Senior shirt slogans 2011

best. shirt. ever.

2024.05.16 06:23 funeralmourners best. shirt. ever.

i am so thrilled that a 1972-2023 morris family vacation tradition senior trip shirt now belongs to me! cant wait to wear this everywhere i go.
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2024.05.16 06:14 CompetitiveSwan8766 Answer this question if you are fan of CR7

Answer this question if you are CR7 fan. what do you prefer, Manchester t-shirt from 2008 or Real Madrid t-shirt from 2011/2012 ?
submitted by CompetitiveSwan8766 to SoccerNoobs [link] [comments]


2024.05.16 05:15 Crosswinds7334 Vent/Rant about customer who might be the reason I quit

Hello everyone this is my first reddit post but I am literally that mad. This lady just came into my store wanting to pick up an order that she had placed 2 hours before literally 15 minutes before closing. I told her that it would be ready tomorrow (as the confirmation said) or we could cancel the order and she could buy it now. She got all kinds of pissed off and called me a b**** and walked off saying she was going to get the shirts anyway and when she got back I was going to have to figure it out. She then demanded a manager when she got back (I'm a keyholdeassistant manager) and when I told her I was a manager she told me to get a "f***ing better one. So I called over the more senior keyholder who freaking rolled over for her! I was minutes from telling her she needed to leave and try again tomorrow. And in the end they still ended up canceling the order and just buying the shirts. I am so angry and I feel like I don't get paid enough to be spoken to like that ya know? I also feel like Joanns attracts these types of people. I have been yelled at before but this is the time that may have just broken the camels back. Anyway thanks for listening to my rant!
submitted by Crosswinds7334 to joannfabrics [link] [comments]


2024.05.16 04:45 Low_Object_8041 What should I do if i really like someone who I think would never like me back?

Okay I really like this one boy at school (we’re both seniors in HS). We have no classes together and we haven’t talked since last year (jr year we sat together and had a good time). We’re still friends?!?!?(sort of like i said we haven’t talked in a while). And whenever i see him i don’t say hi or wave or even smile. I act like he doesn’t exist to me. Sometimes i feel like i catch him looking(but i could very much just be delusional)I really like him and i really want to talk to him but idk what to say. Especially since we haven’t talked and he’s a pretty reserved and quiet guy ( I am not. I’m very chatty, maybe too chatty) I don’t know if he likes me( even as a friend) and i don’t want to ask for him number because i’m scared ( i already have his IG he followed me back) but like i said i rlly like him. We are both graduating soon and i was thinking he wait until then, but i want to do it now?!!? I guess i just don’t know what to say to even be friends when we haven’t talked all year and i’ve acted like he doesn’t exist( because he makes me nervous and i’m scared) somebody help, pleaseeee. Write me a script or something and tell me how to deal with rejection. I’m not ugly i think if i were to be honest with myself i’m prettier than average but not pretty enough to be gorgeous. He’s a skinner guy and ima thicker girl(wear a M-Xl depending on the shirt) My body isn’t the best i know that, it’s been through a lot because of some medical issues i’ve had since childhood. I feel like i’m not his type either and if i were to date him i’d be an experiment. I’ve seen his type and his type isn’t me but he’s never lasted with any of them so….. idk. maybe it means something. I just need some advice. Everyone tells me to just go for it but i’m scared of rejection because of past experiences.
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2024.05.16 00:44 chainsaw1960 What are the most "cultish" aspects of Mormonism? I'll go first.

The whole white shirt thing. I grew up at a time when people used to wear colored shirts to church. The fact that general authorities enter a room based on seniority, The whole hero worship of the beloved profit, Don't stand up until Bednar stands, Then of course the temple!
submitted by chainsaw1960 to exmormon [link] [comments]


2024.05.16 00:25 Dangerous-Ad3495 50F Failure trying to rebuild, advice?

I’m very depressed and low currently - I don’t need Reddit Cares or a referral. I need solid advice from post-menopausal women and other folks 50+ I have asked for advice in some subs and being a relatively regular Redditor I did not expect the anger and mean responses. If you have a mean response, please choose instead not to respond.
For those willing to give solid advice: I am on the verge of what could be a new chaptephase of life and I want to prepare now to enter it well and rebuild myself through it.
I am currently unemployed, this most recent period of unemployment has been 5 months. I am in week 3 of a 6 week recovery from a total abdominal hysterectomy. The week prior to my surgery I took a 5 day in person Level 1 RV tech service class co-sponsored by RV Technical Institute & RV Women’s Alliance - both of which I learned about via Reddit. Apparently there is high demand for RV techs and while the entry salary is $40-50K when you are certified you can make 6 figures (entry and later have 401K match - this is important to know later on). They work M-F 40 hours, no weekends. Day 4 of class I was verbally offered a job - they are waiting on my doctors clearance to work. I loved my time meeting these folks and learning the industry. I passed the class and its exam, and the job offer company offered to pay for the remainder of my certification.
I applied to take the Level 1 class because I want to RV part-time. I don’t yet own an RV, I watch a lot of YouTube & camped about 3 times in my adult life. I love being outdoors, I wanted this to become a post-retirement hobby. I’m thinking Class B van. When I became unemployed, I considered what are the best opportunities of things I enjoy to make lifelong income?
As this was happening a statewide nonprofit offered me a job right away - I applied for one job and they considered me for 3 roles, they are putting me in the highest paying role of the 3 (about $80K, 401K employer match, fully remote but must reside in-state). I am happy they are excited about hiring me but super leery due to my recent past. This job is in my career field and a very different role. 2024 is my 31st year in my career. Almost 4 years ago, the onset of severe perimenopause symptoms upended my entire life. I had just left my job of longest employment of 8 years (began at 55K, left at $68K) for another job in the same organization that paid $115K and seemed like a reach. It was, I wasn’t a good fit and I quit 8 months later. Over my 8 months unemployment without benefits I decided to sell my house I’d owned & lived in 7 years to a broker, allowing me to break even and move out quickly (I had no help moving & moved myself). I took another job as I moved in with family, that job ($70K) would have been perfect but the org foundemy boss was not willing to do what was needed and necessary to make the job manageable and practical. I quit 8 months later and was able to secure unemployment benefits.
The new statewide nonprofit job asked me candidly about my last job -I was honest about my shortcomings & contributions, as well as the environment. I encouraged them to contact my references, who know my shortcomings and how a truly developmental environment would aid me in finally overcoming them. They are still excited to finalize the job offer. I expect they will by this Friday & then I will contact the RV company declining their job offer. But, I want to stay close to RV’ing.
I also am launching a lifelong side business based off of lessons learned from what I most enjoyed about my career in community development - I will soft launch in June with a hard launch planned in early 2025, it’s a virtual space as I want my work from now on to be home-based and/or fully remote; and I am getting through these tough baby “how to start an LLC in my state” baby steps.
I am never married, no kids. I last dated in 2004. I had a 17 year FWB 2004-2022. I tried an international non-denominational church on and off from 1996-2002, 2011-2014, and 2020-2023. I found that church isn’t really prepared to serve or engage older folks so I am not sure I’ll return & I am doubting joining any church as a senior single.
I am the youngest sibling but the one charged with being responsible for my immediate family. My parents, divorced, are 80 & 82. My next oldest sibling is 58. The three of them are chronically ill. I am healthy & trying my best to stay that way and improve it. My older sibling has lived with one parent for about 4-5 years. I’ve been here just over 1 year. I plan to move out into a housing cooperative apartment ASAP (if approved, their “rent” is a fraction of traditional rent).
I spent my life’s savings & retirement the past 4 years to now. I believe having a community of support will be crucial as I age - if I become sick where I cannot work, there is no one to support me. I never have had friends - I have many acquaintances & 1 friend of 30 years. I have never dated more than 2 years but almost all my exes tried to befriend me after apologizing to me about our relationship. I can think of 3 men whom if I said yes to dating them my life would have been different but I simply did not want to & it’s hard to regret that. I do not believe someone will emerge to date now whom I will be attracted to, who actively wants to be healthy & will be with me in my healing into my best self. That makes me sad and holds me back.
I do not want to be sad so much or depressed so often - it comes from never belonging. I am not perfect, I know my flaws & I try to be honest about them as I work on them (learned that as I began my career & never stopped). But I failed in my view, I don’t have a life where I feel whole & fulfilled. All I have written here are my attempts in progress to rebuild not just my income and life’s savings, but to do so as I build my best life. I tried my best and nothing worked out. I’m taking things slower than I have and I ask myself if what I am doing brings me freedom, peace & joy.
How should I change my view/my mindset as I rebuild? Other specific advice?
submitted by Dangerous-Ad3495 to AskOldPeopleAdvice [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 20:35 Off-Brand_Observer travel fit

