I need to send a letter to someone. I need to apologize to them. I also want to tell them how I feel about them. It may be the only chance I ever get to. I have the letter all written up and ready to send, but I cannot get myself to do it. I got help from chat GPT to clean it up. I didn't get it to write it for me, just helped to put things in order. It was a mess of my thoughts and full of questions. Now there is only one civil question in the whole thing.
I've had a motivational saying written down on a piece of paper, sitting in my line of sight. It's all the motivation I need, but I just cannot overcome my personal shyness.

My son is 4 years old and started preschool in the fall. I was working day shifts from 6am-3:30 or 4:00 and my son’s father wasn’t working so he would take him to school in the morning; we also live across the street from each other which is super convenient. Things were going great until Christmas break ended. After the break, his father’s car broke down and he was unable to drive him to school. I suggested that he walk him to school but he refused, claiming that the school was too far and he would be too tired despite him not working. For 2 months my son would sit in the house playing on his tablet for hours until I got home because his father didn’t want to entertain him. I personally have no problem with my son having a tablet but I never wanted him to be on it for long periods of time. The rule at my house is 1 hour on school nights and 2 hours on the weekend, he spends most of his day outside on the weekends anyway. However, his father allows him to do whatever he wants and doesn’t monitor what he watches. As soon as I get home my son comes and gets dressed for the first time all day and goes outside to play with his cousins who have just gotten out of school. I would cook and get him into bed by 9. I don’t only throw blame on his father because I know that I’m at fault as well because I wouldn’t work with my son on his reading in writing but in my defense I was exhausted from work.
I say all this to say that my son is behind in school and I don’t know how to help him. He started going back to school in March. The other kids in his class are writing their names and can recognize letters but he can’t do any of that. I recently went on medical leave so I am at home all day with him and I try to help teach him. His teachers don’t have time to help him catch up and always say that he isn’t a good student. I’ve bought work books,flash cards, and even customized print outs of his name for him to trace. I tried out learning videos on YouTube like Blippi and Ms. Rachel but he shows no interest and would rather use his tablet to play games. He doesn’t like any educational shows and will only watch shows like Pj mask and other things that I think are too overstimulating. I am struggling to get him interested in learning. I know that consistency is important and I work on it everyday but I can’t control what he does at his dad’s house and I definitely can’t keep him from going there without causing problems. However, he has no interest in helping his son because he’s says that he’s tired after work and doesn’t want to be bothered. I just don’t know what to do anymore. Please if you have any tips on how I can teach him to recognize letters and engage in learning I’d greatly appreciate them!

Ok so, I am in the eigth grade and our school does a mini eighth grade “graduation ceremony” for our transition into highschool. Part of this event is three people from eighth grade giving a speech to the student body and parents. I decided to submit my speech and I believe that I did impeccable in my audition, I was able to look up and give eye contact, was able to be breviloquent when reading, and my voice projected enough even without the mic.
After delivering the speech to my homeroom class and the judges I sat down and listened to the next speech. The next speech was by a girl who was infact, dyslexic. She was unable to look up at the crowd and even had to be REMINDED to pause during periods. It was to my utter disgust and trepidation that the dyslexic girl was chosen to deliver the speech.
I just was at a complete loss I what I could’ve possibly did wrong, I had more achievements such as volunteering at a nursing home, being head of student council, being in the gifted program, having the highest MAP testing score, and being chosen to write letters thanking a foundation for donating to my school. Besides I am far better at reading and writing than anybody in our school, even my homeroom teacher said that I am to the entire class!
So I was rather upset by being beaten by someone with a disability and turned to my friend to tell her I believed that this girl was chosen “Out of pity because shes disabled” and one of the teachers ended up pulling me aside to tell me how rude and disrespectful it was that I said that, and said they needed to pick someone who has a harder time to “be inclusive”. I just don’t understand why they couldn’t include someone who can read properly, I mean I know way more about literature than she does! She couldn’t name a classic that wasn’t taught in school, like when I attempted to speak to her about the novel Catch-22.

I have rented my property to a company knowing they would rent it out to other people according to the city law. Its all written in the lease aggreement that they cannot violate any township law. The property is located in North Jersey. Few months later I received a letter from the city about illegal STR activity on the property. I will be attending the summon in a few weeks. One of the neighbors filed the complaint in the city about the STR. Anyone experience this kind of situation before? How much is the violation? Should I get a lawyer for this? Thank you in advance. #realestate #airbnb issues

TLDR:
Turkish Airlines dicked me around for four years to get a $390 refund from a cancelled flight, and has finally closed that door, telling me the voucher has expired. Can I do anything, or should I just give up?
Turkish Airlines cancelled my Lahore - Berlin flight in April 2020 because of the pandemic, and offered a refund. I immediately tried to fill out the online paperwork to get the refund, but received the message that refunds were on hold for a few months. When I tried again a few months later, I was told that since my credit card had expired in the process, I'd need a letter from my bank stating that this was indeed my account, and stating my new account information.
At this point, I was overwhelmed and low key traumatized (I'd gotten stuck in Lahore, had to take a $3000 evacuation flight and move back to Canada where I have citizenship, rather than returning to Berlin where I was living). I tried to produce this letter but it was absurd because obviously my Canadian bank is not going to print a document stating my full credit card number alongside my name. Finally Turkish Airlines told me that I needed to go to an in person office. I tried, but everything seemed closed, or they didn't answer their phone, and I didn't have access to a car. Fast forward to 2022, I finally tracked down an open office when passing through Berlin airport, and brought all the documentation. They tell me they can't help me. After numerous emails, Turkish Airlines issues me an EMD voucher, valid for 2 years up till April 20th 2024. I try to get it refunded but each query through their online feedback form takes months. I no longer have a EUR account, and they finally tell me that yes I can use my USD account. I've moved between 4 countries during this period, so it takes me a while to deal with the asinine customer service and figure out what I need to give them to get a refund (this has included multiple long phone conversations with customer service). It takes me so long that now we are at December 2023. Finally I submit all the documentation. But no, turns out I need to have a wet signature on my form. I am travelling for work and am not able to submit this information until March 2024. One month later, I receive a cookie cutter response, again telling me everything I need to do (which I've already submitted). I write an email half in capslock, extremely angry, but ALSO RE-ATTACH ALL THE PAPERWORK (because I notice one form I had previously submitted, I had forgotten in my most recent submission). One month later I get a response saying that since I didn't reply, they have closed the case (I have proof in my email that I replied with all the forms they asked for). I repeat the entire submission process again, and call the call center multiple times. I receive a response one month later saying my voucher has expired (it expired during the time they took to respond, not when I filed the claim), too bad, no refund for me.
I feel really stupid after all of this... feels like the joke was on me? How did I spend this much time trying to get this refund when maybe they never intended to refund me? Do I have any recourse, since the cancelled flight was 4 years ago?

Just realized how hard it is to get rec letters in college. In HS it was just asking your fav teachers and boom. I had asked a CS prof last quarter for a letter and he instantly rejected me, saying that he doesnt write letters for his students unless he's worked w them directly thru course staff or research. Is this usually the case for all CS profs? Also, i don't rlly see how ppl get letters from profs anyway... OH is always packed to even interact personally w the professor. With hundreds of students in each class, I doubt any professor is willing to cater to all these students. Is this the case? Bc then... I might be screwed. IDK who else to ask. Who can I ask besides professors?

I cannot confirm nor deny that I think I know if you are here. But there is undeniable plausibility that you could be. I stumbled across multiple users, multiple letters, and multiple people but nothing resonated with me as much as what I think you wrote.
You have such a way with words. How did I not know that? If you are my person you would know how that came to be, at least, I think.
On the topic of thinking. I think we should act as if we don’t know each other, in these letters that is. Not in a bad way though. Call me a stranger. Act like you never met me. We’ve been struggling on the romance. Let me write you letters. Let the romance in, I know I will. Who would have thought this as the perfect opportunity to know each other again? Treat this as our first date.
And even if it’s not you, this is okay. You encouraged me to chase. You know I don’t like chasing people but I enjoy the thrill of the chase. So much to imagine. If you think you found me, let me know. In your sly little ways. But let’s role play.
You know I won’t ask if it’s you. That just isn’t me. But when I know for a surety, be prepared for a hug, maybe a kiss, just to end our first date. But there’s more letters to come. Please don’t stop. You’ve been writing for so long Because I believe I am a hopeless romantic just like you and even though I have wooed you before. I want to do it again. Over and over. I have the passion. And I can see it in your eyes too.
Maybe it was there the whole time? And it was me who was calus and avoidant, let’s not place blame. Pretend we just met. Write me a letter like an entry to your journal…
So I met someone. Someone I want to love. Someone I want to share the rest of my life with. To know my most innermost thoughts and know my most intimate details. They will understand me.

I want to confess my feelings to this girl, but I think she sees me as a firend for now and I don't want to ruin it. I thought of a way to go about it, but I'm not sure if it's a good idea, help me figure out if it makes sense. Here's my plan: I will write a letter telling her how I feel about her, but I'm not gonna send it right away. Instead I'll figure out a way to have a certain probability (idk, like 50% or 75%) that she receives the letter. I will also tell her about this plan in the letter, and I'll Instruct her not to reply to it if she doensn't reciprocate my feelings but wants to keep being friends with me. This way I'll never know if she actually received the letter but decided not to reply, or if she didn't receive it at all. I know this method will decrease my chances of success since I won't even be sure she received the letter in the first place, but I'm ok with it, I dont think my chances are that good to begin with. What do you guys think?

TLDR: Doran has a different father to Elia and Oberyn. Both fathers were Free City nobles. Doran's father died in the 251 RHPR. Elia and Oberyn's father died in the 260 WOTNK. This would explain why no one has mentioned them yet and the Martell's interest in the Free Cities.
Quick Note: My headcanon name for their mother is Neria. Just saves me typing "Doran's predecessor", "Oberyn's mother", "former princess of Dorne", etc.
The strongest and most sensible assumptions I've made about this subject are:

1. The fathes died before 273, the year Tyrion was born, during which Oberyn went on his betrothal journey with "my mother, her consort, and my sister Elia" (ASOS Tyrion V). It makes no sense for Oberyn to refer to his own father or Elia's as a consort.
2. Doran and Oberyn never mentioning their fathes points to a lack of sentiment in regards to them, which in turn points to them dying before the brothers were old enough to remember them much, and given their ~10-year age gap, they must've had different fathers for this to be true. Conversely, Elia and Oberyn have about a year between them, so they likely shared a father.
3. Both fathers were openly married to Neria, since there is no in-text speculation about the three siblings' legitimacy or paternity, and the likes of Joanna and Aerys II would never have considered marrying their heirs to anyone of questionable birth. You can't be pulling the Mormont "my children were fathered by bears lol" schtick when you're trying to betroth your daughter to the crown prince.
4. Both fathers were from prestigious enough backgrounds to marry the heiruler of Dorne but on individual levels were so unremarkable that even their own sons don't namedrop them from time to time.
5. Excluding the Martells, all the great houses and Dornish houses can be ruled out. Quentyn, Arianne and the Sand Snakes never mention any living cousins besides each other, and if either of their paternal grandfathers had been a non-Martell Dornish nobleman, Arianne would've mentioned his house when thinking of who she could trust to help her while imprisoned. I think it's also safe to write off the houses Elia and Oberyn visited on their betrothal voyage (Daynes, Redwynes, Hightowers, Chesters, Grimms, Hewetts, Serrys and Crakehalls).

