Canvas weekend bags

During my BOGO (Drive-Thru and Cafe store) we had 4 partners on the floor and one on a half at roughly 3:30-4:00ish, except two on the floor were 1.) a BRAND new hire who couldn't make a Frappuccino to save her life and 2.) was a giant of a man who refuses to learn how to make drinks and gets in everyone's way and will not stop talking. So it was up to me and my Shift, her taking drive bar and me taking Cafe/Mobile/Register and making all the drinks during the other partners break. In that thirty minutes, despite my best efforts, I dropped to 20 minutes behind on slips and she was barely able to get drinks out to the window in normal time. My shift was an angel through the whole thing despite her never closing on a weekend and especially a Sunday before (we close an hour early on Sundays at 8:00). We were scheduled til 8:30. We left at 10:00. Might I add (we suspect) our special needs coworker pooped on our Partner bathroom floor before she clocked out and we didn't find it until my shift finally got a break around 6. Poop related issues are known to happen with her (pants falling and cheeks visibly not wiped) and she was only hired through a program to do dishes and restock our nightly orders but my SM allows her to do window, and therefore touching drinks and food bags and refuses to do anything about her health risk (my SM is the best and nicest man I have ever met but he's TOO nice if you catch my drift.) I am a former plumber so I cleaned up the turd but I don't remember that being in my job description! I digress. One of our two ovens were down, we had to 86 all food items so no one could mobile order them. We almost ran out of milk. We made probably hundreds of liters of blue, acai, and lemonade. Again this all was done with three partners because the new hire could only woek window and the other guy can't make anything, including backups. Screw BOGO.

I "15M" am in a relationship with my girlfriend "17F" sins 6 months and everything was perfect. Past weekend was her birthday and there was multiple pepoles there (majorly her friend wich are girls). And I was feeling great but there was a little something that made me feel bad and i understood. Im not a party goer and I didn't want to dance with them and she said its ok, but if i was not close enough to her i felt abandonned. But I did not want to dance with her. See the problem? Today she wanted to break up. We talked things out and decided we would take a break until I find a way to get clamer about that because at the party, i just could not let her go. Like if seeing her having fun with someone else was too much. I feel like a bag of **** now but I really wanna change. I don't want to be that toxic **** that everyone hate. What do I do if I really want to stop being possessive?