travel fit
travel fit at the Berlin airport
Shoes — current szn RO Ramones Pants — black semi-waxed RO Denim Shirt — ksubi button shirt from like 2011 idr details Jacket — RO waxed denim worker jacket w leather sleeves
submitted by Off-Brand_Observer to malefashion [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 18:03 Burton_18218 Porter CCW?

I’m thinking of getting a new 1911/2011 carry pistol and trying to decide between the ported version and the non ported version. How many of you have a ported pistol and do close quarters work or firing close to the body. I have the Bul armory 4.25 tac pro which is ported and when in a short sleeve shirt I can sometimes feel stuff hitting my arm. Firearm comes with ports at the 2-3 and 10-11 position.
submitted by Burton_18218 to handguns [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 17:26 ThickInstance2976 My time as a Jehovah's witness

This is a long story. Sorry in advance.
Here's a little background. I'm 20 Male, and living in the US. I've been in the truth since I could remember. Some of my memories aren't the best. Some are good as well.
I think being a witness is hard especially when we're kids. When I was 7, I wanted a action figure set of ben 10 toys. It was around Christmas time and I had a glimmer of hope for a big Christmas tree with presents. I know it sounds dumb, but I was 7. I had went to the mall and just wanted a Christmas miracle. I woke up on Christmas day and ran downstairs. There was nothing there except a gray light from the windows.
Another time when I was 8 was when I got invited to a birthday party. It was to a trampoline park, and I was excited. I ran home and handed the invitation to my parents. The invite came in a nice goodie bag with sweets. My parents took the bag, threw all the contents inside, ripped the invite up and threw it away too. I got a lecture about birthdays and such. As time grew, my love of birthdays died slowly and painfully. Like someone took my joy and slit its throat, my hope in birthdays and such died a painful death, slowly bleeding out.
When I was at school, parties sucked. I couldn't celebrate birthdays. When my classmates had birthdays, I wasn't allowed to have any of the snacks. I couldn't have cake, brownies, or cookies if it was associated with the birthday. I grew up not being excited for it at all. I felt numb on my last birthday. All I did was drive around aimlessly while doing errands. I think I got a new shirt? But I just stopped loving birthdays. When the class had any holiday party, I wasn't allowed to be there. I was sent away to one of the following places:
  1. Hallway
  2. School Library
  3. Cafeteria
  4. Front office
A small consolation was that the librarian would let me play on the computers, but most of the time I did homework early or just read books. I slowly saw more of the world, and it opened my eyes. I think that woke me up was when I was starting middle school. I met people who were LBGTQIA+, and I saw that not all people who weren't witnesse were bad. I questioned it more and more over the years.
When I was in high school, I got in trouble for unkept facial hair every week. I would get scolded every Wednesday and Sunday. When I was a senior, I discovered I am pansexual. I've had it hidden for years now. I'm afraid my parents will kick me out when I tell them I don't want to be a witness anymore. Do you know how bad it has gotten? I have done the following this in secret:
  1. Got a new cellphone with my own phone plan and transferred all my stuff over so I won't have to worry when I move out.
  2. Gotten an apartment that's insured. Paid the deposit and rent no problems.
2.B. I got the apartment partially furnished and with utilities on.
  1. Looking for a car and insurance so I can fully move out.
Being a witness sucked. I had no life. Endless Saturdays of me preaching stuff. I hated myself for speaking against the LBGTQIA+ community. I spent most of my Saturdays and Sundays in a suit, handing brochures. All I wanted was to make my parents proud, but all I've done is gotten bits of praise with scorn. I'm not a Saint by any means. I've done dumb things, and I can acknowledge that. But to tear the spirits of others...its unforgettable. When I was 19, I was talking to a friend who was a witness. When we talked, she admitted to being sexually assaulted by fellow witnesses. When she tried to tell, it fell on deaf ears.
My advice to all witness kids wanting to leave? Run. Save up and become who you are meant to be. Because if you stay, a apart of you will die, and it's not coming back. I personally saved up money from my job and had decided to move out by summers end. Thank you.
submitted by ThickInstance2976 to exjw [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 17:04 antiope333 Left and Returned?