With all that in mind, let's move onto some candidates:

Martell Man/Men

Consanguinity is common enough in Westeros: Tywin and Joanna were first cousins, and Cregan, Edric, and Rickard Stark show it's not taboo in the North, so unless the Rhoynar had an aversion to it that was carried pver into Dornish culture, there's no reason to think the Martells would be against it.
From the reign of Daeron II to that of Aerys II (i.e. 99 years), the Martells had close ties to the Targaryens. Though the deaths of Baelor Breakspear and his children put an end to the main Targ line having Martell ancestry, the "several heirs" (TWOIAF - The Targaryen Kings: Daeron II) Daenerys had borne for Maron were half-Targ. Though highly unlikely that they began to practice sibling incest, it's likely that in order to keep their Targ blood (and in turn the possibility of marrying back into the royal line) strong, some of Daenerys' grandchildren and great-grandchildren were married to each other. Neria might have been subject to this tradition, and therefore either her first husband, second husband or both could have been a descendant of Daenerys. This would help explain why the current Martells seem to be so small in number, as well as why Elia was chosen to be Rhaegar's wife over every other noble lady with Targ ancestry (really hard to imagine that all descendants of Saera, Baela, Rhaena, Elaena, Daella and Rhae at the time were either male, married, menopausal or less Targy).
However, Doran and his children point to this not being the case. If this tradition existed, then why was Doran not subject to it? If second-degree incest (is that what you're supposed to call it? I don't know, you get what I mean) was the Martell deal now, then why did Arianne feel so "uneasy" and ashamed when internally recalling her childhood crush on her uncle (AFFC The Queenmaker)? Furthermore, if Quentyn was the product of such intentional inbreeding, not only would it have been really stupid for him to not tell Dany this, he likely wouldn't have been burnt. If my calculations about Ben Plumm are correct, then he could be as little as 1/16th Targ, which is evidently enough dragonlord ancestry for dragons to take to a person (ASOS Danerys V). Rhaegal did not take to Quentyn, which means he must have less Targ ancestry than Ben (or perhaps there's a big difference between a dragon being cool with sitting on your shoulder and a dragon being cool with you screaming at it while cracking a whip). This is also why I don't believe that Doran is Aerys' bastard (along with there only being a four-year age gap between them), but what of Elia and Oberyn?

Aerys II

I don't think Elia and/or Oberyn are Aerys' bastards, though I understand why some might come to that conclusion. "Joanna Lannister was not the first lady to be dismissed abruptly from Her Grace's service, nor was she the last" (TWOIAF - The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II), Neria was one of Rhaella's ladies, and it would explain why Elia, out of all the noble women in Westeros and the Free Cities, was chosen to be Rhaegar's wife. However, Aerys would've had to have been 12-14 when they were conceived, it is unlikely he was interested in a woman old enough to be his mother when he was known to be "exceedingly fond of young women", and given that Aerys lost interest in his lovers quickly and both he and Neria seemed to have fertility issues, it's very improbable that they produced a child together, let alone two. The risk of trying to pass off your unborn child as legitimate only to be forced to admit you had a fling with the teenage crown prince after it pops out Valyrian would be such an insane one to take even once, and it's hard to imagine the mother and mentor of Doran doing such a thing.

Brynden Tully

This theory was mostly just me slamming two big questions together - who was Neria's husband/s and why did Brynden never marry - in hopes of forming an answer to both. For a short time I was gripped by the idea that Elia and Oberyn's father was a veteran of the War of the Ninepenny Kings and IIRC my thought process went something like this:
"Didn't the Blackfish fight during the WOTNK? GASP That's why he never married: he was already married to Neria! That's why he left Riverrun: he felt guilty for fighting for the side that ended up killing his daughter! That's (partially) why Doran refused Hoster's invitation for Arianne to visit Riverrun! Black fish, red viper, "colour" "animal" moniker, THIS MAKES TOTAL SENSE!"
As much as I'd love it to be true because the idea of Catelyn and Oberyn being first cousins is hilarious to me, it can't be. Among many other reasons, we only know him to be near Dorne in 260, 3-4 years after Elia and Oberyn were born. Now I think their father did not survive the war, just as Doran's father was killed in the 251 rebellion of the Rat, the Hawk, and the Pig, which took place when he was around three. Their fathers dying while they were still toddlers would explain why they haven't been mentioned yet.

Free City Noblemen

I think this is the strongest theory. It explains why we haven't heard anything about them; Westerosi nobles don't seem to care much about Free City politics, and the few examples of FC nobles marrying into Westerosi houses don't seem to elicit much intrigue outside of xenophobic villainisation and scapegoating (Larra Rogare and Serala of Myr come to mind).
It is possible that Aliandra Martell's marriage to Drazenko Rogare started a trend of Dornish nobles marrying and/or making paramours of FC people, particularly those of Lys. I believe Ellaria Sand's mother is Lyseni, since she is described as "exotic" (which is never used to describe the Dornish), worships a Lysene goddess and the names of her two youngest daughters, Dorea and Loreza, sound Lyseni (Dorea is one letter off of Doreah, the name of Dany's Lysene handmaid).
I don't think either Doran's or Elia and Oberyn's father were Lyseni, though it is one of the better options. The Free Cities I've written off as options are:

1. Lorath. It's too insignificant to marry into, not to mention far away.
   
2. Norvos. Would've been mentioned by now since Doran married a Norvoshi noble. Also Norvos is probably the poorest Free City after Lorath, so not a great match for a Dornish princess.
   
3. Tyrosh. Could've easily been mentioned when Doran told Arianne about his plan to send her to the Archon of Tyrosh. Also it was the Blackfyre stronghold, so unlikely to be an attractive option to the Martells.
   

That leaves Braavos, Pentos, Qohor, Myr, Lys and Volantis. Myr was close to being the fourth written-off city because having ties to Myr after the Defiance of Duskendale would've likely put the Martells in grave danger of Aerys' paranoia. On top of that, along with Tyrosh and Lys, Myr is a historic rival of Dorne's for dominion over the Stepstones. However, Taena of Myr looks a lot like Arianne, and she could be one of Dorne's "friends at court" (ADWD The Watcher). Perhaps she is a cousin?
Out of the six, my preference is that Doran's father was Qohorik while Elia and Oberyn's father was Volantene.
Qohor is one of the most fascinating Free Cities and yet we know so little about it. We don't even know what type of government they have. It would fit Doran's character to partially hail from such a secretive city.
Elia and Oberyn's father being a Volantene noble would explain why Elia was chosen over every other highborn girl in Westeros and the Free Cities to be Rhaegar's wife (maybe they descend from Saera's son by a Triarch?), as well as how Oberyn got behind the Black Walls so quickly and got away with fathering a bastard by a woman "of the noblest blood of Old Volantis". One might wonder why no one has mentioned this, especially since their nephew Quentyn was in Volantis, but technically he's not related to Elia and Oberyn's father any more than he is Nym's mother, and if Oberyn left Volantis on bad terms, it'd probably have been best for Quentyn to not use his connection to him as leverage.
Together with Doran's marriage to Mellario, that would give the Martells connections to Norvos, Qohor and Volantis, the three Free Cities that are located along the Rhoyne, their ancestral home. Funny, that.

Hello! In advance I apologize for any grammar mistakes. I just need someone to talk to.
23F I just broke off my engagement to my fiancée 33M. We have been together for 6 years . Outside of all adult responsibilities . This man was my “Best friend”. Same music taste, Similar Interests. Same humor. Loves to travel, never had to force a conversation. etc just naming a few. From the start of our relationship I met him 3 weeks fresh our of high school. He was in a very tough spot. My Fiancée at the time didn’t have a car so 4 months into the relationship and I spent all my graduation money + savings on surprising him with a new car. Within that same year he cheated. (I forgave him but made him delete all social media and I do check his phone regularly.) Through out the first two years of our relationship I got his credit fixed, his debt paid off and got him on a straight path including getting his record straightened out( by this time I’m 19 going on 20) I thought that would absolutely show him how dedicated I was to him and our future. Show him How he didn’t have to struggle alone. Yes I was a young teenager but Ive been working since I was 15. I had my own money why not help someone in need?? Fast forward multiple years of this relationship. I handle all house hold responsibilities along with both of our taxes, Bills and car maintenance etc all adult responsibilities you can think of I handle. He would tell me how appreciative he was and how he couldn’t imagine life without me etc. I felt like he valued me . Through this relationship he’s cheated 3 times. I forgave him everytime. ( now looking back I believed I wouldn’t have ever found better so I took him back so I wouldn’t mess up my chance at finally having a husband). (Over these last 2 years i’m just now getting my confidence and realizing I am actually k good looking I think). I showed up alot for this man and made alot of serious life sacrifices to help him. he’s never showed up for me without me having to beg multiple times . Last week I simply asked him “Why do you never get my flowers or write me back love letters?” He knows how much I love the idea and thought of love letters. He loves it too. I wake up early every morning before he goes to work. I pack his lunch box and write a love letter EVERY morning. (not exaggerating) he has duffle bag he keeps filled with all my love notes to him.
His response to my Question: I know you’ve asked me for them before but to be honest i’m just not there in our relationship yet to be getting you flowers”
Me: “What do you mean you aren’t there yet??”
His response: “You want all these extravagant things but I’m not there yet emotionally to give that to you. You need to be patient with me, You’ll get that from me down the line”
That hurt me a lot. So I asked him how could he say that after all the stuff Ive bring to the table? All the things I do to make sure his life is easier for solely just him. I don’t deserve flowers from you yet??
He just responded saying how it may not be fair to me but that’s just where he is at. I asked him how can you say you aren’t emontionally there to get me flowers but you made the decision to purpose to me in front of your whole family. (Literally just his whole family, when I asked where was mine he said he totally forgot to think about any of them… He didn’t even ask my dad for his blessings)…. Selfish!
His response:” Because I love you so much. I have no doubt you’d be an amazing wife, my mom loves you, my family adores you. I know if I have kids with you our kids will be loved and raised right. You’re always there for me so I know you’ll always be there for my family and our future kids. You act like such a great wife already. “
In that moment I told him I couldn’t do it anymore and that I was done. He was so confused. He asked why. And how he can change and If I really wanted flowers that bad to just “text me on the days you want them and I’ll go pick it up it’s that easy” “You want to leave me over Flowers?”.
I want the love I give to be reciprocated. I want to have peace of mind knowing if something goes wrong in life I have my future husband to fall back on or even simply just call. I want to be given flowers without asking. I want love letters. I want date nights. I want to be a more feminine woman and not be the one taking both of our cars to mechanics for Oil changes, alignments, Tune Ups etc. I want all the years love and sacrifice I put into this relationship to have meant something. I feel used I feel like I was completely used and taken for granted. I thought being with an Older man would come with stability and a man that can lead and teach me, someone I can learn from. That was the sole reason I stayed I thought once I was able to get him out of his rut he would be able to be the man he talked so much about being but 6 years later. He hasn’t progressed at all. He looks to me the person 10 years younger than him to get things done with shame or any inkling in his body to help make anything easier for me. I can’t do this anymore, I’m not happy .I want to live life like a 23 year old should. I’ve never been to the club. I’ve never had a girls night. I’ve never even sat at the bar before. I never lived solely just for myself. I never done alot of the normal things a regular early women in her 20’s would have experienced. I sacrificed alot for him and it all was for nothing. I’m so hurt and angry. It’s been 3 weeks no contact. But just yesterday a friend of mine sent me a video of him spotted with his best friends blowing money (that he owes me) at a strip club. I’m trying to just let go and let God but I’m so angry. I robbed myself out of so much young experiences I should’ve had by now.
How do I force myself to Unlove someone I genuinely cared about so much?
TL;DR: Asked Fiancé of 6 year for Flowers and a Love letter . Got denied. Told me he’s not emotionally “there yet” to get me flowers… but was able to purpose to me??