Did I just miss the signs? Or is this a temporary problem?
I met my wife (Natalie) 8 years ago via dating app. Our courtship was pretty straightforward and I really liked that about her. We communicated well, liked doing some of the same things, and were both comfortable going out of our comfort zones with each other.
This is something I’ve always admired about her, but in recent years—or, really, since we got married—that hasn’t been reserved for me.
Our relationship was very easy to start with. We were doing small things to acknowledge each other. We paid attention to what each other wanted. We often wanted to do the same things and we left a lot of space for each other to have fun with our friends.
The sex has never been great. There were a few times where it was good, but it was mostly pedestrian or outright bad. This was the first time I’d ever experienced anything like this. But it wasn’t a big deal to me at first.
We shared very similar dreams of wanting to get married, having a family, living on the west coast (of the US), and having a life partner to share a life with.
Natalie was also an incredibly considerate girlfriend for a large chunk of our dating life. When I lost my job, she took her lunch break to buy lunch for me at my favorite sandwich spot and dropped it off at my apartment personally. Little things like this made me feel cared for. She wasn’t very good with money, but I was, and I figured we could balance a budget together.
As we got engaged, I was very happy. Sex is a part of a relationship, but it’s not the most important part, I thought. We were having sex once a month at this point. This was doable for me. I have a much higher sex drive than this, but I was happy, and my happiness was more important than sex.
Things got a little weird after we got married though. Suddenly she was much harder to please. Her wedding was her vision. I know very little about weddings, so I was fine with this, but when it came time to choose a song, she didn’t listen to me and picked out a song I didn’t like. She was stressing a lot more about the day than getting married to me. I felt like I was just a guy who could’ve been anybody.
She also began putting me down to coworkers on occasion (which I told her wasn’t ok and she … eventually … stopped). She started having a much harder time at work and when that started, she became more critical of things I did. Then she began being critical of everything. We were having sex maybe once every two months and I was doing the initiating. She began to say stuff that was kind of insulting or a huge turnoff during sex—one particular instance, I thought things were going well, but she asked 7-10 minutes in “when are you going to be done” while I was doing all the work. I tried to have a few earnest talks about it and said “my goal is for both of us to have fun and I’m willing to be more adventurous and do whatever you want to do.” This resulted in her saying “ok,” and then nothing came of it.
But we still shared our goals. We got a house together and started planning for a family.
We got pregnant on the first try.
We had our first child just before the pandemic, which turned out to be pretty damn challenging, but we worked together really well throughout all of it. We were a great team, taking care of the baby and working remotely and doing small things for each other.
We took basically a year off from sex after our first child was born, which I was totally fine with, and I wanted her to feel like she could initiate with me. I tried to make myself as available as possible to her and keep the channels of communication open. I emphasized how important it was for me that she wanted to have sex. When she was ready, she initiated, and we began trying for a second kid (this time we had sex 2 times before getting pregnant).
We had our second child in August 2022 and this is when things started going downhill. The birth was really difficult for her physically. She lost quite a bit of blood.
(Small aside, I had saved enough money for us to get a new car. Her work didn’t pay enough coverage for maternity leave so I said we can either have a new car or you can have a longer maternity leave. Although she kept arguing with me that she wanted both, she relented eventually and chose the longer maternity leave).
The first month was rough. She was unhappy the entire time. It was clear she developed post partum. I was trying to take care of both kids and her emotional needs, but it clearly wasn’t enough. I asked and then later begged her to go to therapy and she refused for several months (I’ve been in therapy for years, fwiw). We got into fights nightly, initiated by her, about things that clearly didn’t matter in the long run—fights about stacking the dishwasher, about how I wasn’t doing enough (I was taking our first born and then our second born to daycare every day, I was doing the dishes and taking out the trash regularly, I was playing with our kids all the time, i was offering to ease whatever load she felt was unbearable). She complained I was on my phone too much and not present when the kids were having independent play time. The last one was annoying, but I agreed to put my phone away more. I tried my best to keep the peace in this time. (Also, if it isn’t obvious enough, we weren’t having sex).
