a working visa to do anything considered adult. So, I’d have to go on a tourist visa and hope that they don’t google me, because Gestalta is a legal name and very uncommon. Even if I’d do something for free, if I’m there for an event that is making money, that’s already too much for the States. When I teach abroad, the travel is often calculated out of the workshop fee. This means that cheap flying and cheap buses are what generally allow this kind of teaching to happen. Since I get refunded and paid only if I show up, it’s lucky that I’ve never been too sick to go. If I had to cancel under those circumstances, it would be a trust thing. I think most organisers are decent people and would be able to discuss who was in a better financial position to cover the loss of the travelling cost. I bring as little as possible: my ropes, a bar of soap, my toothbrush, light clothes like leggings and stuff. If I’m going to a cold country, I try to take only one heavy outfit that I can wear over all my other clothes. Then I hope that I can borrow whatever else I need when I get there. While travelling, I try to sleep, or I take my headphones and just zone out completely for a while. If it’s a very long trip, I might try to do some writing, like workshop descriptions or such.

I would normally stay with one of the organisers or a student; whoever has a spare room or sofa. It’s very rare to get a hotel. It’s hard to afford that kind of thing. I often try to stay in places where there’s a kitchen and I can cook for myself and box it up to bring wherever I go. I’ve found that I get less tired when I’m eating what my body is used to, rather than having to rely on an unfamiliar diet. Every year for the last three years, I’ve been thinking that I will definitely stop travelling. But every year something new comes up. It’s a bit of a love-hate relationship. I absolutely can’t imagine what I would be doing if not rope. And I love doing it once I get there. But I’ve reached a point where the thought of travelling is actually horrible. And when I get home, I’m not really quite at home either, because I spend so little time there. I feel annoyed about the difficulty of putting down roots. The reason why I still want to continue is that I learn so much from the differences in how people construct their communities. I get to see rope from so many perspectives. And I have this familiarity with people globally, like they have become locals to me. There is no longer a strict divide between the teacher and the student like there used to be, when travelling teachers were less common. It’s more of an exchange now. It happens that I go to someone’s workshop and then the next day that person comes to my workshop. I used to feel more isolated. Being at a workshop in a room full of people talking about how great it is using this tool to connect with your partner, I sometimes had this strange sense of, “Oh but I’ve been travelling for so long I don’t really have any partners ’cause it’s impossible for me to sustain any meaningful connection with someone that I never see…” It was a bleak kind of feeling.

How much I travel varies greatly. At the heaviest, I could be flying twice a week, easily, and that could go on for months. At the lightest, I take months off and try not to go anywhere. If I do a big trip outside Europe, I try to earn enough to be able to rest when I come home. I have to be organised and hyper-focused when I work. If there’s too much going on outside what I’m focusing on, I start to forget things, and if I start to forget things, it’s over. Relationships at home just have to take a back seat. The times when I’ve been travelling the most, I either didn’t have any intense relationships or they broke up as a result of it. My long-term friends are used to sometimes not seeing or hearing from me for a while.

At the moment, I’m based in Leeds in the north of England. I just moved here a few months ago from Berlin. It was a bit of an accidental move. I thought I was just going to stay for the summer, partly to get an Irish passport in order to avoid getting my travelling opportunities limited by Brexit. We’re almost apathetic about Brexit now, just crossing our fingers for it not to happen, but I moved just in case. I thought I would hate living here. But I’ve been too busy to change my passport so I can’t leave yet, and also bizarrely I really love this slightly obscure town. We’ll see how long it continues.

As it happens, I’m fairly involved with the climate change movement in the UK – and I made a promise not to fly so much for 2019. In March, I did my first workshop outside UK for the year. For the first time in my international long-distance travelling, I decided that the workshop was paying enough for me to get the train. It’s my goal to continue doing that. Economically it will be interesting: I’ll have to look carefully at what jobs I can afford to take, or where I can make up for the extra cost. I’ve been justifying my way of travelling before by saying that I never fly for holidays, only for work. But it’s getting to a point where I feel that isn’t much of an excuse anymore. It’s not like I’m a surgeon saving lives. Not to say that my work lacks value, but it’s for pleasure whether it’s for me or for the people taking the workshop. The rope scene has lived through a very special time. Without really even thinking about it, we’ve been able to build friendships with people who don’t live in our country. It’s not like, “We’ll see each other in three years,” when you leave; it’s more of a casual “Yeah, see you soon.” It’s been a really short and unique time, and I don’t think it’s going to last unless we come up with some serious changes. This is sad, especially for a community that has such a niche interest. But if we’re doing something to make a change now, we are still making the choice. I think at the point where we’re forced into doing these changes, the survival of the rope community will be the least of our worries.