Hello! In advance I apologize for any grammar mistakes. I just need someone to talk to.
23F I just broke off my engagement to my fiancée 33M. We have been together for 6 years . Outside of all adult responsibilities . This man was my “Best friend”. Same music taste, Similar Interests. Same humor. Loves to travel, never had to force a conversation. etc just naming a few. From the start of our relationship I met him 3 weeks fresh our of high school. He was in a very tough spot. My Fiancée at the time didn’t have a car so 4 months into the relationship and I spent all my graduation money + savings on surprising him with a new car. Within that same year he cheated. (I forgave him but made him delete all social media and I do check his phone regularly.) Through out the first two years of our relationship I got his credit fixed, his debt paid off and got him on a straight path including getting his record straightened out( by this time I’m 19 going on 20) I thought that would absolutely show him how dedicated I was to him and our future. Show him How he didn’t have to struggle alone. Yes I was a young teenager but Ive been working since I was 15. I had my own money why not help someone in need?? Fast forward multiple years of this relationship. I handle all house hold responsibilities along with both of our taxes, Bills and car maintenance etc all adult responsibilities you can think of I handle. He would tell me how appreciative he was and how he couldn’t imagine life without me etc. I felt like he valued me . Through this relationship he’s cheated 3 times. I forgave him everytime. ( now looking back I believed I wouldn’t have ever found better so I took him back so I wouldn’t mess up my chance at finally having a husband). (Over these last 2 years i’m just now getting my confidence and realizing I am actually k good looking I think). I showed up alot for this man and made alot of serious life sacrifices to help him. he’s never showed up for me without me having to beg multiple times . Last week I simply asked him “Why do you never get my flowers or write me back love letters?” He knows how much I love the idea and thought of love letters. He loves it too. I wake up early every morning before he goes to work. I pack his lunch box and write a love letter EVERY morning. (not exaggerating) he has duffle bag he keeps filled with all my love notes to him.
His response to my Question: I know you’ve asked me for them before but to be honest i’m just not there in our relationship yet to be getting you flowers”
Me: “What do you mean you aren’t there yet??”
His response: “You want all these extravagant things but I’m not there yet emotionally to give that to you. You need to be patient with me, You’ll get that from me down the line”
That hurt me a lot. So I asked him how could he say that after all the stuff Ive bring to the table? All the things I do to make sure his life is easier for solely just him. I don’t deserve flowers from you yet??
He just responded saying how it may not be fair to me but that’s just where he is at. I asked him how can you say you aren’t emontionally there to get me flowers but you made the decision to purpose to me in front of your whole family. (Literally just his whole family, when I asked where was mine he said he totally forgot to think about any of them… He didn’t even ask my dad for his blessings)…. Selfish!
His response:” Because I love you so much. I have no doubt you’d be an amazing wife, my mom loves you, my family adores you. I know if I have kids with you our kids will be loved and raised right. You’re always there for me so I know you’ll always be there for my family and our future kids. You act like such a great wife already. “
In that moment I told him I couldn’t do it anymore and that I was done. He was so confused. He asked why. And how he can change and If I really wanted flowers that bad to just “text me on the days you want them and I’ll go pick it up it’s that easy” “You want to leave me over Flowers?”.
I want the love I give to be reciprocated. I want to have peace of mind knowing if something goes wrong in life I have my future husband to fall back on or even simply just call. I want to be given flowers without asking. I want love letters. I want date nights. I want to be a more feminine woman and not be the one taking both of our cars to mechanics for Oil changes, alignments, Tune Ups etc. I want all the years love and sacrifice I put into this relationship to have meant something. I feel used I feel like I was completely used and taken for granted. I thought being with an Older man would come with stability and a man that can lead and teach me, someone I can learn from. That was the sole reason I stayed I thought once I was able to get him out of his rut he would be able to be the man he talked so much about being but 6 years later. He hasn’t progressed at all. He looks to me the person 10 years younger than him to get things done with shame or any inkling in his body to help make anything easier for me. I can’t do this anymore, I’m not happy .I want to live life like a 23 year old should. I’ve never been to the club. I’ve never had a girls night. I’ve never even sat at the bar before. I never lived solely just for myself. I never done alot of the normal things a regular early women in her 20’s would have experienced. I sacrificed alot for him and it all was for nothing. I’m so hurt and angry. It’s been 3 weeks no contact. But just yesterday a friend of mine sent me a video of him spotted with his best friends blowing money (that he owes me) at a strip club. I’m trying to just let go and let God but I’m so angry. I robbed myself out of so much young experiences I should’ve had by now.
How do I force myself to Unlove someone I genuinely cared about so much?
TL;DR: Asked Fiancé of 6 year for Flowers and a Love letter . Got denied. Told me he’s not emotionally “there yet” to get me flowers… but was able to purpose to me??