Has anyone left the industry and returned?
I have been licensed since 2011 and worked as an esthetician at a day spa, hotel casino spa, and wax studio for 2 years following that. I went back to a 9-5 and have been climbing the ranks ever since. I went from making 24,000 at a 9-5 in 2016 to 57,000 a year…but I hate it. I feel so unfulfilled. What I LOVED about esthetics is working with the clients (when the senior esthi’s weren’t moving them from my books!) what I disliked, and made me leave the industry were the other therapists, so bitter, catty, and just straight up mean. I’ve the last 3 years I have been going back and forth with myself on whether or not I should dip my toe back in and return to the treatment room. Money is a big factor in that, it’s not like I am making gobs of money, I just feel like I have worked so hard to get where I am that I am afraid to let that go.
Has anyone experienced anything similar? Did you return? How did it go?
Any advice would be helpful.
submitted by antiope333 to Esthetics [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 16:36 maximusaemilius Empyrean Iris: 2-182 Abort? (by Charlie Star)

FYI, this is a story COLLECTION. Lots of standalones technically. So, you can basically start to read at any chapter, no pre-read of the other chapters needed technically (other than maybe getting better descriptions of characters than: Adam Vir=human, Krill=antlike alien, Sunny=tall alien, Conn=telepathic alien). The numbers are (mostly) only for organization of posts and continuity.
OC Written by Charlie Stastarrfallknightrise,
Typed up and then posted here by me.
Proofreading and language check for some chapters by u/Finbar9800 u/BakeGullible9975 u/Didnotseemecomein and u/medium_jock
Future Lore and fact check done by me.
Caution swearing!
Also, god I love you Conn… please never change!
Previous First [Next](link)
Want to find a specific one, see the whole list or check fanart?
Here is the link to the master-post.
"Both of you get your suits back on."
"What the hell is going on!?”
Richards demanded, Adam took a deep breath,
"Captain Richards that was not an opening for a discussion, that was an order. Now put the damn suit on, or I swear I will knock you out and do it myself!”
The three of them were floating in the module staring at each other, hands resting against what must have been no more than a few millimeters of aluminum.
He stared at them, and they stared back.
Adam did not break eye contact with the two, willing them to do as they were told. Chavez was the first to move, hurrying over to her space suit and struggling to pull it on in a near panic as bright lights flashed from outside. Inside his heart was pounding but he tried to remain calm for the two standing before him.
He hurried over to help Chavez pull on her gear, finally sealing the helmet in place as Richards finally moved to do the same.
Adam helped pull the hard torso over the man's head and link it to the waist before helping him pull on his gloves and, eventually the helmet. Before he let go, he kept hold of Richards by either side of the helmet staring at him through the glass,
"I promise, if you listen to me, I will keep you safe."
He kept eye contact with the other man until Richards finally nodded, and Adam let him go to float over and put on his own suit. His hands were steady, for now, but he knew as soon as the crisis was over he'd be shaking like a leaf.
If he survived…
He gritted his teeth, cursing himself for thinking like that.
He was Admiral Vir for crying out loud. He had survived far too much to go and die now.
He returned to the helm of the command module as he looked out the thick window at the lights flashing on either side of them. Despite the war that was raging around them, everything seemed so strangely quiet. There was no sound no rumbling, not even a vibration as one of the jets flew past. Despite being at the controls of the vehicle, there was nothing he could do. They only had a certain amount of fuel to get them to the lunar surface, and if he wasted any of it at all, they would be either caught in orbit, or miss the moon entirely.
He had to keep his cool.
Another bright burst of light lit the window to his right. This one was closer this time.
His heart leaped up into his throat.
Richards and Chaves joined him buckling into their seats.
"What is going on?”
Richards demanded again, his mike distant and tinny with the sound of very old technology.
"I believe Anti-Alliance forces are attempting to assassinate me. They have been trying for months now, and I think they are being encouraged by very powerful members of the government."
They watched as another set of ships zoomed past.
He saw a flash of a silhouette, just enough to know that one of them was a Thunderhawk and the other was a silver Rundi drone.
It confirmed his worst fears. The Chairwoman had been behind this the whole time!
[…]
Red nearly collided with the rocket. The Thunderhawk had pulled up the last minute, but he had almost been too late. He jerked the stick to the side, throwing up his wing just in time to avoid hitting the rocket as it made its slow way through space. He dove down on the other side forced to break off pursuit and cut in front of another Thunderhawk coming in from above. He made to look like he was going to ram them, playing a dangerous game of chicken, which he won at the last second as the other pilot panicked and cut to the left.
There were too many of them. Only five out of the original twenty had been destroyed, and he and the rest of their pilots were busy just keeping the thunder hawks away from the rocket, much less to have any time of firing at them. He had sent one of his people down to earth and one of them off towards the moon for backup. The moon was still hours away yet, so the hope that some help would be sent from them was unlikely, and even the woman he had sent down to earth's surface was cutting it close.
He didn't have much hopes that they would be able to hold out that long.
Inside the cockpit his warning lights began to blink and blair as one of the other jets got a lock on him. He rolled right to avoid them and dove down, cutting off the lock but still being pursued by those behind him. Up ahead he saw one of the silver balls erupt into flames as it was targeted by an expert hit from one of the Thunderhawk pilots.
He rolled right.
Someone else rolled left. He cut up just in time to avoid being hit and raced forward to cut off another Thunderbird that was heading directly towards the rocket.
[…]
Eris hurried down the hallway, her knees screaming as she did her very best to sprint, but despite her human anatomy, she was a little too much like a starborn.
With a cry of frustration she reached up and tore off her hoodie, throwing it to the ground and engaging her anti-gravity belt. The ribbons on her back billowed out behind her.
Light spilled in from the windows on either side of the catwalk she was now on, filling her with a buzzing energy that she could feel radiating through the ribbons like electricity. She knew from her study of starborn that they could travel at thousands of miles an hour in the vacuum of space, especially when under the power of a star. She didn't think she needed to go THAT fast, but anything would be better than what she was doing now.
As if in response to her will, she suddenly began to glide forward, picking up speed as she swooped towards the end of the hall, wind catching her in the face and roaring along her cheeks. With her starborn skin, she barely felt a thing as she raced around the corner and out of the waiting door. Two men dressed in military ACUs dived to the side as she blew past them crying out in alarm and confusion as the "Alien" floated by.
Somewhere distantly, she could sense Conn racing in the opposite direction towards the base.
Sunny and Admiral Kelly had Admiral Massie in their custody and were dragging him out into the hallway.
She blew across the open ground her ribbons snapping and billowing behind her as she did. She didn't even have time to imagine what she looked like as she roared over the open field and towards the waiting news vans which were just beginning to pack up their things. They were close to leaving, but she set out a sharp hard telepathic pulse ordering them to stop.
Compelling them to stop.
They froze in their tracks and looked up to see her coming.