It’s time to start thinking collectively about what we can do as a community. There is no reason why every single person individually flies in for a big rope event when you have twenty people coming from Sweden and twenty people coming from Spain. I know it’s annoying to get a bus, but if they could share it, that would be very affordable. Yes, it would take an extra twenty hours of their time and they would be uncomfortable, and it would require central organising and someone actually taking charge, but maybe it’s the sort of thing that we need to consider now. Also, if people start to be a little bit more strict with what they allow themselves to do, then maybe train companies, bus companies and other alternatives to flying will have to catch up and make both prices and information more accessible. However, to truly make a shift in how people travel, the government needs to incentivise better transport options. Either air fares are too cheap or train fares are too expensive. They need to be swapped. Within the UK, train fares are obscenely expensive. I’m more or less cut off for economic reasons from travelling with train. For example, instead of travelling two hours from Leeds to London, I take a bus for six hours. I don’t really mind being stuck there, but the longer I travel, the more exhausting it will become. It’s not really a sacrifice for me at the moment to take three days out of my schedule to do a weekend workshop. But realistically, if I was taking the bus to another country in Europe, that’s a day of travel, and then I would probably want to arrive there a day earlier because I would just want to spend the day recovering. And then there are the two days for the workshop, and then a day of travelling back. And then I would probably want to spend another day recovering at home. So, there a two-day workshop has become a six-day job. I can really see that happening. The cost in terms of time and tiredness and that sort of emotional thing is the biggest concern, also when thinking about the amount of time that I’m already now away from friends and family. Another way to go about this would be to organise more: to try to stay for several weeks consecutively in one place or area. That would mean more time away from family and friends, but maybe then I could spend the next month at home with them without having to travel at all. Maybe that’s a sacrifice worth making, but it demands cooperation with and between different organisers. I don’t know if it will make a difference, but it’s exciting that the environmental movement in the UK is gaining such momentum. Today, we’re doing a protest against the bank HSBC and that they are still investing in fracking. There are some local fracking sites around here, and there were some induced earthquakes, so many groups are organising against it. But there are people in all of UK pretty much prepared to organise a new protest every week. Everyone is equally culpable, so it’s just to pick anything. Last week I was in London working, so then we did a protest against fast fashion. Then there was one because the BBC are not reporting enough on the environmental catastrophes we’re currently in. Here in Leeds, which is a small town, we did a protest for schools and young people. We thought maybe two hundred would come. A thousand showed up.

[topicprinter]