PLAYBOY Interview With Conan O'Brien Interview by Kevin Cook For Playboy Magazine February 1998
A candid conversation with the preppie prince of "Late Night" about his rocky start, his show's secret one-day cancellation and how David Letterman saved the day.
He was polite. He was funny. He gave us a communicable disease.
At 34 Conan O'Brien is hotter than the fever he was running when we met in his private domain above the "Late Night" sound stage. A gangly freckle-faced ex-high school geek he is "one of TV's hottest properties" according to "People" magazine. The host of "Late Night With Conan O'Brien" has become his generation's king of comedy.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Congested too, but O'Brien has far more to worry about than his head cold. A perfectionist who broods over one bad minute in an otherwise perfect hour of TV, he worries he might be anhedonic, "I have trouble with success," he says, "I was raised to believe that if something good happens something bad is coming." Sure things look good now "Rolling Stone" calls "Late Night" "the hottest comedy show on TV." Ratings are better than ever, particularly among 18- to 34-year-olds, the viewers advertisers crave.
But O'Brien only works harder. Despite his illness he taped two shows in 26 hours on three hours' sleep. He smoothly interviewed Elton John then burst into coughing fits during commercials. Later in his crammed corner office overlooking Manhattan traffic Conan the Cool gulped Dayquil gel caps. He coughed spewing microbes.
"Sorry, sorry," he said. Of course O'Brien can't complain. He came seriously close to falling to being banished behind the scenes as just another failed talk show host.
At his first "Late Night" press conference he corrected a reporter who called him a relative unknown, "Sir I am a complete unknown," he said. That line got a laugh, but soon O'Brien looked doomed. His September 13, 1993 debut began with O'Brien in his dressing room preparing to hang himself only to be interrupted by the start of his show. Before long his career was hanging by a thread. Ratings were terrible. Critics hated the show. Tom Shales of "The Washington Post" called it as "lifeless and messy as roadkill." Shales said O'Brien should quit.
Network officials held urgent meetings discussing the Conan O'Brien debacle. Should they fire him? How should they explain their mistake?
In the end of course he turned it around. The network hung with him long enough for the ratings to improve and the host of the cooler-than-ever "Late Night" now defines comedy's cutting edge just as Letterman did ten years ago.
Even Shales loves "Late Night" these days. He calls O'Brien's turnaround "one of the most amazing transformations in television history."
O'Brien was born on April 18, 1963 in Brookline, Massachusetts. His father, a doctor, is a professor at Harvard Medical School. His mother, a lawyer, is a partner at an elite Boston Law firm. Conan, the third of six children became a lector at church and a misfit at school. Tall and goofy, bedeviled with acne, he tried to impress girls with jokes. That plan usually bombed, but O'Brien eventually found his niche at Harvard where he won the presidency of the "Harvard Lampoon" in 1983 and again in 1984 - the first two-time "Lampoon" president since humorist Robert Benchley held the honor 85 years ago.
After graduating magna cum laude with a double major in literature and American history he turned pro. Writing for HBO's "Not Necessarily The News." O'Brien was earning $100,000 a year before his 24th birthday. But writing was never enough.
He honed his performance skills with the Groundlings, a Los Angeles improv group. There he worked with his onetime girlfriend Lisa Kudrow, now starring on "Friends." But Conan was not such a standout. In 1988 he landed a job at "Saturday Night Live" - but as a writer, not as on-air talent. In almost four years on the show O'Brien made only fleeting appearances, usually as a crowd member or security guard. His writing was more memorable. He wrote (or co-wrote) Tom hanks' "Mr Short-Term Memory" skits as well as the "pump you up" infosatire of Hanz and Franz and the nude beach sketch in which Matthew Broderick and "SNL" members played nudists admiring one another's penises. With dozens of mentions of the word that hit was the most penis-heavy moment in TV history. It helped O'Brien win an Emmy for comedy writing.
In 1991 he quit "SNL" and moved on to "The Simpsons" where he worked for two years. His urge to perform came out in wall-bouncing antics in writers' meetings. "Conan makes you fall out of your chair" said "Simpsons" creator Matt Groening. O'Brien's yen to act out was so strong that he spurned Fox's reported seven-figure offer to continue as a writer. He was driving for the spotlight.
By then David Letterman had announced he was turning shin - leaving NBC taking his ton-rated act to CBS. Suddenly NBC was up a creek without a host. The network turned to Lorne Michaels, O'Brien's "Saturday Night Live" boss. Michaels enlisted Conan's help in the host search planning to use him in a behind-the-scenes job. But when Garry Shandling, Dana Carvey and almost every other star turned down the chore of following Letterman, Michaels finally listened to Conan's crazy suggestion, "Let me do it!" Michaels persuaded the network to entrust it's 12:30 slot which Letterman had turned into a gold mine to an untested wiseass from Harvard.
O'Brien was working on one of his last "Simpsons" episodes when he got the news. He turned "paler than usual," Groening recalled. The Conan moseyed back to where the other writers were working, "I'll come back with the Homer Simspon joke later. I have to go replace Letterman," he said.
NBC executives now get credit for their foresight during those dark days of 1993 and 1994. They snared the axe and now reap the multimillion-dollar spoils of that decision. In fact, the story is not so simple. We sent Contributing Editor Kevin Cook to unravel the tale of O'Brien's survival, which he tells here for the first time. Cook reports:
"His office is chock-full of significa. There's a three-foot plastic pickle the Letterman staff left behind in 1993 - perhaps to suggest what a predicament he was in. There's a copy of Jack Paar's 'I Kid You Not' and a coffee-table book called 'Saturday Night Live: The First 20 Years.' His bulletin board features letters from fans such as John Watters and Bob Dole and an 8" x 10" glossy of Andy Richter with the inscription: "To Conan - Your bitter jealousy warms my black heart. Love and Kisses Andy."
"Of course it's all for show. From the photos of kitch icons Adam West and Robert Stack to the framed Stan Laurel autograph, from the deathbed painting of Abraham Lincoln, to the ironic star taped to Conan's door - they're all clever signals that tell a visitor how to view the star. Lincoln was his collegiate preoccupation: stardom is his occupation. Somewhere between the two I hoped to find the real O'Brien.
"As a Playboy reader he wanted to give me a better-than-average interview. I wanted something more - a definitive look at the guy who may end up being the Johnny Carson of his generation."
"Here's hoping we succeeded. If not I carried his germs 3000 miles and infected dozens of Californians for no good reason.
O'Brien: Yes, this is how to do a Playboy Interview -- completely tanked on cold medicine. I'll pick it up and read, "Yes, I'm gay."
Playboy: We could talk another time. O'Brien: (coughing) No, it's OK. I memorized Dennis Rodman's answers. Can I use them?
Playboy: You sound really sick. Do you ever take a day off? O'Brien: No. The age of talk show hosts taking days off is over. Johnny Carson could go to Africa when he was the only game in town -- "See you in two weeks!" But nobody does that now. I will give you a million dollars on the first day Jay takes off for illness.
Playboy: Do you ever slow down and enjoy your success? O'Brien: If anything, the pace is picking up. Restaurateurs insist on giving me a table even if I'm only passing by, so I'm eating nine meals a night. Women stop me on the street and hand me their phone numbers.
Playboy: So you have groupies? O'Brien: Oh yes. And other fans. Drifters. Prisoners. Insomniacs. Cab Drivers, who must watch a lot of late night TV, seem to love me lately. They keep saying, "You will not pay, you will not pay, you make me happy!"
Playboy: How happy did your new contract make you? O'Brien: Terrified. The network said, "We're all set for five years." I said, "Shut up, shut up! I can't think that far ahead." Tonight, for instance, I do my jokes, then interview Elton John and Tim Meadows. We finished taping about 6:30. By 6:45 my memory was erased and my only thought was, Tomorrow: John Tesh. And I started to obsess about John Tesh. Sad, don't you think?
Playboy: Not too sad. You got off to a rocky start but now you're so hot that People magazine recently said, "that was then, this is wow." O'Brien: I try not to pay much attention. Since I ignored the critics who said I should shoot myself in the head with a German Luger, it would be cheating to tear out nice reviews now and rub them all over my body, giggling. Though I have thought about it.
Playboy: Tell us about your trademark gag. You interview a photo of Bill Clinton or some other celeb, and a pair of superimposed lips provide outrageous answers. O'Brien: We call it the Clutch Cargo bit, after that terrible old cartoon series. They saved money on animation by superimposing real lips on the cartoons. I wanted to do topical jokes in a cartoony way -- not just Conan doing quips at a desk. TV is visual; I want things to look funny. But we're not Saturday Night Live; we couldn't spend $100,000 on it. Hence, the cheap, cheesy lips, You'd be surprised how many people we fool.
Playboy: Viewers believe that's really the president yelling, "Yee-haw! Who's got a joint?" O'Brien: It's strange. You may know intellectually that Clinton doesn't talk like Foghorn Leghorn. Ninety-eight percent of your brain knows the president wouldn't say, "Whoa Conan get a load of that girl!" But there are a few brain cells that aren't sure. When Bob Dole was running for president we had him doing a past-life regression: "My cave, get away." And then back further, "Must form flippers to crawl on to rocky soil," he says. There may be people out there who believe that Bob Dole was the first amphibian.
Playboy: Do you ever go too far? O'Brien: The fun is in going too far. It's a nice device because you get Bill Clinton to do the nastiest Bill Clinton jokes. We'll have Clinton making fart noises while I say "Sir! Please!"
Playboy: Are you enjoying your job now, with your new success? O'Brien: Well, there are surprises. I hate surprises. Like most comics, I'm a control freak. But I am learning that the show works best when things are out of control. Tonight I ask Elton John if he likes being neighbors with Joan Collins. He says he isn't neighbors with Joan Collins. He lives next door to Tina Turner. So I panic -- huge mistake! But Elton saves the day. "Joan Collins, Tina Turner, it doesn't matter. Either way I could borrow a wig," he says. Huge laugh, all because I fucked up. Later he surprised me by blurting out that he's hung like a horse. The camera cuts to me shaking my head: That crazy Elton. What can I do? Of course, I'm delighted that he went too far.
Playboy: That "What can I do?" look resembles a classic take of Jack Benny's. O'Brien: There's an old saying in literature: "Good poets borrow; great poets steal." I think T.S. Eliot stole it from Ezra Pound. Comics steal, too. Constantly. When I watched Johnny Carson, I noticed that he got a few takes from Benny and Bob Hope. When a comedy writer told me how much Woody Allen had borrowed from Hope, I thought, What? They're nothing alike. Then I went back and watched Son of Paleface, and there's Hope, the nervous city guy backing up on his heels, wringing his hands and saying, "Sorry, I'll just be moving along." Now look at early Woody Allen. You see big authority figures and Woody nervously saying, "Look, I'll just be on my way." Of course Woody made it his own, but he must have watched and loved Bob Hope.
Playboy: Who are your role models? O'Brien: Carson. Woody Allen. SCTV. Peter Sellers. When Peter Sellers died I felt such a loss, thinking, There won't be anymore of that. There's some Steve Martin in my false bravado with female guests: "Why, hel-lo there!" And I won't deny having some Letterman in my bones.
Playboy: You were surprise as Letterman's successor. At first you seemed like the wrong choice. O'Brien: I didn't get ratings. That doesn't mean I didn't get laughs. Yes, I had a giant pompadour and I looked like a rockabilly freak. I was too excited, pushed too hard, and people said, "That guy isn't a polished performer." Fine! But it isn't my goal to be Joe Handsomehead cool, smooth talk show host. Late Night with Conan O'Brien is supposed to be a work in progress, and now that we've had some success there's a danger of our getting too polished and morphing into something smoothly professional. Which would suck.
Do you know why I wanted this show? Because Late Night with David Letterman played with the rules and it looked like fun. Here was a place where people did risky comedy every night for millions of people. We had to keep this thing alive. There should be a place on a big network where people are still messing around.
Playboy: How bad were your early days on the show? O'Brien: Bad. Dave left here under a cloud: his fans and the media were angry with NBC. Then NBC picks a guy with crazy hair and a weird name. And the world says, "Harvard? Those guys are assholes." I sincerely hope that the winter of December 1993, our first winter, was the worst time I will ever have. I'd go out to do the warm up and the back two rows of seats would be empty. That's hard to look at. I would tell a joke and then hear someone whisper, "Who's he? Where's Dave?"
Playboy: You had trouble getting guests. O'Brien: Bob Denver canceled on us. We shot a test show with Al Lewis of The Munsters. We did the clutch cargo thing with a photo of Herman Munster. Unfortunately, Fred Gwynne, who played Herman, had recently died, and Al Lewis kept pointing at the screen, saying, "You're dead! I was at your funeral!"
Playboy: For months you got worried notes from network executives. What did they say? O'Brien: They were worried. The fact that Lorne Michaels was involved bought me some time. But Lorne had turned to me at the start and said, "OK, Conan. What do you want to do?" Now television critics were after me and the network was starting to realize what a risk I was. Suggestions came fast and furious. I kept the note that said, "Why don't you just die?"
Playboy: Did they suggest ways to be funnier? O'Brien: They were more specific and tactical. The network gets very specific data. Say there was a drop in ratings between 12:44 and 12:48 when I was talking to Jon Bon Jovi. I'll be told, "Don't ever talk to him again" Or they'll want me to tease viewers into staying with us: "You should tease that -- say, 'We'll have nudity coming up next!'"