I began walking on eggshells. I tried to remain focused on us trying to get along. It seemed like she was trying harder to fight. There were multiple fights where I brought up an issue as gently as possible and she talked for an hour about some issue she was having with me until I apologized. When I did, she would say thank you and the fight would be over. One time, she recognized the initial thing I brought up and said sorry about that after two hours of talking in circles, but only after I apologized for something first.
I grew very tired of this but tried to keep my head up and told myself this was a temporary problem.
At some point in here, we had a fight that was so brutal, I had a panic attack. I’d never had one before in my life. It felt like all of the frustration and sadness she felt was directed at me in anger and that was the only way she could express it. I can’t tell you how devastating this was. I felt completely trapped. I felt like there was no winning in our relationship for me and that I have to put her feelings first if I want to be happy every once in a while.
Out of the blue, she went to a therapist for a session. (This was seven months after the birth of our second child.) i was relieved and thought this was the start of us getting better.
The next month was good: we were communicating well, we weren’t having sex, but we had a good family dynamic. She wasn’t blaming me for things. This I could live with
Eventually, we got into a fight. It was somewhere toward the end of the month. It wasn’t a terrible one, but it was bad. I went to my therapy session that night and talked to my therapist about how I didn’t realize we hadn’t had a fight in a month. I was strangely happy about it when I realized that. I went home to tell her how nice it was to realize she and I were getting along so well and that therapy seemed to be helping her. Then she got indignant. She said that she’s always been like this and I just haven’t noticed.
I was confused on why we were fighting all of a sudden and she dropped a pretty big bomb on me: she hadn’t been in therapy for a month. She went for one session and stopped.
I had my second ever panic attack right then and there. She said she would go back to therapy only if it was couples.
I cannot emphasize enough how “I just hadn’t noticed” wasn’t the case. I like to give her credit as much as I can. I regularly give her words of affirmation, let her know I love her, buy her flowers on bad days, etc. I’m not saying I’m a perfect partner, but I try to please her as much as I can. I’m a pretty astute observer too. It was like she was living in a different reality.
She began joking, around this time, of having a third kid. I said absolutely not. I had always wanted 3 but I wasn’t willing to go through this again. I asked her to stop joking about it because I was serious. I said things need to get better before I can even think of saying yes to that idea.
(I think maybe her mom talked to her at some point here because she joked like that in front of her mom and I said absolutely not and the joking abruptly stopped.)
The fighting continued. The different realities continued.
As our youngest turned 1, I was unsure why I was in this relationship at all. I had contemplated divorce and even brought it up because I was so tired of all the fighting. This wasn’t the relationship we had dreamed of.
Shortly after our youngest’s first birthday, we got the chance to go on a weekend trip just the two of us, no kids. We took it. It was expensive because that’s what she wanted. We did a whole spa day, at my suggestion. We had nice dinners. We had sex once on that trip. It was fine, but it felt like she wasn’t into it, which, I realized while writing this all out, is how it’s always been. Maybe she’s just never been that into me. Maybe she’s in her own world most of the time and I’m some attaché.
The fighting began cooling off the last few months. She’s still very critical and judgmental. She’s started fewer fights, however. Things were going well until earlier today.
Two weeks ago, she had a week-and-a-half long trip planned with her friends to Palm Springs. When she first asked, I said that’d be asking a lot, but I’m happy to support her if she needs it. She went on that trip and spent nearly our entire tax refund ($3000) on it.
As it stands, our youngest is almost two and our oldest is 4. They’re both wonderful children and I love them very much.
They were a bit of a handful while she was gone. Our kids tend to act out a bit when one of us goes on vacation. This was the case. As I tried to let our children know mama would be back, they struggled with regulating their emotions. She’s taken trips like this in the past and they did the same thing. Usually in those cases though, I’ll make sure I have a weekend trip lined up for me. I don’t have one planned any time soon. I’m too drained to think about it and we have no money.
Then, yesterday, on Mother’s Day, she told me she expects me to take the kids out of the house while she gets to do whatever she wants (which, that’s fair, but I was clearly sick and still recovering from the week and a half she was gone). This was after I had bought her flowers, a gift, and taken her out to dinner the night before for a date night. She spent all of Mother’s Day gardening and didn’t interact with our kids until about an hour before bedtime.
What kept me in the relationship for a long time was that, in spite of the not great sex, we were a great team and we communicated well and my other needs were met. Now it feels like we’re not even a team anymore and I’m the bag man.
I’m really struggling to figure out a few things.