Someone scrambled to turn on their camera, not sure what was going on but sure it had to be something good.
She tried not to think about what they would see as the camera flared to life following her approach.
"Make us live."
She ordered,
The news people glanced between each other in confusion,
"But no… we aren’t-"
"What are-"
She came to a sudden jolting stop before them, her billowing black hair fanning out behind her like a curling halo.
"I said, put us on air."
This time the telepathic pulse was too strong to resist. Mostly that, paired with the fact that none of them were sure they really wanted to resist. She was way too interesting to pass up.
They hurried to do what they were doing, and Eris was given just enough time to feel nervous before the camera was turned to her.
They were live.
She read it in the minds of those behind camera who she cut off as she began to speak,
"Citizens of Earth, there has been a horrible conspiracy against you. The UN president has ordered the assassination of Admiral Adam Vir and has continually attempted to sabotage the mission. Just now General Massie was taken into custody after ordering the deployment of twenty Thunderhawk’s to harass the rocket and make its destruction look like some sort of collision with space debris."
The group gawked at her as she raised her hand with the small silver device and began playing the recording.
She knew something like this would never be admissible in court. She was pretty sure it would be considered entrapment of some kind, which is why it must be heard now, before everyone, so that the actions of the president could be judged by a jury of the world where it could not be hidden by political machinations.
"Communications have been lost with Apollo 11. And it is... Well... It is likely that he is already dead..."
Her voice broke,
"No matter what happens, I need you, and this nation to understand what is happening before it gets swept under the rug. I saw it with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears and experienced their meeting in the thoughts of a man who is both xenophobic and hateful to his own humankind."
She kept talking trying to give them all the information she could, spilling thoughts she had heard in the head of the UN president and General Massie alike. Every meeting, every liaison, every name until her voice was beginning to crack.
[…]
The UN president was just standing to enter her vehicle when a slow muttering began in the crowd behind her. She turned as the ground before her went silent.
She watched as a wave ran through the people. A wave of nudging and whispering and showing off news feeds they had pulled up on their wrist implants. It wasn't long before the entire crowd was either staring down at their arms or clustered around someone else for viewing.
"What is going on?”
She wondered, turning to one of her men who was staring down at her own wrist.
"Madame president?"
He said with a look of confusion.
She could hear it now.
"Her and General Massie have ordered members of the UNSC to adjust funds in order to hide the twenty Thunderhawk’s they were squirting away for just such an event."
She hurried forward, grabbing the secret serviceman by the arm, staring at it as she watched the streaming newsfeed and the freaky white alien with the large dark eyes and flowing black hair.
"She is afraid of aliens, she wishes to isolate and eventually use humanity's superior forces to overtake trade in the galaxy, forceful if need be."
The muttering behind her had turned into an angry grumbling, and she turned to see the eyes of hundreds that turned towards her.
"Get me out of here."
She hissed. the Secret Serviceman took a step back with a look of confusion and indecision on his face.
"It's your job."
She snarled, but he just stared at her.
She hurriedly ran over to her car as the crowd began to filter in around them pressing close. A few of the secret service men pulled guns, but a large majority of them were frozen with indecision and were taken over by the crowd. She scrambled into the back seat of her vehicle and slammed the door shut screaming at the driver to get moving.
The crowd was surrounding them now, pounding at the glass.
She could hear their angry voices raised for her to be heard behind bullet proof glass.
Outside, she watched a lone figure step onto the platform where the lectern was and stare at her with its beady black eyes. The Chairwoman of the GA stood over the crowd like it's filthy alien lord.
And even though Rundi could not smile, she could swear it was smiling.
[…]
Baby K hit a rough patch of turbulence coming down from the atmosphere. She struggled with the controls as she was thrown left and right inside the cockpit of her rickety shuttle.
Donovan Red had ordered her down here to grab the UNSC, but she was so scared and full of adrenaline that she had dropped it at too steep an angle. The ride was much bumpier than it was supposed to be, and her teeth were rattling inside her head.
Just then two Jets suddenly cut in behind her out of nowhere, and she heard her console beep and warn her about a lock on, making it clear that she was just one click of a trigger away from imminent doom.
"This is Eagle Dispatch One, unidentified vessel, you have crossed into restricted UNSC airspace, identify yourself or be destroyed! You have ten seconds to comply, over."
She scrambled for her communications, but her fingers felt as stiff as wood as she scrambled for the button.
"I repeat, this is Eagle Dispatch One, unidentified vessel, you have entered restricted UNSC airspace, you are ordered to identify yourself or be destroyed. Five seconds remaining. Over."
She slammed her first into the comms button nearly panicking,
"UNSC!"
Her voice was rattling,
"This is B-baby K, and I... The Apollo 11 is under attack!"
She was breathless as she forced the words out.
There was silence over the coms,
"Say again? Uhm I mean please repeat over.”
"Apollo 11 is under attack!"
”…”
”…”
More silence,
”Roger that. Please stand by. Over."
The lock lifted and the two jets pulled up to the side of her, staying close now.
She recognized those jets as two F-90 Darkfires.
They stayed by her side for a moment, and as close as they were she could see one of the pilots fidgeting with the coms, talking and wildly gesticulating, while his copilot was beginning to wildly flip switches.
Meanwhile, a second voice came in over the coms.
"On your left! Eagle Dispatch Two here, unidentified vessel, please land on UNSC base airstrip one. Just contact the control tower once you get close for guidance and instruction."
Baby K looked over into the other jet, just to see the pilot adjusting his helmet and clicking an oxygen tube to the front of his helmet. His co-pilot had already put the additional oxygen mask on and was also flipping switches.
”Uhm aren’t you going to escort me?”
Baby K managed to blurt out in confusion,
”Godspeed Baby K, Eagle Dispatch Two over and out.”
Both men in the jet to her left had apparently finished their preparations and gave her a quick salute.
Then suddenly, both jets adjusted their angle and cut engines, before switching to their big fusion engines, rocketing them up and out of sight within seconds.
[…]
So far it had been a relatively quiet day at the Ellington Field Joint Reserve Base. Most of the air traffic had been canceled due to the launch of the Apollo mission, so there was not much to do, leaving much of the Airport less staffed than normal.
In the Air Traffic Control tower of the base, only two men were working. Though “working” was stretching it, considering Senior Controller M. Fredrick was currently in the middle of his book (though he was at least in front of his station) and his comrade Senior ATC Instructor A. Millard was currently sitting in a corner, watching a movie on his implant.
”So what are you watching? One of those old Star Wars movies?”
”You bet! Those are the best! By the way any info on that “lost civilian” who got into our airspace?”
”No not yet, though I sent Eagle Dispatch and told them to be extra unfriendly, that will scare these civilians off for sure!”
”Pffft, why couldn’t they watch the start like any other person? There is always some dumb rich kid doing dumb stuff with daddies private shuttle… I don’t understand why we always let them off with a warning…”
The console started beeping,
”Oh look that’s them now!”
”Put ‘em on speakers!”
”Will do!”