Playboy: You did come close to being cancelled. O'Brien: We were cancelled.
Playboy: Really? You have never admitted that. O'Brien: This is the first time I've talked about it. When I had been on for about a year, there was a meeting at the network. They decided to cancel my show. They said, "It's cancelled." Next day they realized they had nothing to put in the 12:30 slot, so we got a reprieve.
Playboy: Were you worried sick? O'Brien: I went into denial. I tried hard not to think, Yes, I'm bad on the air and my show has none of the things a TV show needs to survive. We had no ratings. No critics in our corner. Advertisers didn't like us. Affiliates wanted to drop us. Sometimes I'd meet a programming director from a local station where we had no rating at all. The guy would show me a printout with no number for Late Night's rating, just a hash mark or pound sign. I didn't dare think about that when I went out to do the show.
Playboy: Are you defending denial? O'Brien: How else does anyone get through a terrible experience? The odds were against me. Rationally, I didn't have much chance. Denial was my only friend. When I look back on the first year, it's like a scene from an old war movie: Ordinary guy gets thrown into combat, somehow beats impossible odds, staggers to safety. His buddy say, "You could have been killed!" The guy stops and thinks. "Could have been killed?" he says. His eyes cross and he faints.
Playboy: How did you dodge the bullet? O'Brien: There were people at NBC who stood up for me. I will always be indebted to Don Ohlmeyer, who stuck to his guns. Don said, "We chose this guy. We should stick with him unless we get a better plan." He was brutally honest. He came to me and said, "Give me about a 15 percent bump in the ratings and you'll stay on the air. If not, we're going to move on."
Playboy: Ohlmeyer started his career in the sports division. O'Brien: Exactly, his take was, "You're on our team." Of course, it wasn't exactly rational of Don to hope I'd be 15 percent funnier. It was like telling a farmer, "It better rain this week or we'll take your farm away."
Playboy: What did you say to Ohlmeyer? O'Brien: There wasn't time. I had to go out and do a monologue. But I will always be indebted to Don because he told me the truth. Wait a minute -- you have tricked me into talking lovingly about an NBC executive. Let me say that there were others who were beneath contempt -- executives who wouldn't know a good show if it swam up their asses and lit a campfire.
Playboy: Finally the ratings went your way. Hard work rewarded? O'Brien: Well, I also paid off the Nielsen people. That was $140,000 well spent.
Playboy: Ohlmeyer plus bribery saved you? O'Brien: There was something else. Just when everyone was kicking the crap out of the show, Letterman defended me.
Playboy: Letterman had signed off on NBC saying, "I don't really know Conan O'Brien, but I heard he killed someone." O'Brien: Then I pick up the paper and he's saying he thinks I am going to make it. "They do some interesting, innovative stuff over there," he says. "I think Conan will prevail." And then he came on as a guest. Remember, this was when we were at our nadir. There was no Machiavellian reason for David Letterman, who at the time was the biggest thing in show business, to be on my show.
Playboy: Why did he do it? O'Brien: I'm still not sure. Maybe out of a sense of honor. Fair play. And it woke me up. It made me think. Hey, we have a real fucking television show here.
Of six or seven pivotal points in my short history here, that was the first and maybe the biggest. I wouldn't be sitting here -- I probably wouldn't even exist today -- if he hadn't done our show.
Playboy: The Late Night wars were hardly noted for friendly gestures. O'Brien: How little you understand. Jay, Dave and I pal around all the time. We often ride a bicycle built for three up to the country. "Nice job with Fran Drescher!" "Thanks, pal. You weren't so bad with John Tesh." We sleep in triple-decker bunk beds and snore in unison like the Three Stooges.
Playboy: You talk more about Letterman than your NBC teammate Leno. O'Brien: I hate the "Leno or Letterman, who's better?" question. I can tell you that Jay has been great to me. He calls me occasionally.
Playboy: To say what? O'Brien: (Doing Leno's voice) "Hey, liked that bit you did last night." Or he'll say he saw we got a good rating. I call him at work, too. It can be a strange conversation because we're so different. Jay, for instance, really loves cars. He's got antique cars with kerosene lanterns, cars that run on peat moss. He'll be telling me about some classic car he has, made entirely of brass and leather, and I'll say, "Yeah, man, I got the Taurus with the vinyl." One thing we have in common is bad guests. There are certain actors, celebrities with nothing to say, who move through the talk show world wreaking havoc. They lay waste to Dave's town and Jay's town, then head my way.
Playboy: You must be getting some good guests. Your ratings have shown a marked improvement. O'Brien: Remember, when you're on at 12:30 the Nielsens are based on 80 people. My ratings drop if one person has a head cold and goes to bed early.
Playboy: Actually, you're seen by about 3 million people a night. Your ratings would be even higher if college dorms weren't excluded from the Nielsens. How many points does that cost you? O'Brien: I told you I'm an idiot. Now I have to do math too?
Playboy: Do you still get suggestions from NBC executives? O'Brien: Not as many. The number of notes you get is inversely proportional to your ratings.
Playboy: What keeps you motivated? O'Brien: Superstition. We have a stagehand, Bobby Bowman, who holds up the curtain when I run out for the monologue. He is the last person I see before the show starts, and I have to make him laugh before I go out. It started with mild jabs: "Bobby, you're drunk again." Bobby laughs, "Heehee."" Then it was, "Still having trouble with the wife, Bobby?" But after hundreds of shows, you find yourself running out of lines. It's gotten to where I do crass things at the last second. I'll put his hand on my ass and yell, "You fucking pervert!" Or drop to my knees and say, "Come on, Bobby, I'll give you a blow job!"
"Ha-ha. Conan, you're crazy," he says. But even that stuff wears off. Soon, I'll be making the writers work late to give me new jokes for Bobby.
Playboy: Did you plan to be a talk show host or did you fall into the job? O'Brien: I was an Irish Catholic kid from St. Ignatius parish in Brookline, outside of Boston. And that meant: Don't call attention to yourself. Don't ask for too much when the pie comes around. Don't get a girl pregnant and fuck up your life.
Playboy: Were you an alter boy? O'Brien: I wanted to be an alter boy, but the priest at St. Ignatius said, "No, no. You're good on your feet, kid," and made me a lector. A scripture reader at Mass. He was the one who spotted my talent.
Playboy: What did you think of sex in those days? O'Brien: I was sexually repressed. At 16 I still thought human reproduction was by mitosis.
Playboy: How did you get over your sexual repression? O'Brien: Who says I got over it? My leg has been jiggling this whole time.
Playboy: What were you like in high school? O'Brien: Like a crane galumphing down the hall. A crane with weird hair, bad skin and Clearasil. Big enough for basketball but lousy at it. My older brothers were better. I would compensate by running around the court doing comedy, saying, "Look out, this player has a drug addiction. He's incredibly egotistical."
I was an asshole at home, too. My little brother Justin loved playing cops and robbers, but I kept tying him up with bureaucratic bullshit. When he'd catch me, I'd say, "I get to call my lawyer." Then it was, "OK, Justin, we're at trial and you've been charged with illegal arrest. Fill out these forms in triplicate." Justin was eight; he hated all the lawsuits and countersuits. He just cried.
Playboy: Were you a class clown? O'Brien: Never. I was never someone who walked into a room full of strangers and started telling jokes. You had to get to know me before I could make you laugh. The same thing happened with Late Night. I needed to get the right rhythm with Andy and Max and the audience.
Playboy: So how did you finally learn about sex? O'Brien: My parents gave me a book, but it was useless. At the crucial moment, all it showed was a man and a woman with the bed covers pulled up to their chins. I tried to find out more from friends, but it didn't help. One childhood friend told me it was like parking a car in a garage. I kept worrying about poisonous fumes. What if the fumes build up? Should you shut off the engine?
Playboy: For all your talk about being repressed, you can be rowdy on the air. O'Brien: The show is my escape valve. When I tear off my shirt and gyrate my pelvis like Robert Plant, feigning orgasm into the microphone, that shows how repressed I am -- a guy who wants to push his sex at the lens but can only do it as a joke.
Playboy: Aren't you tempted to live it up? O'Brien: I always imagined that if I were a TV star I would live the way I pictured Johnny Carson living. Carousing, stepping out of a limo wearing a velvet ascot with a model on my arm. Now that I have the TV show, I drive up to Connecticut on the weekends and tool around in my car. I could probably join a free-sex cult, smoke crack between orgies and drive sports cars into swimming pools, and my Catholic guilt would still be there, throbbing like a toothache. Be careful. If something good happens, something bad is on the way.
Playboy: Yet you don't mind licking the supermodels. O'Brien: At one point a few of them lived in my building, women who are so beautiful they almost look weird, like aliens. To me, a woman who has a certain approachable amount of beauty becomes almost funny. It's the same with male supermodels. They look like big puppets. So while I admire their beauty I probably won't be "romantically linked" with a model. I'd catch my reflection in a ballroom mirror and break up laughing.
Playboy: The horny Roy Orbison growl you use on gorgeous guests sounds real enough -- O'Brien: Oh, I've been doing that shit since high school. It just never worked before.
Playboy: Your father is a doctor, your mother an attorney. What do they think of their son the comedian? O'Brien: My dad was the one who told me denial was a virtue. "Denial is how people get through horrible things," he said. He also cut out a newspaper article in which I said I was making money off something for which I should probably be treated. So true, he thought. But when I got an Emmy for helping write Saturday Night Live, my parents put it on the mantel next to the crucifix. Here's Jesus looking over, saying, "Wow, I saved mankind from sin, but I wish I had an Emmy."
Playboy: Ever been in therapy? O'Brien: Yes. I don't trust it. I have told therapists that I don't particularly want to feel good. "Repression and fear, that's my fuel." But the therapists said that I had nothing to worry about. "Don't worry Conan you will always be plenty fucked up."
Playboy: When a female guest comes out, how do you know whether to shake her hand or kiss her? Is that rehearsed O'Brien: No, and it's awkward. If you go to shake her hand and her head starts coming right at you, you have to change strategy fast. I have thought about using the show to make women kiss me, but that would probably creep out the people at home. I decided not to kiss Elton John.
Playboy: Do you get all fired up if Cindy Crawford or Rebecca Romijn does the show? O'Brien: I like making women laugh. Always have, ever since I discovered you can get girls' attention by acting like an ass. That's one of the joys of the show -- I'm working my eyebrows and going grrr and she's laughing, the audience is laughing. It's all a big put-on and I'm thinking. This is great. Here is a beautiful woman who has no choice but to put up with this shit.
But it's not always put on. Sometimes they flirt back. Sometimes there's a bit of chemistry. That happened with Jennifer Connelly of The Rocketeer.
Playboy: One guest, Jill Hennessy, took off her pants for you. Then you removed yours. Even Penn and Teller took off their pants. O'Brien: Something comes over me. It happened with Rebecca Romijn -- I was practically climbing her. Those are the times when Andy and the audience seem to disappear and it's just me and this lovely woman sitting there flirting. I keep expecting a waiter to say, "More wine, Monsieur?"
Playboy: Would you lick the wine bottle? O'Brien: It's true, there's a lot of licking on the show. I have licked guests. I have licked Andy. Comedy professionals will read this and say, "Great work, Conan. Impressive." But I have learned that if you lick a guest, people laugh. If I pick this shoe off the floor, examine it, Hmmm, and then lick it, people laugh. I learned this lesson on The Simpsons, where I was the writer who was forever trying to entertain the other writers. I still try desperately to make our writers laugh, which is probably a sign of sickness since they work for me now. Licking is one of those things that look funny.
Playboy: Johnny Carson never licked Ed McMahon. O'Brien: We are much more physical and more stupid than the old Tonight Show. Even in our offices before the show there's always some writer acting out a scene crashing his head through my door. A behind-the-scenes look at our show might frighten people.
Playboy: One night you showed a doctored photo of Craig T. Nelson having sex with Jerry Van Dyke. Did they complain about it? O'Brien: I haven't heard from them. Of course I'm blessed not to be a part of the celebrity pond. I have a television show in New York, an NBC outpost. I don't run with or even run into many Hollywood people.
Playboy: You also announced that Tori Spelling has a penis. O'Brien: I did not. Polly the Peacock said that.
Playboy: Another character you use to say the outrageous stuff. O'Brien: Polly is not popular with the network.
Playboy: You mock Fabio, too. O'Brien: If he sues me, it'll be the best thing that ever happened. A publicity bonanza: Courtroom sketches of Fabio with his man-boobs quivering, shaking his fist, and me shouting at him across the courtroom. I'm not afraid of Fabio. He knows where to find me. I'm saying it right here for the record: Fabio, let's get it on.
Playboy: Ever have a run-in with an angry celeb? O'Brien: I did a Kelsey Grammar joke a few years ago, something about his interesting lifestyle, then heard through the network that he was upset. He had appeared on my show and expected some support. At this point my intellect says, "Kelsey Grammar is a public figure. I was in the right." Then I saw him in an airport. Kelsey didn't see me at first: I could have kept walking. But there he was, eating a cruller in the airport lounge. I thought I should go over. I said hello and then said, "Kelsey, I'm sorry if I upset you." And he was glad. He looked relieved. He said, "Oh, that's OK." We both felt better.
....See my other post with the last third of the interview