1. What the hell happened?
2. I understand there may be some identity issues—about being a mother and wanting it or not wanting it—as well as just being overwhelmed. But why wasn’t that the case after our first child?
3. Not having sex has stunk and would’ve at least helped in this awful time. Why does she not want to have sex with me?
4. What am I doing in this relationship still?

Does anyone have any idea what’s going on?
TLDR: my wife and I have always gotten along personality-wise (and not sex-wise), but since the birth of our second child 2 years ago, her personality has become a lot more self-interested and ive maybe become too accommodating. Has it always been like this? I’m struggling to understand why I’m in this relationship now.

There is a lot of context needed in this situation so please bare with me. Lately, I (25F) haven’t heard much from a friend who’s been in my life since college, so 7 ish years. We’ll call her B (25F). On our last year of college I got into a very toxic relationship where he wouldn’t let me see friends, go out, etc. if he wasn’t there too. This put a strain on all of my relationships, family included, besides my friendship with B. She was consistently supportive of me and was able to stay my close friend while sharing her grievances, which I made very hard for those around me because when you’re in that kind of relationship, your blind. She ended up moving out of our college town into my hometown after graduation. I wasn’t able to get out of the relationship and move back to my hometown until about a year later. I come to find out that B had been struggling in my hometown and had a hard time making friends or being happy. I was able to move into an awesome apartment with another friend who was actually the one to give me the courage to leave him. This was very exciting to me because I was able to introduce B to the lot of my friends from home that I adore. After that, me and B were both single and drinking a lot, sleeping around somewhat, and staying out late. B meets this guy named A who she fell for instantly. He didn’t want to be serious with her but they hung out constantly. She spent almost every night with him and despite him telling her that he only liked her as a friend and F-buddy, she was in love with him. She would drunk call/text every weekend, and started getting black out drunk a lot. When they broke up things got much worse. She would call me that she lost her car, didn’t remember getting home, even peed on her neighbors door and almost got kicked out of her apartment building for it. She had even threatened to kill herself once or twice. This has taken a severe toll on our friendship. These instances I always dropped everything to help her. I have become exhausted over the years and simply fed up. Fast forward a year and a half or so, two years after my last relationship, the one that was very toxic. I’d since become fed up with the antics so I started going home early when we hung out, distancing myself etc. every so often she’d “sober up” after a mental breakdown, somewhat get back on track, and then black out drunk again waking up at a random guys house. I recently met my now boyfriend about 4 months ago (28M) at my job. This guy really swept me off my feet. We will refer to him as X. It started off very casual but I was clearly very taken. B told me almost immediately after I told her it was getting serious between me and X that a girl she works with used to date X and that he ghosted her after telling her he loved her and that he’d buy her a house, all this really bad stuff. This rubbed me very odd because he seemed very sure about what he wanted out of a relationship and I felt we were on the same page about almost everything. I decided in the end not to bring it up to him, because I didn’t think the mistakes of anyone’s past dating history should affect the present, especially because he didn’t show me any red flags. He eventually shared it with me anyway and that he felt awful about how he acted in past relationships and how he has grown since then. I’d come to find out that this relationship B had told me about was over 4 years ago. She also constantly told me to “be careful” and to “keep a guard up” things like that because she swore he wasn’t a good guy and not the one for me. Note that she, at that point, had never met him and not once told me she was happy for me or seemed excited etc. This is all in the middle of severe mood swings, binge drinking and mental health episodes. She even almost didn’t come to my birthday dinner because she was too hungover and sad, and tried to make the night all about her and was a Debby downer the rest of the evening. B told me that another new work friend of hers that went to high school with X said he was an asshole in high school too, and that I should really rethink this entire thing. My roommate N also went to high school with X and explained to me that B’s work friend was a little off putting growing up, didn’t have many friends and since they went to a very large school, they didn’t even know each other. This was also very odd to me. I told B that these random bits about X’s past are not appreciated and did not affect how I felt about him. After all this I really started distancing myself from B. We hung out here and there, during the day mostly to avoid having to deal with her drinking. She’d come into my work with her new work friends to start their nights off before getting black out with them, buying bags of cocaine even, etc. This past episode was my final straw. She went back to her hometown to visit family and texted me something very cryptic. It was “we need to talk. It’s very important and will have to wait until I get back from my trip, which is in 4 days.” I felt like I maybe did something wrong, and I was concerned so I told her how I felt and she did not respond. After some time I texted again saying that I’m stressed and asked her to explain. She ignored that completely and instead texted to tell me she’s having another mental breakdown and was at the clinic. I told her I am there for her if she needs to talk and what not. She gets back home and we hang out twice and she did not bring up our “little talk”. I finally bit the bullet and confronted her and asked what it was about and she told me “not to worry about it”. I sent her a lengthy text telling her that I am needing to put up boundaries because I found what she did manipulative. I didn’t say the world manipulative explicitly because in the past when she’s been confronted, she shuts down completely and will block you out for weeks on end until you apologize. She ended up apologizing for that and didn’t mean to trigger me, since my toxic ex used to say things like “we need to talk. But it’ll wait til we’re at home” and then I’d freak out until he got home and it would be something stupid, he just wanted me to be stressed out for a while. After this I stopped reaching out. I saw her while I was out with X and friends of his, and we talked for a bit before me and X went home for the night. The next day she texted me “are we still doing something later or na?” And I didn’t recall making any plans so I said so. She just liked the message and I haven’t heard from her since, really. She’s had a really hard time in her life. She lost her mother during her teenage years and I know Mother’s Day is a very hard day for her. I really care about B, but her behavior lately is making me not want to be around her at all. I sent her that I was thinking about her and her mom on Mother’s Day and did not hear back(even though she texted my mom for Mother’s Day). Then I started seeing online that she’s liking posts with the topic “I hate that one friend who drops everyone when they get into a relationship, it’s the most disgusting type of friend”. Multiple posts like that, and I know they’re about me. It made me feel really guilty for not hanging out with B anymore. I ask my other friends if the amount I see X bothers them, and the answer is always no. That I should be able to see my significant other who I’m falling in love with as much as we’d both like to. It’s not like it was with my toxic ex at all. It just seems to me like B is thinking it’s going to be the same way as it was. She’s fully ignoring me now, and even though I’m not reaching out either, I still feel like the asshole. AITA?