Hey - Pat from StarterStory.com here with another interview.Today's interview is with Nick Fortosis of Geo 101 Design, a brand that sells cork mapsSome stats:Product: Cork MapsRevenue/mo: $2,000Started: October 2017Location: Zeeland MichiganFounders: 1Employees: 0Hello! Who are you and what business did you start?My name is Nick Fortosis and I am the founder of GEO 101 Design, a company that specializes in creating one of a kind cork maps with modern minimalist aesthetics. Our goal is to turn your love of travel into your own personalized home décor.Founded in late 2017, I run the business by myself and manufacture everything in my garage workshop in West Michigan. We have been steadily growing and are currently doing roughly $2000 a month in sales through our website and our Etsy shop.imageWhat's your backstory and how did you come up with the idea?I am an engineer by day, but ever since I graduated college, I found myself looking for something to do in the evenings that didn’t involve sitting on the couch watching television or playing video games. I started exploring woodworking and soon found a way to combine it with my electronics background through CNC machining.I purchased a CNC router kit and put it together in my basement. After I had it up and running I was left with the realization that I didn’t have anything in mind to make with it! I slowly found little projects to make and started to increase my creative skill sets. I began to think about what I could make to sell, but still didn’t have any ideas that seemed to fit.I made some marble hexagon coasters for my wife for our anniversary. While they didn’t use the CNC, they were simple to make and were trendy at the time. I decided to sell some on Etsy. I was pretty paralyzed with indecision and lack of confidence in creating a product with my CNC so I used this as an opportunity to dip my toe in the water with a low risk product (started with $200 in supplies and have bootstrapped everything after that).It was slow for the first two months but then it took off (after adding professional photos). In the first nine months I ran that store (it was called Geometrikos Design), I had over $15k in sales. I put the shop on hold for the birth of my first child and started things up again a few months later, but by that time, people had caught on to how to make them and several competitors had popped up. It wasn’t completely detrimental to my business as I had a better product and a streamlined production process, but the newcomers were pricing theirs too low to compete with (a common problem on Etsy). While I was still profitable and making sales, I was ready to find something with a bigger moat and bigger profit margins, so I shut the shop down permanently.As this was going on, I still found time to tinker with my CNC. Once my friends caught on to what my machine was capable of, the requests started pouring in. Many of them are avid travelers, and wanted something to show off their travels, so I started cutting maps for them out of plywood. They looked pretty good, but weren’t very functional (needed nails to attach pictures or souvenirs) or very unique. This is when I got the idea to try and cut one out of cork. Cork is more visually interesting than plywood, plus cork is sustainably harvested and eco-friendly.imageTake us through the process of designing, prototyping, and manufacturing your first product.I have a rather unorthodox method of designing a new product. I need to establish my constraints first. So I started with what my limitations were and worked backwards until I could configure a product to meet those restrictions.My biggest constraint was time. By then we were awaiting the birth of our second child and to maintain a work/life balance (since this is in addition to my day job), I started to give myself time constraints. I wanted to create a product and run my business using less than 4 hours a week. So the goal for me was to try and make as much money in as little time as possible. This is where the CNC shines.While the coasters needed significant physical labor, for my maps I could program the CNC and have it run while I worked on something else, potentially doubling my output. I spent a lot of time optimizing my design so it would cut faster and with a better finish.Then came the pricing. I didn’t even make a prototype before I ran the numbers and found a material and price point I felt would be profitable and competitive. I used the popular pricing formula of (material + labor costs) x2 for wholesale and x4 for retail. If the end number was too high, I would look for ways to either make it faster or find cheaper materials.Describe the process of launching the business.Towards the end of my marble coaster days, I simply added my first US cork map to my Etsy shop. It didn’t fit the shop theme, but I just needed to see if it could sell. Within 3 weeks I had my first sale. I only sold 1-2 maps a month that winter (late 2017 to early 2018), but as it started to increase in early spring, I began to look outside of Etsy where I could have more control of my product and audience.imageIn February of 2018 I bought a domain and started my website using Shopify. It was really slow at first. I was completely responsible for directing traffic to the site and I was not very good at it. My first design of the site looked cool to me, but it was not set up to convert well. I was almost going to give up on it, but I did a small redesign with a more straightforward style, and I started getting sales, mainly through my instagram account. Not many at first, but enough to prove that my product could sell.On a whim I posted a picture of my maps on reddit. My daily website traffic that day exploded from 20ish visitors to over 1500! While many of the visitors were more curious than looking to buy, I really didn’t make any money off of the extra traffic, but it did open up some unique connections.Shortly after my post, I was contacted by Touch of Modern, a popular men’s fashion/flash sale site. They wanted to feature my maps in an upcoming campaign. The catch was that I needed to have over 50 maps created and ready to ship before the sale started. I think I had only $1500 in my account at the time but I decided to go for it and spent $1200 on material to boost my inventory (I usually keep little or no inventory and make maps to order). The sale went live in June and I sold a grand total of 8 maps. At first I was pretty disappointed, but it ended up being a blessing in several ways.First, was it forced me to streamline my process. I was able to iron out all of the kinks in production and found a few tricks that significantly reduced my cycle time. Second was it gave me a healthy inventory which came in handy a month later when a bike accident left me with a broken collar bone and five broken limbs. Instead of trying to make maps with one arm and on pain meds, all I had to do was slap a shipping label on the box and set it out for pickup. Without that inventory I would have had to shut down my shop for 2 months while I recovered.Since launch, what has worked to attract and retain customers?First and foremost, I believe professional photos are absolutely essential to getting people interested in a product. Without them most ads are going to be completely useless and social media accounts will be dead on arrival.My instagram posts brought in a lot of initial business. I made sure to engage and like and comment on my followers posts and hashtags I followed. I found a lot of interest in National Park lovers and hikers, so I would find popular accounts and engage with the commenters on their posts.imageI also started offering custom maps, since my CNC can basically cut any shape. I currently use an embedded Google form, but am working on a more streamlined approach.imageI tried Facebook ads a few times, but even with doing research, my campaigns all fell flat. I got to the point where I had to admit that I am just not good at writing ad copy and am basically gambling with my ad money. I found Google Shopping ads much more successful and easy to use. No copy or creative content is necessary, just a product photo. I started using Shopping ads right before the 2018 holiday season and my orders exploded. I was getting an ROI of over 300%.imageThis last spring I tried out Instagram influencers with varied success. I had a few that I was able to turn a profit on, but it was pretty modest and the work to find and vet them was too time consuming, plus subsequent shoutouts from the same accounts produced diminishing returns.imageHow are you doing today and what does the future look like?My goal has always been to double revenue year over year. We are on track to double our sales this year and get to $30k annual revenue, and hope to grow to 60k next year. While everything is great now, I worried that I would soon hit a wall where my mediocre marketing skills would hold me back.imageI recently contracted a local marketing firm to help increase my sales. My budget is on the low side ($500 a month) but the hope is to ramp up slowly and take advantage of the holiday surge and position GEO 101 Design to continue its growth rate into 2020.The biggest challenge I am facing now is designing a cork map of the world. I get custom order requests for it weekly, yet it has proved very difficult to design a map that matches the quality and detail of my other maps and still be reasonably priced. Just this week I think I had a breakthrough with a new material supplier and if it proves out, I hope to have something ready for production by mid-September, so stay tuned!I am also trying to create products at different price points. My current maps are high quality and have prices to match. I want to be able to offer something cheaper that may be an easier impulse buy. I also get a lot of requests from companies looking for very large maps (8ft+ wide), so I hope to figure out the logistics and necessary tools to make and ship larger products as well.In anticipation for the Holiday season and future growth, I have slowly been assembling a second CNC router. This will effectively double my capacity without adding any more to my weekly time allotment. According to my calculations, I should be able to scale to roughly $116k in annual sales before I need to seriously expand or modify my work schedule.The last thing I am working on is getting my website to generate more revenue than my Etsy shop. Last year it was roughly 30/70, but now I am approaching 50/50. At this point Etsy is easy money so I won’t shut it down, but I stopped paying for ads and now push all new people to my website instead.Through starting the business, have you learned anything particularly helpful or advantageous?Running a business like mine is definitely a learning by doing exercise. The problems and obstacles I have faced, I never could have predicted. For example, the first year I had a large amount of maps that arrived at their destination broken or damaged.I had to scramble and figure out how to pack them better. There really weren’t any resources I could find that had packaging tips or guidelines, so I basically had to keep adding padding and protection until the complaints stopped. Thankfully I finally figured it out and have had only 1 damaged map this year so far, but it took a lot of unforeseen work to get to this point. You will never be able to predict all of the problems you will face, you just have to get started and deal with them as they come.It's also very important to price your product wisely, leaving plenty of margin to account for unquantified costs. You are going to have to deal with customer returns, raw material price increases, fraud, shipping rate hikes, electricity, gas, and dozens of other costs you never planned on. You don’t want any of these things to sink your business so you need to give yourself a cushion from the very beginning. I believe the formula I listed above is a good start, but each business is unique so do what works for you.What platform/tools do you use for your business?I have used Shopify ever since I began using my own domain. I have kept my toolset pretty minimalistic. To be honest, I think most of the third party Shopify apps are pretty overrated for businesses just starting out in ecommerce.I have no doubt they can help optimize and increase conversion rates, but if you don’t have a solid product and good understanding of all of the built-in tools Shopify has, the extra plugins aren’t going to make up for it.What have been the most influential books, podcasts, or other resources?I’ll try and avoid the obvious ones that seem to get cited here over and over (for example, How I Built This)I have always closely followed the maker movement, which has influenced a lot I do. The Making It podcast is a great resource on setting up a shop and getting started selling your product.The Made for Profit podcast is even more focused on the business side of making, though they spend a lot of time talking content creation instead product creation.A book that I really enjoyed but I haven’t seen mentioned here is called “Boss Life: Surviving My Own Small Business”. It is the journal of an owner of a small woodworking business and goes into great detail about the day to day challenges of running a small business.Advice for other entrepreneurs who want to get started or are just starting out?Fail quickly. Don’t worry about setting up the perfect website and the perfect product on day one. Focus on getting a minimum viable product to market as quickly as possible. And when you fail, figure out why and learn from it. Avoid just throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks. Your chance of success should grow over time if you continually improve and recalibrate based on your mistakes and failures.This also goes for money. You don’t need a huge bankroll or enormous inventory to get started. Bootstrapping your business can be slow going, but the risk and stress you avoid is worth it and helps you grow sustainably. Plus it makes you think before you spend. Throwing money at problems rarely fixes them at this stage.Where can we go to learn more?https://www.geo101design.com/https://www.instagram.com/geo101design/https://www.facebook.com/geo101design/info@geo101design.comIf you have any questions or comments, drop a comment below!Liked this text interview? Check out the full interview with photos, tools, books, and other data.For more interviews, check out r/starter_story - I post new stories there daily.Interested in sharing your own story? Send me a PM