”ATC this is Eagle, come the FUCK in!”
Fredrick rolled his eyes,
”Ahem… This is Elling Field ATC, calling Eagle Dispatch One. We hear you, over.”
”ATC what the FUCK took you so long!?”
”Ellington Field ATC, to Eagle Dispatch one, firstly: language, secondly: please follow standard radio rules, over.”
”THE APOLLO IS UNDER ATACK BY HOSTILE ELEMENTS!”
”Ellingt-WHAAAAT!? Repeat please! Over!”
”THE APOLLO IS BEEING ATACKED BY HOSTILE ELEMENTS! REQUETING IMMEDIATE ASSIST!”
Fredrick just stared at Millard dumbfounded. As the senior officer Millard was quick to collect himself and jumped up and towards his console.
”What are you waiting for Fredrick! Are we blind!? DEPLOY THE GARRISON!”
Fredrick ignored all protocol and just flipped the switch to connect his comms to every recipient available.
”ATC to all personnel and everyone who can hear me, the Apollo is under attack, I repeat, the apollo is under attack. I want all available planes that can reach the outer atmosphere ready ASAP! Get the darkfires on the runway I want them in the air yesterday!”
[…]
Conn raced towards the airstrip, feeling the wind in the ribbons at his back. He couldn't go nearly as fast as he wanted to with air resistance.
Why the hell did Adam always have to get into so much trouble, why did he always have to be the center of attention!?
Everyone either hated him or loved him, but the problem was people who hated him also wanted to kill him.
Why did he have to be so controversial!?
Why did he have to be hated for something that was such a big deal. Why couldn't he be hated for having controversial political opinions. Conn paused…
On second thought, controversial political opinions were kind of what had gotten them here in the first place, so he guessed that was kind of a useless comparison. How about being the kind of guy who liked to talk too much about fishing. That was a great way to make people hate you for being boring, but it didn't usually mean that people wanted to kill you.
Maybe they could get the man a hobby doing something that wasn't so controversial…
Like…
Kicking small Animals or…
Cannibalism.
He came roaring to the stop at the edge of the airfield just in time to watch an entire platoon of pilots racing towards jets. He could hear their minds and looked up to see a rather dinky shuttle descending from the sky. He floated forward towards one of the jets as two pilots leaped inside.
He was going to need a ride.
The pilots turned to look at him, but Conn just shook his head.
The pilots decided to ignore him in the confusion and Conn grabbed on tight.
Starborn, he had come to learn, were a very interesting species in comparison to others. Vertically, as in from the top down he was very fragile and likely to break his neck or collapse his spine if there was any kind of pressure, but with horizontal forces, he was practically indestructible. Below him the ship roared to life and soon they were gathering speed along the runway.
His grip was tight, and he used the extra energy from his ribbons to speed himself up along with the jet to reduce the pull on his arms.
His grip wasn't that strong.
They went vertical almost immediately, and he made sure to orient his body in the correct direction as they went hurtling into the sky.
[…]
Red's right wing had been hit. If there had been atmosphere around him he would have been a goner, but there was no air resistance here, so once he regained control of his roll, he pulled back into position and fired one last shot as the opportunity arose. The sixth Thunderhawk was destroyed in an eruption of debris, which he dodged only with difficulty, limping without the aid of the maneuvering jet on the end of his one wing. Things were only speeding up now, the Rundi were almost gone and the pressure was being laid thick on his people. They were hard to hit but the pursuit made it almost impossible for them to do any real maneuvering of their own. He was almost hit again as another Thunderhawk sped underneath him. They rolled this way and that rocking from one side to the other. Flying through debris and over strips of silver metal.
Below them the earth hung as a glowing orb.
Red cut in a wide circle coming in with the sun at his back, using it to blind one of the enemy Thunderhawk’s as he came in. He watched the group of them form up suddenly as a ring around the slow moving rocket, intending quite certainly to rush it all at once. He screamed into the comm trying to order his men around, but it was going to be too late, he could already see it coming.
The jets rushed forward, and he did too, screaming inside his helmet as they went to broadside Apollo 11.
And then with all the silence of space, sixteen F-90 Dark Fires came spitting overhead all at once, raining down a line of ordinance that cut through the group of unsuspecting Thunderhawk’s.
Space around them was filled with a myriad of silent explosions as each and every one of them was ripped to shreds.
All except one…
He saw it at the last moment.
It had been hit in the tail and had gone wildly off course.
It turned sideways, but had just enough force... For its wing to tear straight through the aluminum siding of the rocket.
FUCK!
[…]
Chavez and Richards had been ordered to strap into their seats.
Adam had taken it upon himself to lock down the rest of the main cabin. Outside the flashing lights were like a fireworks display without sound. He grabbed onto one of the rails, forcing equipment back into place, so that if anything happened it wouldn't fly out.
His legs were kicked up behind him as he floated forward reaching for some of the controls as a sudden bright wash of light filtered in through the windows. He heard a scream over his com, and then the air around him was rent with a horrific tearing noise, which suddenly went silent. There was a rush, and he jerked forward as he was sucked back... And out of the ship entirely.
His hands and legs kicked and flailed as he tried to right himself, hearing his own breathing as the only sound as he watched the rocket begin to spin, debris erupting around him as air, and whatever wasn't strapped down was sucked through the small opening.
The rocket was spinning wildly but still on course, while he was spinning wildly in a silent abyss.
Grunting against the force of his spin, he reached down for the controls to the CO2 canister built into the pack of his spacesuit.
He groaned, not sure which way was up or down or back. He tried to right himself against the spin by firing in the opposite direction to slow his spin.
He could see the rocket now spinning in the opposite direction with the sudden loss of oxygen. He hoped the other astronauts were ok. He saw the silhouette of a jet fly past in the distance making its way towards the spinning rocket.
At least there was someone here to help.
Maybe the others would survive-
And then he just… stopped, coming to a confusing halt in the middle of space.
That shouldn't have been right!
He should have kept going forever!
He tried turning his head, but he felt like the pillsbury doughboy in this two thousand year old suit.
What was happening?
"Did you miss me Baby?”
Well shit, now he sort of wished he could keep spinning.
There was a tugging on the outside of his suit, and Conn floated into view in front of his helmet.
"Hey sweetheart."
"You are probably the last person I wanted to see."
He said, though he didn't entirely mean it, and unfortunately Conn knew that too, the mindreading asshole that he was.
”I could hardly let the father of my child go spinning off into space without taking accountability for his family. After al child support is paying way more than widows pension."
"Shove it up your ass Conn."
"No really, not even the vacuum of space is going to save you from your responsibilities. Now, about custody, I was thinking you could have every other weekend and a couple of major holidays…”
He gave a rueful sort of smile as Conn grabbed him by the life support pack and started floating them towards the rocket.
The F-90s had somehow managed to slow the spin of the rocket, and pull it back on course with grappling magnets.
All around them space was filled with debris. No more working Thunderhawk’s were present and those that were were quickly being grappled. One sleek racing jet slowly cruised past them. One of its wings was damaged, but whoever was inside waved with one hand as he rolled past.
Adam lifted a hand as Conn brought him the last few hundred feet to the torn opening in the side of the ship, allowing him to step through.
Conn patted him on the side of the helmet,
"Make sure to be home by dinnertime sweetie."
Before blowing him a kiss and vanishing back out the hole.
Adam floated there, a bit nonplussed for a moment before turning back to the front of the ship where Chaves and Richards were still strapped into their seats staring at him and after Conn. He floated over to strap himself in.
"Admiral! You're ok!”
"Yes, it seems that I am, thanks to a... Friend of mine."
Just then Conn appeared again just before their right side window, and like the classy gentlemen that he was began rubbing his butt up against the glass.
He sighed,
"Friend is kind of stretching it."
"Apollo 11 this is Houston, do you copy!"
The man on the other end of the line sounded close to tears, and Adam hurried to respond,
"Houston this is Apollo 11."
On the other side he thought he heard the sound of voices cheering in relief.
"What is your status, over?”
"We are a bit beat up Houston, we have a tear in our hull, but our suits are ok, and we have help."
"Prepare to abort mission."
Adam frowned,
"Now wait a second there Houston! I didn't get sucked out the side of my own rocket to just quit now. Tell the boys to come up here and patch us up and we can finish the mission. All systems are still functioning, and we are back on course."
He glanced over at the others,
”That is, if the crew wants to continue."
There was a pause and then Chavez timidly piped in,
"I'd be ok with that."
Richards sighed,
"Roger Houston, patch us up."
Granted it may have been cheating. Apollo 11 hadn't had support with special tools that could just patch up a spaceship within ten minutes, but then again the original Apollo 11 hadn't been in the middle of a firefight while on their journey to the moon.
So it was with some trepidation that Houston allowed it, and before long they had air back inside the cabin back up to pressure, but they also had a sixteen-man rotating escort for the rest of the way.
The group of them were even shocked to see Rundi drones join the formation, only to learn that it had been the UN president who had allegedly called the hit on him. It was hard to believe, but they were only getting snippets here and then from over radio and from Conn, who floated around occasionally to rub another part of his anatomy against the window and give them teasing updates.
The moon was growing slowly in their vision.
"Hehe, I can see my house from here."
Adam remarked as they prepared to detach the lunar module from the rest of the ship.
They landed without incident, observed by mobile camera crews and news reporters as he made his own footprint on the never changing dust of the moon's surface. He gave them a thumbs up to let them know he was fine and hesitated only once before setting up the UN flag in the dirt. He refused to let his enthusiasm be dampened by the day's events and hopped around dancing and leaping for joy as another one of his childhood dreams was fulfilled.