2023-2024 NCM Cycle Deadlines (Dates for this cycle may vary slightly)

• 🎓 July 17: NCM Application Opens for CPS Applicants (Scholar or Not)

👏 ADVICE: Start researching QB schools early! Consider factors like weather, Greek life, diversity, student body number, distance from home, and more. Remember, if you get matched, you must attend that school, so rank schools you genuinely want to attend for four years. However, be sure not to glamorize specific schools! Looking too narrowly will limit your chances to match at a school you might’ve loved if you remained a bit more open-minded. Also, don’t feel guilty if you have 1 school or 12 schools on your match list. Everyone’s NCM process will look different. If a free education is the goal, then try to maximize your chances by applying to many, lesser competitive schools. If you have a dream school you want to match at, then don’t be afraid to stay open to RD.

• August 1: NCM Application Opens for Everyone

👏 ADVICE: The writing process is going to be EXTREMELY tedious. There will be times where you’re sitting at a blank document, waiting for an idea to suddenly hit you. Take it one step at a time! Make the process enjoyable and let your authentic personality come through. Consider using College Essay Guy's resources or pair up with a college mentor through Matriculate. Another important task you should get out of the way early is your letter of recommendations. Look for brag sheets online and give them to your teachers to help them write a strong letter.

• 🕧 September 26: NCM Application Due
• September 27: Match Agreement Form Opens
• 📋 October 12: Match Agreement Form Due

👏 ADVICE: This paper requires your signature, your parent/guardian’s signature, and your counselor’s signature. If your counselor is busy, please reach out to them early so you can get this done! If you don't manage to get it done on time, then don't worry. Questbridge tends to be lenient with deadlines. But this, of course, isn't ideal. Don't add more stress to the process!

• 🔥 October 18: NCM Finalists Announced

👏 ADVICE: Congratulations if you’re a finalist! If you weren’t selected, consider applying to schools through the Common App and through Questbridge Regular Decision. Notice how there’s about two weeks to write all of your supplements. Try to prevent this time crunch by preparing in advance. Check out this document for the supplementals of the past years! You can also look at your college’s website to see if they posted their supplementals in advance (this usually happens in the summer). Make sure to only look at the school’s supplemental essays for Questbridge people. Colleges will usually require NCM applicants to write less because the initial NCM application has a lot of writing already.

• November 1: Ranked Colleges Supplemental Essays, Financials, Test Scores (if you're submitting), etc. Due

👏 ADVICE: Don’t wait until the last minute to do your financials (FAFSA and CSS Profile). There have been countless web maintenance delays for FAFSA this year, so try to do it as soon as possible. The FAFSA should open on October 1, 2024, and you will be using 2023 tax forms to fill out the information. Additionally, you will be filing for the 2025-2026 FAFSA Form because that’ll be when you’re in college. You and your parents will need to create individual accounts too. You will fill out the FAFSA for yourself even if you do or don’t file taxes, and your parents/guardians will file their own taxes (or you can do it for them). It will take a while for FAFSA information to be sent to schools, so don’t delay! The CSS Profile is a more thorough version of FAFSA. There’s also an extension of the CSS Profile called IDOC which is a website where you will upload your tax forms in the form of images. The CSS Profile and IDOC will take time to send your documents as well, so be sure to get it done early. 👏 ADVICE pt. 2: It's going to be hard to take your mind off of December 1, but try to fill up your schedule with the things and people you love! Avoid burning out by practicing healthy habits such as exercising, sleeping 8 hours a day, meditating, journaling, etc.

• 👀 December 1: Match Day

👏 ADVICE: You’ve made it through the process! Whether or not you matched, be proud of your hard work. It’s easy to tie your self-worth to QB and college admissions, but remember that your value isn’t defined by this. If you qualified for QB but didn't match, you’ll likely qualify for amazing aid or a full ride outside of the NCM. Consider using QB Regular Decision and/or the Common App to apply to more colleges you love. You’ll find success regardless of where you go, create great memories, and meet amazing people. Stay positive and keep persevering like you always have!
Post inspired by SpiralKim72's advice for the 23-24 cycle (Check out their profile! They clarify many aspects of the QB process and give great advice from interviews to the RD process).
Additional, but Maybe Slightly Outdated Resources:

• Questbridge College Partners List
• Questbridge NCM Application Components
• Questbridge Partner Admission Rates (overall, not limited to just QB admit rates)

I just need to vent. I don't understand. I'm in a happy and healthy relationship now. I have blocked my ex on all platforms for the sake of my relationship, mental health, and well-being.
A month ago, he reached out to me via email (I didn't know he had this email), apologizing for not giving me closure and reminiscing about our relationship. I gave him my number to hash things out, and he told me he was still in love with me. Why, after three years and now that I'm in a new relationship, does he tell me this? For the past three years, he told me he didn't love me anymore. I've moved on and realized from my current boyfriend what a relationship is supposed to be like.
I've told him multiple times that being in contact is not possible as my current partner is uncomfortable with it, and I believe that it's best for things to stay this way. He agreed to stop contacting me and said he was going to see a therapist to try and move on from me.
Fast forward to this month, he emails me again, telling me how he's having a difficult time. I decided to write him a long email giving him resources and tools to use with therapy like journaling, mindfulness, helplines, etc. I also reflected on the good and the bad in our relationship. I shared what my current relationship is like now and apologized for my own mistakes and any that might have hurt him. I wished him the best and hoped he would work on himself, heal, and move on. I told him it would be the last he'd hear from me and asked him not to contact me again.
Now he's made a new email, accusing me of always blaming him, twisting everything, and blocking him while he never blocked me. He says that now, when he's struggling to move on, I've completely blocked him on everything, telling him not to contact me again.
I just feel lost. I blocked him for my own mental health and well-being. This was the advice of my therapist, counsellor, and many others on here. Blocking him was meant to help me move on because being in contact prevented me from doing so. In the past, trying to talk things out always led to fights and I would always feel mentally drained.
Was it wrong for me to block him? Am I not communicating myself clearly enough? What am I doing wrong? I've tried my best to communicate with him. I've tried to give him support in my last letter despite what I've gone through with him. When will it stop? Will it ever stop? Will I ever find peace? He's the one who broke up with me 3 years ago, so why can't he just leave me alone?
I don't want any bad blood. I just want him to find his own peace and healing without me.

I've never written a referral letter before.
I'm trying to write one for someone who is super adaptable. He's always worked officially as a forklift driver, but he's crazy good at construction and maintainance too.
To put it straight, his whole official resume is forklift. He's trying to apply for a building maintenance roll (significant pay increase). He's been working on flipping a house. He re-sealed the basement, installed drywall, trim, painted and re-carpeted. New toilets, all new faucets. Replaced floor coverings (carpet to laminate), even got the permits to do repairs to the subfloor and did the repairs himself and they were approved by the township. Right now he's replacing all the ceiling fans.
If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have known how to shut the water off when we had a water line to the coffee maker break at 1 a.m. (I'm third shift, he's applying to the company I work at where his lesson for me when he replaced his faucets stopped the water from continuously leaking at my company so I could go get help without worrying about water damage. I was alone in the office when this broke. His lesson saved us a lot of money).
What else can I put down that sounds professional aside from adaptability? How many points do I highlight? Do I include that what he taught me saved us money from repairing water damage? He ended up helping my company with what he taught me, that's kind of important.