[njawaidofficial]

Some school counselors are using code to let their LGBTQ students know they're safe.

http://styleveryday.com/2017/08/15/some-school-counselors-are-using-code-to-let-their-lgbtq-students-know-theyre-safe/

Some school counselors are using code to let their LGBTQ students know they're safe.

Photo by Mark Ralston/Getty Images.

William isn’t allowed to tell his LGBTQ students he’s on their side, so he has to do it in code. When he overhears them chatting with friends, he strains to absorb the language they use with one another and repeat it one-on-one. In counseling sessions, he refers to the significant others of students and school staff as their “partners” instead of “boyfriends” or “girlfriends.”

He had second thoughts about hanging a sign in his office that reads: “Your identity is not an issue.”

“I actually checked with my bosses ahead of time,” he says. “They were like, ‘Nope, you’re good!'”

As a middle-school psychologist in Virginia, William (who requested his real name not be used, for fear of retaliation) has always had to skirt around school board rules restricting his ability to address the fears and challenges of his lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, and queer students out loud. But things have changed.

Before January, William says he would hear a homophobic or transphobic slur from a colleague (not all bullies are students, it turns out) maybe once a month. Now, he says, those voices have gotten much louder — and more persistent.

“The sad part is I can’t be as loud as they can be without getting in trouble,” he says.

For many school psychologists, sticking up for their LGBTQ students in the Trump era feels a lot like paddling over a cultural tidal wave.

Their efforts are frequently complicated by having to navigate a patchwork of guidelines and legislation governing what they can and can’t say, and what they must reveal to parents if asked. Eight states restrict how teachers discuss some LGBTQ topics in schools.

That leaves some educators worried they’re not doing enough.

“I’m seeing school counselors who were maybe feeling like they were sitting pretty with their programs and what they had been offering their LGBTQ youth at their sites now ramping it up,” says Catherine Griffith, assistant professor of student development at the University of Massachusetts-Amherst School of Education. That means asking for more trainings and workshops, particularly on how to talk about trans-specific issues, like pronoun usage and bathroom conflicts.

A student in Massachusetts works on homework. Photo by Jewel Samad/Getty Images.

Griffith recommends approaching conversations with struggling students by listening first and recognizing their expertise on their own lives. She also endorses approaches like William’s, in which counselors use visual cues (like a sign hanging in an office) and specific language to signal support. Her research into interventions for LGBTQ youth led to the development of a curriculum — which she distributes free to educators — that emphasizes the helpfulness of organized groups to combat social isolation.