That was before he plowed face first into the moon's surface and required help from Richards to stand back up again.
They left soon after taking another three days of escort back to earth before strapping themselves in for final entry.
Conn left them just as they were entering orbit with a very big and very drawn out middle finger for all three of them.
"Your friend is super delightful isn't he?”
"You don’t know the half of it, try having a child with him."
Adam muttered, refusing to elaborate even as they stared at him in confusion.
They fell from the sky and landed somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, picked up by the waiting navy vessel who was within nine miles of their landing site. They were fished from the water and returned safe and sound to the ship to cheers and cameras. Adam's legs felt a little like jelly after days of not using them, and he was finally able to relax lying on the deck of the ship under the sun as people ran around them on either side.
His hands shook slowly building up after the stress of the last week. He took long deep breaths and closed his eyes.
The next few days were going to be a real shit show.
And somehow it wasn’t because he was now known as the man who faceplanted not one, but TWO interstellar bodies…
The media was way to busy with the other story, a massive net of deceit and corruption that would now be uncovered.
Previous First [Next](link)
Want to find a specific one, see the whole list or check fanart?
Here is the link to the master-post.
Intro post by me
OC-whole collection
Patreon of the author
Thanks for reading! As you saw in the title, this is a cross posted story written by starrfallknightrise and I'll just upload some of it here for you guys, if you are interested and want to read ahead, the original story-collection can be found on tumblr or wattpad to read for free. (link above this text under "OC:..." ) It is the Empyrean Iris story collection by starfallknightrise. Also, if you want to know more about the story collection i made an intro post about it, so feel free to check that out to see what other great characters to look forward to! (Link also above this text). I have no affiliations to the author; just thought I’d share some of the great stories you might enjoy a lot!
Obviously, I have Charlie’s permission to post this and for the people already knowing the stories, or starting to read them: If you follow the link and check out the story you will see some differences. I made some small (non-artistic) changes, mainly correcting writing mistakes, pronoun correction and some small additional info here and there of things which were not thought of/forgotten or even were added/changed in later stories (like the “USS->UNSC” prefix of Stabby, Chalar=/->Sunny etc). As well as some "biggemajor" changes in descriptions and info’s for the same stringency/continuity reason. That can be explained by the story collection being, well a story collection at the start with many standalone-stories just starring the same people, but later on it gets more to a stringent storyline with backstories and throwbacks. (For example Adam Vir has some HEAVY scars over his body, following his bones, which were not really talked about up till half the collection, where it says it covers his whole body and you find out via backflash that he had them the whole time and how he got them, they just weren't mentioned before. However, I would think a doctor would at least see these scars before that, especially since he gets analyzed, treated and goes shirtless/in T-shirts in some stories). So TLDR: Writing and some descriptions are slightly changed, with full OK from the author, since he himself did not bother to correct these things before.
submitted by maximusaemilius to HFY [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 13:50 Hotnewshirt Boston Bruins 2024 Stanley Cup Playoffs Slogan T-Shirt