Exfiltration

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[First] [Previous] [Next]
Mik
“Papa Juliet calling Mike Whiskey. I’m in. Guy says she’s in room one-zero-three-eight, do you copy?”
“I copy one zero three eight,” Mik replied quietly. She looked up at the room numbers and noted that she was at least on the correct floor. “Going there now, over.”
It was a good thing that even evil corporate secret facilities had their safety procedures. As she jogged along the corridor in what she thought was the right direction, she spotted an evacuation map of the facility, complete with room numbers. Studying the plan for a moment, she traced out a path, memorised it, then took off running.
Although people fresh from Earth often complained how hard it was to maintain a good running speed on Mars due to lack of traction, Mik had no such problems indoors. The floors weren’t the best for cornering on, but she saw no issue in running halfway up the wall to kick off in the direction she wanted to go. Her enhanced vestibular systems aided considerably in keeping her balance, no matter where her feet were placed at the time.
Now that she knew where she was going, she reached the corridor that she needed in less than a minute. But then she encountered something that wasn’t a barrier as such, but certainly caused her to think twice about what was going on.
At first glance, there was little to worry about. What she’d found was an airlock of a make and model ubiquitous to half the buildings on Mars. Given that the outside atmosphere of Mars could only be survived by one person currently on the surface of the planet, the presence of an airlock would normally have been easy to explain away as an essential safety precaution.
What gave Mik pause was the fact that the airlock was inside the building, and in fact was between her and the person she was here to rescue. This made her ask herself a very specific question:
Which side of this airlock is expected to be depressurised, and why?
There was only one logical answer, and it did nothing for her peace of mind. If she was reading the signs correctly, the person behind Dani’s abduction and subsequent imprisonment was willing to set up a lethal situation for their captive, as a last-ditch screw-you to Mik. They probably wouldn’t kill her immediately, but if Mik tried to get her out, it would go from zero to fatal in very little time indeed. And in fact, if the airlock was code-locked on the other side, it would also serve to lock Mik into the area, allowing Cyberon to simply walk in and scoop her up at their leisure.
If I keep going, I’ll be trapped and she dies no matter what. Cyberon security’s probably on the way, so Pete might not be able to get us both out in time. If we pull back, they might decide she’s no use as bait, and kill her anyway. Bad end, do not want.
Okay, so I’ve seen the trap. How do I turn it around?
*****
Dani
The cell was cold, the floor hard to sleep on, and the ration bars they’d been feeding her tasted like salted sawdust, but that wasn’t the worst part. Dani had been uncomfortable before; some of the places her father had worked had lacked many civilised creature comforts. But she’d had friendly company and she’d been able to keep track of what was going on in the larger world.
Here, she had neither.
She wasn’t sure if it was deliberate torture or just a total lack of caring about her wellbeing, but the lighting outside the Perspex panel that fronted her cell never varied. Neither dim nor overbright, it was just constant. They’d taken her watch at the same time as they’d sequestered the rest of her belongings and shoved her into an anonymous coverall, so she had no way of keeping track of time, except by way of her biological rhythms and the delivery of the food rations (which in itself was worryingly irregular, like they kept forgetting that she needed to eat).
Even the Suit, as she called him (she didn’t have a name for him, but she had a huge number of highly unflattering descriptors for him) hadn’t shown up in some time. At first, she’d been able to mark off the days in her mind by his visits, either gloating over how Mik was going to walk straight into his trap or attempting to interrogate her about Mik’s habits and potential actions. She’d done her best to give him no joy either way, which in hindsight was possibly a mistake, as he didn’t visit at all these days.
All she got was a guy walking past the cell every few hours and glancing in to make sure she hadn’t miraculously dismantled the lock and spirited herself out of the building. They didn’t talk to her, even when she called out and tried to open lines of communication. She knew they could hear her, but their faces just closed off and they walked on.
It had been days, maybe weeks, she was sure of that much. A month, even two? She couldn’t be sure. A couple of times she dreamed she’d been rescued, that the wall of the cell had just opened up and she’d walked out; the emotional crashes, when she woke and discovered the reality of the situation, had been devastating. Pretty soon, she figured, she’d be hallucinating even when she was awake, and it just wouldn’t matter anymore.
So, when she saw Mik herself step into view in front of the cell, wearing her usual t-shirt and jeans and heavy boots, along with a badass-looking long-coat, she didn’t even react at first. Either it was someone else and her eyes were playing tricks on her, or she was asleep and dreaming the whole thing, or her mind had finally cracked. Didn’t matter; Mik wasn’t there.
She waited for the apparition of her friend to morph into one of the guards or to evaporate altogether, or maybe rip the door off its runners, but none of that happened. Instead, Mik examined the lock and frowned. Then she pulled out a notebook and pencil—pens had a really hard time working in vacuum, so Mik always went old-school when it came to passing notes—and scribbled something.
Dani had never been able to read a damn thing in a dream. The words and letters always came jumbled up, probably because reading was a logical thing and dreams were by their nature illogical. So, she was fully prepared for whatever the note showed to be pure gibberish.
Instead, to her surprise, it was totally readable. NO AIR OUT HERE. NEED U TO PREP FOR DECOMPRESS, CLOSE EYES. WILL OPEN DOOR, GET U OUT. DO U TRUST ME?
She read it through several times, trying to make sense of it. Mik was still standing there, waiting, though she’d glanced from side to side a couple of times. The writing on the notepad was holding steady, not changing to something else.
Is this real? Is this actually happening?
Tears sprang to her eyes as she first began to allow herself to consider the concept. She tried to keep herself under control; every other time she’d believed she was getting out, her expectations had been cruelly dashed. But she could read the note. She could read the note.
Climbing painfully to her feet—there was little chance for exercise in the cell, and the nutrient bars didn’t leave her with much in the way of excess energy—she went over to the Perspex panel that served as a door. “Are you real?” she asked, putting her hand on the panel. “Are you really there?”
Mik nodded, then flipped a page and scribbled some more. IM REAL. IM GETTING U OUT OF THERE. DO U TRUST ME? Then she tore the page from the pad and dropped it.
Instead of fluttering lazily to the ground—under Martian gravity, it always took even longer than it did on Earth—it fell straight down, at the standard three point seven one metres per second per second.
Okay, that’s not something a hallucination would bring up. There’s only Martian air pressure out there. She’d had dreams of walking unprotected on the surface of Mars. The human brain couldn’t create the consequences of low air pressure out of whole cloth. That was a leap of logic that it couldn’t make.
Dani took a deep breath and nodded. “I trust you,” she said, aware that Mik was practised at reading lips. “I just don’t know how long I can go without air.” Attempting to hold one’s breath in vacuum or near-vacuum, she knew, was a recipe for ruptured lungs. “Should I hyperventilate?”
Instead of writing more notes, Mik made the hand gesture for ‘no time’, then pointed at her first note. Dani nodded, then stepped back. Closing her eyes, she opened her mouth, working her jaw to allow her ear canals to connect to her sinus cavities.
She heard it when the door began to open, the thin high screech of escaping air, deepening to a rumble as the air pressure dropped. Her ears popped, then popped again as she kept working her jaw. Air flowed out of her lungs, then an involuntary belch joined it.
Her skin prickled and her eyes were uncomfortable behind her tightly closed eyelids, but she didn’t dare open them. Micro-pressure did nasty things to exposed eyeballs; they didn’t pop (that was something even the stupidest of space dramas didn’t do anymore), but the sheen of tears on the exterior surface had been known to freeze or evaporate, neither of which was good for the eye.
Pressure was building unpleasantly in her gut, and she did her best to relax her sphincters. Another burp was followed by a small frrrt, and she silently blessed the fact that the nutrient bars were designed for vacuum workers, who didn’t want to share their EVA suits with abdominal gases.
And then a mouthpiece was pressed over her face, and air flowed into her lungs. Reaching up, she grabbed the pony bottle, amazed that she’d actually forgotten how Mik carried it everywhere. Once she had it, Mik let go and grabbed her arm, urging her forward.
Under the guidance of her friend, she stumbled out of the cell then turned left. They moved as fast as she was able, though she had to keep her eyes closed. How Mik had even gotten there, and what the plan was to get her out, she wasn’t sure, but she trusted Mik implicitly.
They went down the length of one corridor and then another one, much farther than she would’ve been able to go with her eyes closed and no air. Alone, she would’ve stumbled aimlessly until she died. Then they entered what she figured was an airlock, the supposition borne out when a door closed behind them and the air pressure started rising again.
When she felt it was safe, she opened her eyes and handed the pony bottle back to Mik. “Th-thanks,” she rasped, her voice rusty from disuse. “You came back. I didn’t know if you would.”
“It’s been a month, let me tell you,” Mik said lightly. “I had to get reinforcements, but here I am.”
Something clanked at floor level, and Dani looked down to see that Mik had just knocked over a bucket. “Okay,” she asked. “What’s a bucket doing in an airlock?”
“Holding the inner door open so nobody can remotely shut it behind me,” Mik explained. The other airlock door opened, and she stepped out. “C’mon, we’ve got places to be.”
Dani followed along. Her joints still felt creaky and stiff, but she was damned if she was going to slow Mik down now. “Where’d you go for reinforcements? Tharsis? Wouldn’t they just send stern memos to Cyberon or something?”
“Yeah, that’s why I didn’t go to them.” As Mik and Dani turned a corner, Dani saw two of the guards on the ground, along with a third one in an EVA suit, and a fourth person in an EVA suit standing over them with a metal bar in his hand. “Hey, we’re ready to suit up and go.”
The standing man flipped up his faceplate. “Good. The suit’s just outside. I’ll keep watching these clowns while you go get it.”
“On it.” Mik tipped Dani a wink, then ducked out through the airlock. A moment later, she was back, bringing a suit in Dani’s size.
“I was wondering how you were going to get me out of here.” Dani didn’t waste time, starting to haul on the suit even as she addressed Mik. She didn’t know the guy, but if Mik trusted him, she was willing to as well.
“It was either this or terraform the whole planet so you could just walk out normally, and terraforming was taking too long.” Mik eyed the guards unfavourably. “How badly were these assholes treating you?”
“They didn’t hit me or anything,” Dani said. “Just fed me and watched me. It was their boss who said all the nasty stuff about how you were gonna fall in his trap.”
“Mm.” Mik looked like she didn’t want to drop the matter, but the guy put his hand on her shoulder and she subsided. “Okay, then. Ready to go?”
“Nearly.” Dani locked her helmet in place, then triggered the oxygen flow. The telltales showed up green, so she nodded and gave the thumb-to-forefinger all-good gesture.
The guy with Mik flipped down his faceplate, and all three of them stepped into the airlock. It was a tight squeeze but Mik was skinny, and Dani didn’t take up much room even in a suit. “We’re going to have to move fast,” the guy said over her radio. “I have a feeling Cyberon security is incoming with everything they’ve got.”
“Yeah, no crap.” That was definitely Mik. “Just by the way: Pete, meet Dani; Dani, meet Pete.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Pete added. “Lieutenant Pete Janssen, Orbital Rescue, at your service.”
Even while Dani was trying to figure out what an Orbital Rescue pilot was doing on the surface of Mars, the airlock opened and they hustled out. The surrounding terrain was the very opposite of flat, and Dani had no idea which way to go. And then Mik’s eyes opened wide and she turned her head, looking up into the sky.
“Lander,” she said. “I can hear it coming in.”
Dani had very little experience with matters like this, but she had an idea what was coming next anyway. “They’ll be bringing in ground troops, won’t they? Looking for us?”
“Got it in one.” Mik started off into the rocks. “We have to get to the ’hopper before they catch up with us.”
“Copy that, princess.” Pete hooked one arm under Dani’s. “Let’s get moving.”
Dani had thought the nightmare was over but as she discovered, it was just beginning. Even with Pete and Mik helping her up and over the obstacles in their way, she quickly ran out of energy. Fear-generated adrenaline was well and good, but it had its limits, and her arms and legs were soon powerless noodles.
“Leave me,” she begged. “They’ll catch you, and this’ll all be for nothing.”
“And if we leave you, it’ll also be for nothing,” Mik told her grimly. “I had to do it once. It’s not happening a second time.”
“Take her,” Pete said. “I’ll go and draw them off. Even if they catch me—”
Mik cut him off. “If they can’t use you to get us back, they’ll kill you. You take her, you’re stronger than me. If they’ve got guns, which I’m pretty sure they do, they’re less likely to shoot at me than you. I’ll meet you at the ’hopper.”
Not giving Pete the option to argue, she let go Dani’s arm and vanished into the chaotic terrain.
“Wait—” began Pete, then swore. “Dammit! Okay fine, she’s not giving us a choice. Let’s get you to the ’hopper.”
As they moved off, Dani had to ask the question. “Why did you call her princess, earlier?”
“Well, she’d just told us her story, and I made a joke …”
*****
Mik
The security troopers were good at moving in EVA suits, and they definitely had guns. There were also a lot of them, which was going to make this tricky as hell. Still, Mik had a few advantages on her side, some of which they hopefully didn’t know about.
She peered around a rocky outcrop at a bunch of them, who were conferring over some kind of digital map. If they wanted to use that thing to make any kind of straight path through this labyrinth of Martian terrain, they had to be dreaming. The trouble was, if they just pushed forward en masse, they could comb every last hiding place, no matter how tricky she was. Which was why she had to pull them away from the ‘logical thinking’ mindset and into the ‘chase me’ mindset.
Picking up a friable-looking rock, she stepped into view, then hurled her missile directly at the faceplate of one of the troopers facing her. It burst on impact, leaving a cloud of dust behind. Before they could bring their guns to bear, she ducked out of sight again, heading down a twisting, turning alleyway of rock. Her natural agility and balance made up for the uneven footing, allowing her to move much faster than the troopers behind her.
The call would be going out now, converging every security trooper in the area on that spot. This included any of them that might’ve been on course to discover the rille where she and Pete had hidden the rock-hopper. If they were chasing her, they weren’t going after anyone else.
She paused after a minute or so of movement, listening hard and with her hands on the rocks on either side. Sound didn’t travel well in this atmosphere, though her ears were attuned to pick up what little there was. Vibrations through the ground were sometimes more useful, and she fancied she could feel the security troops coming her way, just as much as she could hear the scuffing and stumbling among the chaotically tumbled boulders.
The next time she nailed someone in the faceplate with a rock, one of the troopers shot at her. It didn’t come close enough to worry her, though the whole experience of being shot at in general was a new and unpleasant one. She got her target, though, dusting the man plus his comrades with the ever-present fines. The fewer of her pursuers who could see properly, the better.
And then Pete’s voice crackled in her mastoid earpiece. “We’re at the ’hopper. Want a pickup?”
“No, don’t,” she replied, talking quietly into the mouthpiece even though she knew the troopers couldn’t hear her. “They’ll shoot you out of the sky. Hold tight, I’m coming to you.”
A dozen troopers looked around in surprise as she jumped out of concealment almost within arm’s reach. She was holding two large rocks that she’d selected carefully, each one with the consistency of chalk. Both left her hands even before her feet hit the ground; not aimed at the troopers, they instead hit the rocks on either side. A great cloud of fines billowed over all of the troopers, but she wasn’t waiting around for it to dissipate.
There was a nice straight pathway for her to retreat down, but she didn’t take it. Instead, she ducked into the first niche she found that was barely large enough to take her, and flipped up the hood of the long-coat so that it covered her head. Thus concealed, facing the rock and holding still, she hopefully looked like part of the landscape.
She both heard and felt the rush of booted feet behind her; yelling inside their helmets so loudly that she heard that too. Thirty seconds ticked by in her head, and there were no stragglers following along. Cautiously, she peered out from behind the coat. She was alone.
By now there would be enough troopers spread through the chaotic terrain for false sightings to be happening on the regular, and in fact she heard a few random shots here and there which bore out that idea. But that wasn’t her problem, so she slipped unseen through the dragnet until she came to the rille. Jumping from foothold to foothold, she descended to where Pete and Dani were just getting settled on the rock-hopper.
“Oh, good,” Pete said. “You’re here. I was starting to worry.”
“Can we go now?” asked Dani plaintively. “I just want to get out of here.”
“We can,” Mik confirmed, scrambling up onto the rock-hopper and strapping herself into the middle seat, which had been installed by the crusty McPherson. She flicked the wake-up switch on the flight control computer (also supplied by McPherson), then activated the controls and lit off the attitude rockets. Slowly, then with more power as she fed fuel to the main rocket, the rock-hopper climbed into the air.
“Straight back up to the ship?” asked Pete hopefully.
“Not quite,” Mik said. “They’ve almost certainly got ships up there that can shoot us down if they see us coming up out of their area of interest, so we’re going to have to stay low for the moment until we get out from under their umbrella. Our best chance for doing that is to leave their turf altogether.”
Angling the rock-hopper eastward, she applied more thrust, and they shot away across the tumbled landscape.
[First] [Previous] [Next]
[A/N: And we’re coming to a head. The next chapter or two should see the end of this run of the adventures of Mik Wallace, Martian Walker. That’s not to say it’ll be the end of the story, but it’ll be the end of the origin story.]