For students, Griffith explains, the ability to organize helps them learn from peers, develop a sense of altruism, and bear witness to others’ challenges, especially when it feels like voices in positions of authority are aligned against them.

While William struggles to sneak a kind word to a struggling eighth-grader, 3,000 miles away, the kids in Cynthia Olaya’s Campus Pride Club are lighting bonfires on the beach.

A 14-year veteran psychologist from Long Beach, California, Olaya looks younger than her 40 years, a stroke of genetic good fortune that she believes makes it easier for students to open up to her.

“I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to use that,” she jokes.

Here in Fountain Valley, where she helps oversee the two-decade-old group, the Trump administration feels far away — literally and figuratively. Earlier this year, when rumors began swirling that the president was prepared to sign an executive order allowing business owners who cite religious convictions to discriminate against LGBTQ customers, her principal addressed the controversy, bluntly, over the school loudspeaker.

“He said, ‘Don’t worry students. We’ve still got your back,'” Olaya recalls.

The club, formerly a Gay-Straight Alliance, recently rebranded to be “more trans-inclusive.” Her LGBTQ students benefit, she explains, not only from the group, but from robust institutional support and, perhaps most critically, support from their elected representatives. Last year, the state board of education approved a measure requiring that schools add the contributions of LGBTQ Americans to history lessons as early as second grade. A 2017 law bans state-funded travel to states that have anti-LGBTQ laws on the books. In California, there are no rules preventing her from freely discussing her students’ gender and sexual orientation.

Her students are worried about what the Trump administration might do to rollback their rights, but most are not panicking — yet.

“I think they feel like, ‘We’re safe here,'” she says.

The Trump administration has alternated between playing coy with LGBTQ rights and launching an all-out assault on the policies of the Obama administration.

Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images.

At times, both approaches appear to be on the table simultaneously. The draconian religious freedom order Olaya’s students feared in February turned out to be little more than a symbolic statement when it was signed in May. The president announced a similarly harsh measure to ban transgender Americans from serving in the military — but has yet to take steps to implement it. The military, it appears, is ignoring it for the time being.

How LGBTQ kids fare in this whipsaw environment can have less to do with how much their counselors want to help and more with the institutional and legal frameworks that govern how much they can help.

Some communities have followed the president’s lead in loosening, or refusing to enforce, current protections. Others are resisting the charge.

In some places — the jury is still out.

Holiday, Florida, is an area in constant transition. In the middle school where psychologist Jacalyn Kay Jackson works, immigrants and students of color mix with white students from “more conservative” families. Many arrive in the district for a year or two before moving on. 80% are on reduced or free lunch. Many are LGBTQ.

Since the inauguration, Jackson says her students have been showing “more anxiety” than usual. While Muslim and immigrant students have received the bulk of harassment from their right-wing peers, the backlash has been stinging her LGBTQ kids as well.

“We did have some transgender students and gender-nonconforming students who were worried that some of the rights that they felt that they had fought hard for were being taken away,” she says.

Jackson has held the role of LGBTQ liaison for her district since last school year — and she’s thrilled about it. She spends half a day a week teaching other educators in the district how to best support gay, lesbian, bisexual, queer, and trans youth, how to navigate locker and restroom issues, and how to create safe spaces for discussion and recovery from trauma. She’s working on a 60-page best practices guide, which she plans to distribute to teachers in her district this coming school year. Despite the occasional complaint, her district is fully behind her work — which gives her much-needed cover.

In her area of Florida, the 2016 shooting at Orlando’s Pulse nightclub opened a lot of eyes to the dangers LGBTQ youth face. She hesitates to call it a “silver lining,” but that’s the phrase that comes to mind. More parents have been going to Pride parades. Many who were formally opposed to, or equivocating on, expanding LGBTQ rights in the district have come around a bit.

“Not that they’re actively supportive, but maybe they’re more possibly supportive, perhaps because it hit closer to home than it ever has been,” Jackson says.

A person builds a balloon rainbow near the site of the Pulse shooting in Orlando. Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images.

It’s not a cakewalk. Some students in Jackson’s school still face rejection from their families. As the Trump administration attempts to dismantle Title IX guidelines and rollback trans-inclusive policies in the military, LGBTQ kids, she explains, need a “buffer to what [they’re] hearing on the news,” which for many, isn’t at home.

Still, with support strong and growing, at school, that “buffer” appears to be holding — for now.

The only reason her work is possible in this social and political climate, she explains, is the last five years of rapid-fire progress toward LGBTQ inclusion and equality.

“Kids really heard a message when marriage equality came through, and prior to that as some of the individual states started recognizing marriage equality,” she says. Meanwhile, parents and colleagues who were previously supportive are looking for ways to be more supportive — particularly of trans students.

Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images.

“A lot of them were wondering, ‘What pronoun do I use?’ and ‘How do I support them?’ and ‘How do I have this conversation?'” Olaya says.

Even in areas where it’s hard to keep the door open, there are signs that a metaphorical lock has been smashed off. William recalls counseling one student whose relatives were debating sending her cousin to a conversion therapy camp, and she was worried she would be next. Students, especially younger ones, who reveal too much about their sexuality to teachers often run the risk of being outed to their parents, even if the crisis originates at home. This student, like many others, knew she could come to William for help and that he would keep her confidence.