Boston Bruins 2024 Stanley Cup Playoffs Slogan T-Shirt submitted by Hotnewshirt to u/Hotnewshirt [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 06:28 LetterheadOk9669 AITAH For blowing up on my friend for saying I look like her?

Context I Avery 19 year old female and Lucy (Not her real name) 18 year old female have been friends for a year. I am a grade above her and we are in the same fine art activity. We are both on the colorguard team at my school.
Our team isn’t necessarily good, but we aren’t bad. (To the people who know Scholastic AA). For some reason Lucy is obsessed with the idea she looks like me. All because of a comment someone made to her. They walked up to her thinking it was me from a far. She has made it her life mission to make herself me.
She was a primary flag on my team and I am a primary rifle. Since I am a senior in school I’m not getting ready for next season. However, my director is making all members who have done at least one season try rifle. Lucy was excited to try rifle saying she can be like me. I thought this was sweet cause she looked up to me, but I was very wrong.
Lucy happened to be really good at rifle. Nothing against her she’s a great person to have on the team, but her ego has gone way up. She’s been making fun of people who drop their rifle or use the wrong technique and she always comes in for reassurance saying things like “Right Avery she needs to slow down her toss or right Avery she needs to put her left hand completely to the side.” It puts me in a position that makes me uncomfortable and i’ve told her to stop.
Lately she’s been dressing like me. She always used to wear a Tee shirt, shorts, and her hair down to rehearsal, but lately she’s been wearing Sports bras, leggings, and pulls her hair into a braid. Just like me. She used to march around saying she hates the color pink (She’s a major tom boy), but now she wears it saying it suits her. She even bought my perfume. I thought it was weird, but I didn’t say anything cause I’ll be gone within a week anyways because of Graduation.
She was starting to really piss me off when she would make comments like “Avery look we both have a pimple on our cheek.” I’m extremely insecure about acne. She knows this. She would say things like “our cycles are synced it’s like our bodies are the same person.” “We’re both on our 15th set of invisalign. Our teeth are getting straighter together.”
Yesterday I was getting ready for a banquet with Lucy and some other girls from the team. It’s all fun and games till Lucy pulls out almost the exact same dress as me. There is no way she wasn’t trying to copy. I was going for a Audrey Hepburn look with a black dress, gloves, pearls, and Prada sunglasses. Lucy pulls out a shorter black dress, gloves, pearls, black sunglasses. She then exclaimed “Omg twin we’re gonna look so good. It’s almost like great minds think alike or something. People won’t even be able to tell us apart.”
I was livid to say the least. She knew I had been planing on that outfit since last banquet. I let it go it was my senior banquet it was fine. I take photos with everyone and she’s doing her thing when she puts her arm around my boyfriend’s shoulder. I immediately stand up from our banquet table and grab her arm swinging it off him. She said “Sorry I thought it would be a cute picture cause he’s dressed to match us.” I cut her off and said “No Lucy he’s dressed to match me. I’m not sure what you think your doing wanting to become me and comparing yourself to me, but it needs to stop.” She then rolls her eyes and slumps in her chair. She mumbled under her breath “I don’t look like you. You look like me. Get it right. You’re so obsessed.”
I started to yell at her “You don’t look like me. Not even a little bit. Your eyes are blue and mine are green. Your hair is brown while mine is blonde. Your nose slopes down and mine slopes up at the end. Your chin is slightly pointed and my sticks out. My eyes are almond while yours are hooded. I’m 5’11 and you’re 5’3. Your boobs are bigger than mine. My feet are bigger than yours. We do not look alike.”
At this point everyone is looking at us. Most people know what i’m getting at cause they asked me days ago why she was copying me. Lucy starts to cry called me some names and ran off. I cut the night short and went home. I told my mom in the morning and she told me I should’ve let Lucy live out her fantasy for a week till I graduate. A couple of friends of Lucy have texted me and called me an Asshole. But I don’t think I am.
Am I the Asshole?
submitted by LetterheadOk9669 to AITAH [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 06:26 Apprehensive_Role474 I’m jealous of a 14 year old

Hello everyone so for starters I’m F19 and my younger (half) sister is 14. She is promoting from 8th grade to high school next month and my mom is getting so excited and buying her so many things and throwing her a big party which is all fine except for the fact that she didn’t even go this hard for my high school graduation… I’m not trying to downplay my little sisters achievements not by a long shot I’m so proud of her and I’ll always support her no matter what. My mom has always treated us differently though. When I promoted in 8th grade we were struggling and we were just flat out broke… cut to the end of my senior year we are living in a nice ass house with a huge backyard and a pool and I can’t complain. But still something inside me is just lingering with negativity. My sisters and I have different dads, their dad is a much more involved dad and he also has a fuck ton of money, while my dad doesn’t, he never rlly cared enough to show up for any of my birthdays or graduations or anything important in my life. Which is why I think my mom favors my younger siblings over me. She’s talking abt getting her a taco truck and printing shirts out with her face on it and ik many people find that type of stuff cringey but I would’ve loved that for my grad. I’m Mexican so a month before my graduation I asked her if she could get me one of those Mexican stoles so that I could wear. She said would and by the time my graduation day came I had no stole. I wasn’t gonna make a big deal but it is something I rlly wanted (she ended up buying me one afterwards) which is totally fine at least I got it. I appreciate everything my mom has done for me because she goes above and beyond but then little things like this get me. Like why couldn’t I just have the stole or have the big party. Graduating hs was kind of hard for me as well, I went through a lot and I didn’t even think I’d make it past 16 years old and graduating was my biggest goal at the time. I just thought she would’ve went more out being that she didn’t graduate nor did my older brother, so I was essentially the first person in the family to graduate. It’s fine I understand but I wish for once I wouldn’t have to understand.
Sorry this is so long but thank you if you read it all the way through :)
submitted by Apprehensive_Role474 to rant [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 04:53 arooni How broad are existing, approved trademarks? Can you use them as a subset of a new mark or brand?