There is a lot of context needed in this situation so please bare with me. Lately, I (25F) haven’t heard much from a friend who’s been in my life since college, so 7 ish years. We’ll call her B (25F). On our last year of college I got into a very toxic relationship where he wouldn’t let me see friends, go out, etc. if he wasn’t there too. This put a strain on all of my relationships, family included, besides my friendship with B. She was consistently supportive of me and was able to stay my close friend while sharing her grievances, which I made very hard for those around me because when you’re in that kind of relationship, your blind. She ended up moving out of our college town into my hometown after graduation. I wasn’t able to get out of the relationship and move back to my hometown until about a year later. I come to find out that B had been struggling in my hometown and had a hard time making friends or being happy. I was able to move into an awesome apartment with another friend who was actually the one to give me the courage to leave him. This was very exciting to me because I was able to introduce B to the lot of my friends from home that I adore. After that, me and B were both single and drinking a lot, sleeping around somewhat, and staying out late. B meets this guy named A who she fell for instantly. He didn’t want to be serious with her but they hung out constantly. She spent almost every night with him and despite him telling her that he only liked her as a friend and F-buddy, she was in love with him. She would drunk call/text every weekend, and started getting black out drunk a lot. When they broke up things got much worse. She would call me that she lost her car, didn’t remember getting home, even peed on her neighbors door and almost got kicked out of her apartment building for it. She had even threatened to kill herself once or twice. This has taken a severe toll on our friendship. These instances I always dropped everything to help her. I have become exhausted over the years and simply fed up. Fast forward a year and a half or so, two years after my last relationship, the one that was very toxic. I’d since become fed up with the antics so I started going home early when we hung out, distancing myself etc. every so often she’d “sober up” after a mental breakdown, somewhat get back on track, and then black out drunk again waking up at a random guys house. I recently met my now boyfriend about 4 months ago (28M) at my job. This guy really swept me off my feet. We will refer to him as X. It started off very casual but I was clearly very taken. B told me almost immediately after I told her it was getting serious between me and X that a girl she works with used to date X and that he ghosted her after telling her he loved her and that he’d buy her a house, all this really bad stuff. This rubbed me very odd because he seemed very sure about what he wanted out of a relationship and I felt we were on the same page about almost everything. I decided in the end not to bring it up to him, because I didn’t think the mistakes of anyone’s past dating history should affect the present, especially because he didn’t show me any red flags. He eventually shared it with me anyway and that he felt awful about how he acted in past relationships and how he has grown since then. I’d come to find out that this relationship B had told me about was over 4 years ago. She also constantly told me to “be careful” and to “keep a guard up” things like that because she swore he wasn’t a good guy and not the one for me. Note that she, at that point, had never met him and not once told me she was happy for me or seemed excited etc. This is all in the middle of severe mood swings, binge drinking and mental health episodes. She even almost didn’t come to my birthday dinner because she was too hungover and sad, and tried to make the night all about her and was a Debby downer the rest of the evening. B told me that another new work friend of hers that went to high school with X said he was an asshole in high school too, and that I should really rethink this entire thing. My roommate N also went to high school with X and explained to me that B’s work friend was a little off putting growing up, didn’t have many friends and since they went to a very large school, they didn’t even know each other. This was also very odd to me. I told B that these random bits about X’s past are not appreciated and did not affect how I felt about him. After all this I really started distancing myself from B. We hung out here and there, during the day mostly to avoid having to deal with her drinking. She’d come into my work with her new work friends to start their nights off before getting black out with them, buying bags of cocaine even, etc. This past episode was my final straw. She went back to her hometown to visit family and texted me something very cryptic. It was “we need to talk. It’s very important and will have to wait until I get back from my trip, which is in 4 days.” I felt like I maybe did something wrong, and I was concerned so I told her how I felt and she did not respond. After some time I texted again saying that I’m stressed and asked her to explain. She ignored that completely and instead texted to tell me she’s having another mental breakdown and was at the clinic. I told her I am there for her if she needs to talk and what not. She gets back home and we hang out twice and she did not bring up our “little talk”. I finally bit the bullet and confronted her and asked what it was about and she told me “not to worry about it”. I sent her a lengthy text telling her that I am needing to put up boundaries because I found what she did manipulative. I didn’t say the world manipulative explicitly because in the past when she’s been confronted, she shuts down completely and will block you out for weeks on end until you apologize. She ended up apologizing for that and didn’t mean to trigger me, since my toxic ex used to say things like “we need to talk. But it’ll wait til we’re at home” and then I’d freak out until he got home and it would be something stupid, he just wanted me to be stressed out for a while. After this I stopped reaching out. I saw her while I was out with X and friends of his, and we talked for a bit before me and X went home for the night. The next day she texted me “are we still doing something later or na?” And I didn’t recall making any plans so I said so. She just liked the message and I haven’t heard from her since, really. She’s had a really hard time in her life. She lost her mother during her teenage years and I know Mother’s Day is a very hard day for her. I really care about B, but her behavior lately is making me not want to be around her at all. I sent her that I was thinking about her and her mom on Mother’s Day and did not hear back(even though she texted my mom for Mother’s Day). Then I started seeing online that she’s liking posts with the topic “I hate that one friend who drops everyone when they get into a relationship, it’s the most disgusting type of friend”. Multiple posts like that, and I know they’re about me. It made me feel really guilty for not hanging out with B anymore. I ask my other friends if the amount I see X bothers them, and the answer is always no. That I should be able to see my significant other who I’m falling in love with as much as we’d both like to. It’s not like it was with my toxic ex at all. It just seems to me like B is thinking it’s going to be the same way as it was. She’s fully ignoring me now, and even though I’m not reaching out either, I still feel like the asshole. AITA?