“The kids know how to ask the right kinds of questions,” he says.

Increasingly, their school psychologists are trying to find the space to send the right message back.

“The message is: We’re listening, we’re here for you.”

#Code #Counselors #LGBTQ #Safe #School #Students #They039Re

[tragicbooks]

<p>Some school counselors are using code to let their LGBTQ students know they're safe.</p>

Photo by Mark Ralston/Getty Images.

William isn't allowed to tell his LGBTQ students he's on their side, so he has to do it in code. When he overhears them chatting with friends, he strains to absorb the language they use with one another and repeat it one-on-one. In counseling sessions, he refers to the significant others of students and school staff as their "partners" instead of "boyfriends" or "girlfriends."

He had second thoughts about hanging a sign in his office that reads: "Your identity is not an issue."

"I actually checked with my bosses ahead of time," he says. "They were like, 'Nope, you’re good!'"

As a middle-school psychologist in Virginia, William (who requested his real name not be used, for fear of retaliation) has always had to skirt around school board rules restricting his ability to address the fears and challenges of his lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, and queer students out loud. But things have changed.

Before January, William says he would hear a homophobic or transphobic slur from a colleague (not all bullies are students, it turns out) maybe once a month. Now, he says, those voices have gotten much louder — and more persistent.

"The sad part is I can't be as loud as they can be without getting in trouble," he says.

For many school psychologists, sticking up for their LGBTQ students in the Trump era feels a lot like paddling over a cultural tidal wave.

Their efforts are frequently complicated by having to navigate a patchwork of guidelines and legislation governing what they can and can't say, and what they must reveal to parents if asked. Eight states restrict how teachers discuss some LGBTQ topics in schools.

That leaves some educators worried they're not doing enough.

"I’m seeing school counselors who were maybe feeling like they were sitting pretty with their programs and what they had been offering their LGBTQ youth at their sites now ramping it up," says Catherine Griffith, assistant professor of student development at the University of Massachusetts-Amherst School of Education. That means asking for more trainings and workshops, particularly on how to talk about trans-specific issues, like pronoun usage and bathroom conflicts.

A student in Massachusetts works on homework. Photo by Jewel Samad/Getty Images.

Griffith recommends approaching conversations with struggling students by listening first and recognizing their expertise on their own lives. She also endorses approaches like William's, in which counselors use visual cues (like a sign hanging in an office) and specific language to signal support. Her research into interventions for LGBTQ youth led to the development of a curriculum — which she distributes free to educators — that emphasizes the helpfulness of organized groups to combat social isolation.

For students, Griffith explains, the ability to organize helps them learn from peers, develop a sense of altruism, and bear witness to others' challenges, especially when it feels like voices in positions of authority are aligned against them.

While William struggles to sneak a kind word to a struggling eighth-grader, 3,000 miles away, the kids in Cynthia Olaya's Campus Pride Club are lighting bonfires on the beach.

A 14-year veteran psychologist from Long Beach, California, Olaya looks younger than her 40 years, a stroke of genetic good fortune that she believes makes it easier for students to open up to her.

"I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to use that," she jokes.

Here in Fountain Valley, where she helps oversee the two-decade-old group, the Trump administration feels far away — literally and figuratively. Earlier this year, when rumors began swirling that the president was prepared to sign an executive order allowing business owners who cite religious convictions to discriminate against LGBTQ customers, her principal addressed the controversy, bluntly, over the school loudspeaker.

"He said, 'Don’t worry students. We’ve still got your back,'" Olaya recalls.

The club, formerly a Gay-Straight Alliance, recently rebranded to be "more trans-inclusive." Her LGBTQ students benefit, she explains, not only from the group, but from robust institutional support and, perhaps most critically, support from their elected representatives. Last year, the state board of education approved a measure requiring that schools add the contributions of LGBTQ Americans to history lessons as early as second grade. A 2017 law bans state-funded travel to states that have anti-LGBTQ laws on the books. In California, there are no rules preventing her from freely discussing her students' gender and sexual orientation.

Her students are worried about what the Trump administration might do to rollback their rights, but most are not panicking — yet.

"I think they feel like, 'We’re safe here,'" she says.

The Trump administration has alternated between playing coy with LGBTQ rights and launching an all-out assault on the policies of the Obama administration.

Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images.

At times, both approaches appear to be on the table simultaneously. The draconian religious freedom order Olaya's students feared in February turned out to be little more than a symbolic statement when it was signed in May. The president announced a similarly harsh measure to ban transgender Americans from serving in the military — but has yet to take steps to implement it. The military, it appears, is ignoring it for the time being.

How LGBTQ kids fare in this whipsaw environment can have less to do with how much their counselors want to help and more with the institutional and legal frameworks that govern how much they can help.

Some communities have followed the president's lead in loosening, or refusing to enforce, current protections. Others are resisting the charge.

In some places — the jury is still out.

Holiday, Florida, is an area in constant transition. In the middle school where psychologist Jacalyn Kay Jackson works, immigrants and students of color mix with white students from "more conservative" families. Many arrive in the district for a year or two before moving on. 80% are on reduced or free lunch. Many are LGBTQ.