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Basically the title. Estranged sibling is a narcissistic pseudo-“celebrity” writing a slanderous memoir about how my family was abusive and didn’t support any of their dreams, pretty classic spoiled brat turned bitter adult situation where the book is undoubtedly going to be filled with lies about people not alive to defend themselves. The book has been picked up by a publisher and through a friend working for the company I was able to get the title and synopsis pre-release, which is how I know a bit about the contents.
My question is whether I have any rights to request being left out of said book. Prior to publishing is it within reason to contact a lawyer to draft a letter asking I am left out of said memoir by name or other reference? Any advice appreciated.

I tried reposting it on another post but It wasn’t letting comment after i edited.
This is the book summary. Sorry if there are mistakes; I tried my best.
The two girls meet when Kim’s family moves next door to Wan’s family. Wan has been dreaming about a girl since she was young and realizes Kim is the girl in her dreams. Wan finds out that her dad is strangely close to Kim's dad. It happens several times, and Wan figures out they are lovers. The two Dads run away together, leaving their daughters and wives behind. Some time passes, and when they go back to school, rumors emerge about the two father run away together at their school. Wan tries to get close to Kim, but she ignores her and tries to avoid her at all costs. Wan wants to be close to someone who can understand the pain of their father leaving, and Kim is that person.
They eventually get close, but Kim and Wan makes it clear they are not friends. Wan and Kim have dreams of each other, and they do romantic things in their dreams. Some of this affects their real life because if they fight in real life, they make up in their dream world. The four friends get closer as time goes by. They have a lot of tension in their friendship. They have feelings for each other but neither of them wants to confess. Also, Kim doesn't like same-sex relationships because of her trauma of her father abandoning them for Wan's dad. This is why Wan is even more afraid to confess her feelings towards Kim. Wan, in school, one day, says that whoever is the first person to give her a gift, she will date them. After school, Wan checks the bag for the gift to see who gave it to her but cannot find it. Mon, one of the friends in their group, makes some time to talk to Wan alone. She tells Wan that another student at school saw Kim throw away the gift given to Wan on Valentine's Day! Later that day, she gifts a drawing of Wan sleeping to her ☺️ Mon (the friend questions Dawan if they like each other and asks her if Kim gave her a gift, and Dawan denies it ).
Dwan is planning to tell Kimhan her feelings. In chapter 19 of the book, as she heads home for dinner, she finds that her mom is not home. So she checks to see if she's at the neighbor's house, Aunt Aey’s (Kimhans mother). She finds an unexpected scene. She sees her mother and Aunt Aey kissing each other. She keeps it a secret. This prevents Dawan and Kim Han’s romantic relationship from progressing. Wan finds it impossible to confess now because both of their father had an affair and ran away together. Now, their moms are also in love, and Kim and Wan love each other. She finds it too much to bear and doesn't want Kim to find out and get hurt again. The four friends make a time capsule where, in 10 years, they will open the letters they wrote to each other. Kim and Wan write letters, confessing their feelings to each other, and leave them in the time capsule.
Time passes by, and Dawan becomes a famous actress. Kim works for her, and they protect each other and live together in a condo. Dawan insists they live together to prevent Kimhan from discovering the truth about their moms. Dawan knows her mom and Aunt Aey suffered after their husbands left them and doesn't want to separate them because she knows they are in love. Wan doesn't want to take her mom's happiness away. Eventually, Kimhan meets a man named Mawhin. Kim introduces Mawhin to Wan as her boyfriend. She is jealous but cannot complain because she has had boyfriends in the past as well. The difference is that when Wan went on the dates with her ex boyfriends, she takes Kimhan along with her on her dates—leaving the boyfriends as the third wheels🤣. Wan's ex-bfs always gave her an ultimatum to choose between them (Wan’s bf’s) and Kim. Dawan always chose Kim, and her boyfriends broke up with her. Wan has never slept with her ex-boyfriends, and when they tried to get her drunk to have sex with her, Kim always rescued her. Mawim Wants to marry Kim Han. Mawhin has a conversation with Dawan, asking her if he should go ahead and ask Kimhan to marry him. Mawhin wants to know if Dawan has feelings For Kim, telling her that he knows how Kim feels for her and wants to see if Dawan also feels the same for Kim. Making sure he can safely propose to Kim with out Dawan getting in the way. Mawhin asks this in an indirect way. Dawan understands, but she is still in denial or doesn't dare to confess the truth about her feelings for Kim. It's finally Time to open the time capsule. Wan goes before the friend Groups goes together to retrieve the time capsule. She secretly steals the letter she wrote, confessing her feelings for Kimhan. When all the friends go retrieve it, Kim hands the letter to Wan. Days pass, and Wan still does not dare to open the letter Kim wrote to her 10 years ago. Kim calls Dhawan and asks if she read the letter, and Wan says yes and asks what she thinks. (But Wan still has not read the letter) Kim wants to know what she thinks. Dahwan responds she has no opinion on it. So before Kimhan ends the call, she goes silent and tells Wan, “It's time for me to let go”. On Kim's wedding day, Wan finally reads the letter. It reads:
A Dahwan, If you're reading this, it means ten years have passed. I've spent a long time contemplating whether I should write to you about this. But by the time you read it, ten years will have gone by, and we will probably laugh because we will have grown and matured.
Among all my friends, you are the one I love the most. You are the best person who will always hold a special place in my heart, and no one can replace you. If I were to tell you that we were so close that I dreamt about you, would you think it's strange? I saw you even before we became friends.
In my dreams...
For as long as I can remember, I've had a friend in my dreams. It's a completely blue and white world. There's a big tree and a river, and the surroundings change over time, though I don't know why. I never knew if you truly existed. Every time I woke up, I would forget who that friend was.
Until we met in reality. That girl from my dreams turned out to be you.
We did many things... Ah, I don't know how to put it into words. Let's just say they were very good dreams. Every time I dreamt, I didn't want to wake up. But if I didn't wake up, I would regret not being able to go to school and come home to you, just like we do.
You were always with me. And now, it turns out that you're always in my thoughts and in my heart. You're a friend, a big sister, a little sister, and sometimes a pain in the ass. But I love everything about you.
I think I'm in love with you... Even though I don't like deviating from heterosexuality because of our parents, you are my exception. I love you for who you are. I don't care if you're a man or a woman. But I don't know if, after ten years, when this letter is opened, I will still feel the same.
If either of us already has a lover, read this letter and laugh awkwardly with each other.
But for now, as I write this letter, this is how I truly feel. And if what I feel in ten years is still the same, and you feel the same way, let me know.
Dhawan, I dream of you.
End of letter.
After Dhawan reads the letter, she rushes to Kim's wedding ceremony and enters when Kim is getting ready for the ceremony. Dhawan tells her, “Kim Han, I also dream of you”! They confess to each other their love. Just as the wedding is about to start, paparazzi and new stations are waiting for the couple to get married. Wan takes and escapes with Kim together. They run away to a hotel, And Kim and Wan spend the wedding night together. News goes out to the public that a famous actress took the bride and escaped with her, embarrassing the rich groom.
There is more to the story, but they have a happy ending

My partner currently lives on his friend's property of 2.5 acres in Northern California. He lives in an apartment on top of the garage which is also his to use. They offered us the opportunity to expand the apartment/garage into a bigger living space to accommodate our family (just me and my daughter), so three people total. We are able to add on to the existing building and essentially make our "dream home" as we would never want to move.
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