Avid golfer + recreational cyclist here. I know this is a little goofy, but I'm looking to try something different this coming weekend. I want to play a round this weekend without touching my car. I live near the Clybourn Metra station, so I am thinking a course near one of the UP-N or UP-NW stations. I plan on just riding with my bag on my back, which would definitely pose a challenge, but to me that would be part of the fun.
The simplest and least hostile option to me looks like playing Glencoe, using the UP-N Braeside stop.
Was wondering if anyone else has ever done this, and if you're aware of any cyclist-friendly routes from a Metra stop to a golf course.

WTS: Set of Blank Canvas Accessories pouches.
For reference:
https://en.blankcanvasaccessories.com/duffle-bags
Largest to smallest - rover, day pack, nomad. These did not come with the strap to run them as a sling. I've used them as organizer pouches in my work bag. No real signs of use or wear, upgraded a few pulls to goruck style with paracord and heat shrink tubing.
Black Cordura exterior, ykk zips and purple 420d interior. $90 shipped in the US via PayPal f&f.
https://imgur.com/a/wZhTgui

Yesterday I had a fight with my boyfriend about washing laundry. He kindly loaded the coloured and some socks went missing, I reminded him to use the laundry bag next time. He then said he can never do anything right when he's helping me. I was very bothered how he frased this sentence and used "help me" in it. I confronted him and stated he is not helping me but doing a chore that is the responsibility of every grown up adult. At the end of the argument he said he thinks all I ever do is just laudry during the weekend. Everything else is taken care by him.
I was completely shocked by this statement. It was also the first time I noticed how people quickly dismiss or ignore little chores women do. I clean the appartment, feed the cat, change her water, clean her toilet, clean the bathroom so water doesn't stain everything, put the laundry away, sweep the floor, make a shopping list, pay the fucking bills, remind him about HIS doctor appointments, keep appliance warranties and instructions in binders, organize the bills in the binder...
I have never been so sad and disappointed. I know he can't reach my cleaning standards and we compromised, but not seeing everything I do? Why do man not see the mental load of women.

I moved into the girlfriend's house over a year ago and the previous owner made some interesting choices regarding landscaping. The vinyl siding had a lot of algae/mold, the lawn was mainly pachysandra, and more bushes than one should have.
I started out by removing all of the bushes and brush along the right side of the driveway. I took it all up by hand with a shovel and a mattock. One of the bushes had a very large root ball probably weighing 400lbs that the girlfriend and I had to deadlift out of the whole by hand. A wooden shed storing sticks and stones was removed attached to the garage. This took me a weekend to remove and never felt better.
The front porch needed a complete rebuild as the side walk leading up to the house was pitched towards the steps and a pool of water (and ice) would gather. The hardscaping company cleared out the original porch, walkway, and bushes against the house and put simple boxwoods, and a few other new plants in.
Pachysandra around the front trees was dug up by with a shovel and hand. I went down about 4-6 inches to make sure I got the roots and it all. Luckily the local town picked up most of the 20+ bags that I stored them in but I did have to take a few to the compost site as they were over 40 lbs. My forearms started looking like Popeyes after ripping this shit up.
Lastly, the driveway was widened and I had to bring in top soil to level some of the areas off.
I tried to do as much as I can within reason and have fun doing it. It's a lot of work, a slow process, but very rewarding. There are a few more things that I still need to do (take down the two front trees and roots and take down the side 3 trees and roots) but what a big time difference from the original home to now.
I don't really care about the lawn today other than filling in some of the spots with grass until I get the trees and roots removed. Just thought I'd share!
https://imgur.com/a/QRIFRLb