Since the inauguration, Jackson says her students have been showing "more anxiety" than usual. While Muslim and immigrant students have received the bulk of harassment from their right-wing peers, the backlash has been stinging her LGBTQ kids as well.

"We did have some transgender students and gender-nonconforming students who were worried that some of the rights that they felt that they had fought hard for were being taken away," she says.

Jackson has held the role of LGBTQ liaison for her district since last school year — and she's thrilled about it. She spends half a day a week teaching other educators in the district how to best support gay, lesbian, bisexual, queer, and trans youth, how to navigate locker and restroom issues, and how to create safe spaces for discussion and recovery from trauma. She's working on a 60-page best practices guide, which she plans to distribute to teachers in her district this coming school year. Despite the occasional complaint, her district is fully behind her work — which gives her much-needed cover.

In her area of Florida, the 2016 shooting at Orlando's Pulse nightclub opened a lot of eyes to the dangers LGBTQ youth face. She hesitates to call it a "silver lining," but that's the phrase that comes to mind. More parents have been going to Pride parades. Many who were formally opposed to, or equivocating on, expanding LGBTQ rights in the district have come around a bit.

"Not that they’re actively supportive, but maybe they’re more possibly supportive, perhaps because it hit closer to home than it ever has been," Jackson says.

A person builds a balloon rainbow near the site of the Pulse shooting in Orlando. Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images.

It's not a cakewalk. Some students in Jackson's school still face rejection from their families. As the Trump administration attempts to dismantle Title IX guidelines and rollback trans-inclusive policies in the military, LGBTQ kids, she explains, need a "buffer to what [they're] hearing on the news," which for many, isn't at home.

Still, with support strong and growing, at school, that "buffer" appears to be holding — for now.

The only reason her work is possible in this social and political climate, she explains, is the last five years of rapid-fire progress toward LGBTQ inclusion and equality.

"Kids really heard a message when marriage equality came through, and prior to that as some of the individual states started recognizing marriage equality," she says. Meanwhile, parents and colleagues who were previously supportive are looking for ways to be more supportive — particularly of trans students.

Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images.

"A lot of them were wondering, 'What pronoun do I use?' and 'How do I support them?' and 'How do I have this conversation?'" Olaya says.

Even in areas where it's hard to keep the door open, there are signs that a metaphorical lock has been smashed off. William recalls counseling one student whose relatives were debating sending her cousin to a conversion therapy camp, and she was worried she would be next. Students, especially younger ones, who reveal too much about their sexuality to teachers often run the risk of being outed to their parents, even if the crisis originates at home. This student, like many others, knew she could come to William for help and that he would keep her confidence.

"The kids know how to ask the right kinds of questions," he says.

Increasingly, their school psychologists are trying to find the space to send the right message back.

"The message is: We’re listening, we’re here for you."

[socialviralnews]

<p>Some school counselors are using code to let their LGBTQ students know they're safe.</p>

Photo by Mark Ralston/Getty Images.

William isn't allowed to tell his LGBTQ students he's on their side, so he has to do it in code. When he overhears them chatting with friends, he strains to absorb the language they use with one another and repeat it one-on-one. In counseling sessions, he refers to the significant others of students and school staff as their "partners" instead of "boyfriends" or "girlfriends."

He had second thoughts about hanging a sign in his office that reads: "Your identity is not an issue."

"I actually checked with my bosses ahead of time," he says. "They were like, 'Nope, you’re good!'"

As a middle-school psychologist in Virginia, William (who requested his real name not be used, for fear of retaliation) has always had to skirt around school board rules restricting his ability to address the fears and challenges of his lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, and queer students out loud. But things have changed.

Before January, William says he would hear a homophobic or transphobic slur from a colleague (not all bullies are students, it turns out) maybe once a month. Now, he says, those voices have gotten much louder — and more persistent.

"The sad part is I can't be as loud as they can be without getting in trouble," he says.

For many school psychologists, sticking up for their LGBTQ students in the Trump era feels a lot like paddling over a cultural tidal wave.

Their efforts are frequently complicated by having to navigate a patchwork of guidelines and legislation governing what they can and can't say, and what they must reveal to parents if asked. Eight states restrict how teachers discuss some LGBTQ topics in schools.

That leaves some educators worried they're not doing enough.

"I’m seeing school counselors who were maybe feeling like they were sitting pretty with their programs and what they had been offering their LGBTQ youth at their sites now ramping it up," says Catherine Griffith, assistant professor of student development at the University of Massachusetts-Amherst School of Education. That means asking for more trainings and workshops, particularly on how to talk about trans-specific issues, like pronoun usage and bathroom conflicts.

A student in Massachusetts works on homework. Photo by Jewel Samad/Getty Images.

Griffith recommends approaching conversations with struggling students by listening first and recognizing their expertise on their own lives. She also endorses approaches like William's, in which counselors use visual cues (like a sign hanging in an office) and specific language to signal support. Her research into interventions for LGBTQ youth led to the development of a curriculum — which she distributes free to educators — that emphasizes the helpfulness of organized groups to combat social isolation.

For students, Griffith explains, the ability to organize helps them learn from peers, develop a sense of altruism, and bear witness to others' challenges, especially when it feels like voices in positions of authority are aligned against them.