Today marks my 8th day without drinking. I'm not sure where to start other than I'm only 37 and began to fear that my drinking was going to kill me. For the last ten years, I think I can count the days on my fingers where I haven't had a drink. I went from being very athletic to obese during this time and have felt my health slipping in scarier ways. There are people who depend on me and they deserve so much more than the version of myself that I've been giving them.
The first few days were extremely rough, but I'm finally starting to feel some of the benefits. I'll list a few here:
1: I've lost just over 10 lbs. I drank a lot of beer everyday, so my caloric intake is far less. So far, I've avoided gorging on junk food to replace the missed calories.
2: My sleep has improved tremendously these last 3-4 days. Oddly enough, I sleep MORE now. I think my body is still catching up. But, I now wake up refreshed and with a lot more energy. I no longer need to do my morning ritual of slamming water, caffeine, and chain smoking to clear the cobwebs. (I need to figure out a new morning routine)
3: I feel like I've deflated. I was so bloated, I looked like a pregnant man. My stomach has gone down making me look like I've lost a lot more than just 10 lbs and my face is less puffy.

1. I still have a lot of redness in my face, but the dark bags under my eyes have greatly reduced.
   
2. My energy levels skyrocketed over the weekend. I was able to do more with my family and things around the house than I can remember in recent years.
   

Now, I am still having headaches. The cravings are still there, gnawing at me. I also have this weird feeling in my stomach where it feels tight (I haven't decided whether or not that's a good thing).
Hopefully, I'll keep this up for much longer than 8 days.

very loved bag as you can tell: it’s a canvas bag with some kind of coating thats been peeling and flaking AGGRESSIVELY.
I gave the bag a layer of fabric wax and it didn’t help. any suggestions?
I love this bag but the dandruff look is getting on my nerves…

My housemates cat has an issue of always peeing on my things, specifically clothes blankets, etc. They have taken her to the vet, and she does not have any UTIs or bladder issues. The best that vets were able to do was to prescribe her Prozac to take daily.
Even on Prozac, she was still peeing outside the box. We have 3 litter boxes that I clean daily afterwork. She was better when I gave her a calming collar which helped for a bit as well as feliway in the main rooms. It was maybe 2-3 months no accident, however she started getting bad again recently.
If it’s stress, I don’t know what is stressing her out. All the other housemates (including the owner)’s solution to her problem is to just shut her out of their rooms. The owner does let her outside during daylight hours and I do notice she pees more if she doesn’t get enough “outside” time, but I’m not home very much during the day to regulate her outside time.
Usually she sleeps in my room on my chair but after everything that happened, I’ve been kicking her out as well. She was crying at my door all night and I felt bad.
She doesn’t like being pet or cuddled, and if someone picks her up too much she gets upset and pees on their stuff. I’ve lived with and loved cats my entire life and I’ve never dealt with such an aloof yet “stressed” cat. She doesn’t act like typical scared cats that slink around the house low to the ground. She walk around tall, but her tail isn’t up like she’s happy, just slightly wagging like she’s irritated.
I did get my own cat and we’ve had him for about 8 months now and he’s been just fine. They get along alright, not necessarily a bonded pair but no hissing or growling in the same room. She doesn’t like him anymore than she dislikes me haha. I felt like I needed a real cat companion after dealing with all of this cat’s issues. At least now it makes sense for me to be cleaning the litter boxes because I have my own cat and I’m anal about having a clean home.
We used to have 2 litter boxes but since I’ve added the third cat, we now have 3. They are all in accessible and not high traffic areas.
I just got home today from a weekend vacation and when I opened the door to my room she got in and started peeing on my duffel bag. It feels like once a week I’m cleaning stuff that she’s peed on. I’ve bought multiple enzyme sprays and cleaners as well as the collars and the feliway. I’ve been spending an additional $50 a month in preventive and additional care just for her to still pee on my stuff.
I feel like a prisoner in my own home. I hate the smell of cat pee so badly I just want to put her outside, which is an evil thought to have for a cat. I genuinely want her to be happy but I don’t know how to do it. I’m genuinely at my wits end and will probably move out when the lease is up in November, but I genuinely fear for this cat when I’m gone. Is there anything that I may be missing? I don’t want to be in constant fear of my stuff being peed on and I want the cat to be happy.