While William struggles to sneak a kind word to a struggling eighth-grader, 3,000 miles away, the kids in Cynthia Olaya's Campus Pride Club are lighting bonfires on the beach.

A 14-year veteran psychologist from Long Beach, California, Olaya looks younger than her 40 years, a stroke of genetic good fortune that she believes makes it easier for students to open up to her.

"I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to use that," she jokes.

Here in Fountain Valley, where she helps oversee the two-decade-old group, the Trump administration feels far away — literally and figuratively. Earlier this year, when rumors began swirling that the president was prepared to sign an executive order allowing business owners who cite religious convictions to discriminate against LGBTQ customers, her principal addressed the controversy, bluntly, over the school loudspeaker.

"He said, 'Don’t worry students. We’ve still got your back,'" Olaya recalls.

The club, formerly a Gay-Straight Alliance, recently rebranded to be "more trans-inclusive." Her LGBTQ students benefit, she explains, not only from the group, but from robust institutional support and, perhaps most critically, support from their elected representatives. Last year, the state board of education approved a measure requiring that schools add the contributions of LGBTQ Americans to history lessons as early as second grade. A 2017 law bans state-funded travel to states that have anti-LGBTQ laws on the books. In California, there are no rules preventing her from freely discussing her students' gender and sexual orientation.

Her students are worried about what the Trump administration might do to rollback their rights, but most are not panicking — yet.

"I think they feel like, 'We’re safe here,'" she says.

The Trump administration has alternated between playing coy with LGBTQ rights and launching an all-out assault on the policies of the Obama administration.

Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images.

At times, both approaches appear to be on the table simultaneously. The draconian religious freedom order Olaya's students feared in February turned out to be little more than a symbolic statement when it was signed in May. The president announced a similarly harsh measure to ban transgender Americans from serving in the military — but has yet to take steps to implement it. The military, it appears, is ignoring it for the time being.

How LGBTQ kids fare in this whipsaw environment can have less to do with how much their counselors want to help and more with the institutional and legal frameworks that govern how much they can help.

Some communities have followed the president's lead in loosening, or refusing to enforce, current protections. Others are resisting the charge.

In some places — the jury is still out.

Holiday, Florida, is an area in constant transition. In the middle school where psychologist Jacalyn Kay Jackson works, immigrants and students of color mix with white students from "more conservative" families. Many arrive in the district for a year or two before moving on. 80% are on reduced or free lunch. Many are LGBTQ.

Since the inauguration, Jackson says her students have been showing "more anxiety" than usual. While Muslim and immigrant students have received the bulk of harassment from their right-wing peers, the backlash has been stinging her LGBTQ kids as well.

"We did have some transgender students and gender-nonconforming students who were worried that some of the rights that they felt that they had fought hard for were being taken away," she says.

Jackson has held the role of LGBTQ liaison for her district since last school year — and she's thrilled about it. She spends half a day a week teaching other educators in the district how to best support gay, lesbian, bisexual, queer, and trans youth, how to navigate locker and restroom issues, and how to create safe spaces for discussion and recovery from trauma. She's working on a 60-page best practices guide, which she plans to distribute to teachers in her district this coming school year. Despite the occasional complaint, her district is fully behind her work — which gives her much-needed cover.

In her area of Florida, the 2016 shooting at Orlando's Pulse nightclub opened a lot of eyes to the dangers LGBTQ youth face. She hesitates to call it a "silver lining," but that's the phrase that comes to mind. More parents have been going to Pride parades. Many who were formally opposed to, or equivocating on, expanding LGBTQ rights in the district have come around a bit.

"Not that they’re actively supportive, but maybe they’re more possibly supportive, perhaps because it hit closer to home than it ever has been," Jackson says.

A person builds a balloon rainbow near the site of the Pulse shooting in Orlando. Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images.

It's not a cakewalk. Some students in Jackson's school still face rejection from their families. As the Trump administration attempts to dismantle Title IX guidelines and rollback trans-inclusive policies in the military, LGBTQ kids, she explains, need a "buffer to what [they're] hearing on the news," which for many, isn't at home.

Still, with support strong and growing, at school, that "buffer" appears to be holding — for now.

The only reason her work is possible in this social and political climate, she explains, is the last five years of rapid-fire progress toward LGBTQ inclusion and equality.

"Kids really heard a message when marriage equality came through, and prior to that as some of the individual states started recognizing marriage equality," she says. Meanwhile, parents and colleagues who were previously supportive are looking for ways to be more supportive — particularly of trans students.

Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images.

"A lot of them were wondering, 'What pronoun do I use?' and 'How do I support them?' and 'How do I have this conversation?'" Olaya says.

Even in areas where it's hard to keep the door open, there are signs that a metaphorical lock has been smashed off. William recalls counseling one student whose relatives were debating sending her cousin to a conversion therapy camp, and she was worried she would be next. Students, especially younger ones, who reveal too much about their sexuality to teachers often run the risk of being outed to their parents, even if the crisis originates at home. This student, like many others, knew she could come to William for help and that he would keep her confidence.

"The kids know how to ask the right kinds of questions," he says.

Increasingly, their school psychologists are trying to find the space to send the right message back.

"The message is: We’re listening, we’re here for you."

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