What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

[SELLING, PRICED TO MOVE]
SHIRTS, TOPS
SMALL J CREW Slim Oxford Shirt AND Merona Casual Shirt
SMALL J CREW Thomas Mason Ludlow Dress Shirt
SMALL EVERLANE Shirt Charcoal
SMALL Brooks Brothers Zip Merino Sweater Striped
SMALL ZARA White Dress Shirt
SMALL Merona OBCD Short Sleeve and OBCD Long Sleeve Shirts
EXTRA SMALL Patterned Blue/Navy Blue Sweater
EXTRA SMALL Murano Linen Slim Fit Short Sleeve Button Down
SMALL Uniqlo Non-iron Cutaway Collar Dress Shirts x 2
SMALL TAYLOR STITCH Grey Shirt MiUSA
SHORTS and PANTS
30x30 TWO J CREW Bowery/Ludlow Slim French Navy Pants Stretch
30x30 J CREW Navy Fleece Lined Pants
31 LANDS END CANVAS Olive Shorts
30 LANDS END Fitted Navy Shorts
31x30 J CREW Wool Pants Hopsack Bowery Pants
TAILORING
38R MARKS AND SPENCER Navy Blazer Slim
FOOTWEAR
COLE HAAN Made in Maine Pinch Loafers with OG box, shoe bags 8.5
HI TEC Altitude IV Hiking Boots Dark Chocolate 10
NORDSTROM Chukka Boots Black Water Resistant, Ortholite 9
SEBAGO Campsides Camp Mocs Made in USA 9.5
ACCESSORIES
TWO Ties 2.5", Banana Republic, Silk, Cotton, Vintage Pink And Gray, Made In USA, Italy
FARIBAULT WOOLEN MILLS Weekender /Duffel Bag Navy / Tartan Plaid Wool / Canvas
HOW TO BUY
On Grailed, which now forces sellers to use exorbitantly priced labels of theirs (20 bucks for a pair of pants that I can ship via USPS for 4 bucks...), so message here for best price, bundling. I'll send full invoice via PayPal with same buyer protection and copy of the item page, etc: https://www.grailed.com/users/8189-crzyboystewardrobe
NOTES

• I tend not to do price drops until I'm out of free bumps, but please don't hesitate to make an offer meanwhile. I will also do my best to answer any questions you may have as soon as I can.
• I always ship at the latest by the Friday after you buy with tracking and generally via USPS priority or USPS ground package. International is no longer something I do; USPS has made it untenably expensive. Still, if interested, shoot me a message and I can see how much it comes out to.
• I have perfect feedback across many transactions (see history) and do my best to address any issues that may come up, so please purchase with confidence.

Finally, thanks for looking, and check out all my listings if you're so inclined. Happy to make deals (bundled shipping and possibly additional discount) for multiple purchases.

THE HALF OFF plant sale is coming on May 18th, same location.Dahlia prices:
Tubers with active growing "eye" $3 each and a discount at 4 for $10
$6 for dahlia plants Two growing dahlia plants for $10
Pictured: Penhill Autumn Shade (sport), both tubers and plants available and ads from our sale the previous weekend.
We're hoping to sell out MAY 18th, SATURDAY, Dawn Farms location, 6633 Stoney Lake Road, Ypsilanti in the pavilion and the Hoop House.
Details: 1/2 Price PLANT SALE and some freebies pending! Come support Project Grow and community gardening in SE Michigan!
The 2024 Project Grow Plant Sale is [was] Saturday May 11th and we're going to do it again May 18th Saturday.
Shop all your favorites and maybe try something new! Get there early for the best selection. Bring boxes & bags to take your purchases home. It all goes to support community gardening in Washtenaw County.
* Plant Sale in the Hoop HouseFrom 10 - 2. Project Grow offers hard to find heirloom tomatoes, peppers and basil. This year we are offering 80 varieties of tomatoes, 23 varieties or peppers and 2 varieties of basil
Plants are 1/2 price, especially in volume purchase. Signs will be posted. Cash or check preferred.PayPal pending internet connection
Credit purchases will include a 3.5% processing fee
* The Dahlia Sale
On May 11th we had over 500 tubers and starts covering 50+ dahlia varieties that were offered along with canna and iris from 10-12 noon WE STILL have a great collection for our 1/2 off sale!
Bring a box/flat/bag to carry your purchased items home.