There is an approved mark, "Swipe Right" owned by a large corporation here: https://tsdr.uspto.gov/#caseNumber=86680927&caseSearchType=US_APPLICATION&caseType=DEFAULT&searchType=statusSearch
Does this mean that any additional name would be infringement of this trademark? I want to start a business selling physical shirts, called "SwipeRightShirts", and I'd like to trademark that name. If my product name is in in the same arena, i.e. dating, would that be considered a violation, because it contains as a subset, a registered, approved trademark?
Does my product being primarily physical help me at all here?
Their 'goods and services' is listed as "Dating services; internet-based social networking, introduction and dating services"
Further, under status it states: "Status: An appeal of a final refusal to register the mark is pending before the Trademark Trial and Appeal Board. For further information, see TTABVUE on the Trademark Trial and Appeal Board web page."
Does this mean the USPTO has already rejected this mark, the petitioner has appealed and we're in stasis about what the final outcome is? Can they enforce their mark in its current state?
Finally, it looks like they have already issued a final action, readable here. How likely is an appeal to succeed in these circumstances? "Registration is refused because the applied-for mark is a slogan or term that does not function as a trademark or service mark to indicate the source of applicant’s services and to identify and distinguish them from others."
submitted by arooni to TRADEMARK [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 03:52 Calledinthe90s The Mortgage, Part 3

I accidentally posted this to my username instead of my subreddit so here is is:
The Mortgage, Part 3
“Fuck,” I said as I drove to work in the old beater that only started on the fourth try because it could tell that I was pissed off. Ray’s case started at two o’clock, and I was heading to the office to get ready. “Fuck fuck fuckity fucking fuck. Fuck.” I’d wanted to tell Angela about Ray’s case, and how I was sorry that I hadn’t wanted to help him, but now I would, I would help him, and I would win, but then I’d gotten her all riled up on something else, something totally different, something way more serious.
My wife had given me a triple ultimatum: fix things up with her father, save idiot Ray from Sy-Co Corp., and somehow find a downpayment for the place she wanted to buy, in the little townhouse infill project in Bixity. It was like demanding I do a double bank shot, and then run over to the baseball diamond and hit a home run after first pointing to where it would land, Babe Ruth style.
Angela was mad at me, seriously mad. She’d slipped out that morning before I was even awake, sliding quietly past me on the couch. I didn’t realize she was gone until I heard the faint click of the front door closing. I jumped up, tripped over a blanket, and by the time I got up and my robe on, the elevator down the hall dinged, and Angela was gone before I opened the apartment door.
I swore at myself some more and pounded the steering wheel, “I fucked up,” I said, several times as I hit the wheel over and over again, until I accidentally honked it, and then looked all sheepish when the guy in front of me gave me the finger. I reached my office without further incident, but instead of walking in the front door, I went further down the hall, and into the office of Mark Cecil-Rowe, Barrister, LL.D, the man with the finest speaking voice I ever heard. When I entered his office I forgot for a minute about Angela and her father and sleeping on the couch the night before. I forget about everything, except the reason that I had come to Cecil-Rowe’s office: to stump him with a legal problem that I had solved, but which I was pretty sure he could not. In other words, I had come to preen and to brag and to boast. No one likes a showoff, and I had come to show off. I put my hand on the door and turned the knob. After a brief pause, I flung open the door.
“I’m a goddamn genius,” I said as I strolled into the older man’s office.
I noticed the echo of a hastily closed desk drawer hanging in the air. In Aaron’s office, where I rented space, a sudden act of concealment implied cocaine, but with Cecil-Rowe, the item in question was probably a mickey of vodka. I had the sense that he’d been drinking a bit before I arrived, but his powers of observation were unimpaired, and when he looked into my face, his expression showed sympathy, and actual pain.
“What have you done now?” he said, as set the papers before him to one side, and readied himself to hear my latest tale of legal brilliance.
“I’m a genius,” I said.
“Oh dear. Have a seat.”
“No really, I am. I’m a genius. I got this case that everyone says you can’t win, but I’m gonna win it, and when I do, I’m gonna look like a genius.” Cecil-Rowe gave me a sad indulgent smile.
“Whenever you tell me you’re a genius, I am always concerned about what is to follow. When you get wrapped up in what you call your genius, you tend to ignore the more mundane things we lawyers have to do to win a case. You think you’re going to win by genius alone.”
“Let me tell you why I’m a goddamn genius.” With effort I wiped the smug, self-satisfied expression that was on my face.
“Tell me why you’re a genius,” Cecil-Rowe said, “while I pour us a coffee.” He heaved his bulky body up from his chair and shuffled over to a counter. He picked up a carafe of hot coffee sitting on a hot plate, and poured two cups. “Speak,” he said, handing me one. I took a sip of the coffee, and told Cecil-Rowe the tale of Cousin Ray: his purchase of a franchise from Sy-Co Corp, its swift demise, the crash and burn in Commercial Court, the Minutes of Settlement, the seventy-one kilometer limit, and lastly, Sy-Co’s motion scheduled for two p.m. that very day, seeking an interim injunction shutting down Ray’s place.
Cecil-Rowe absorbed all this without the need to take notes. Instead, he sat back while he eyed me, taking the occasional sip of coffee, and smiling at the extravagant flourishes and details that brought out Ray’s story to full effect.
“Obviously Ray is dead on arrival,” he said, “but I guess this is the part where you tell me how you’re going to win.”
So I told him how I was going to win, but it didn’t have the desired effect. “I told ya I’m a genius, Mr. C,” cueing him to applaud, to admit what a brilliant lawyer I was. But there was no applause from Mark Cecil-Rowe. He looked at me without so much as a smile.
“You can cling to that genius notion as a consolation prize, after you get whipped this afternoon in court.”
“No way,” I said, “not a chance. I got this thing won hands down. I’m gonna kick ass in court today and--”
“And how exactly do you plan to do that, if you don’t have evidence?”
“What?”
“Evidence, Calledinthe9os. It’s what lawyers like me use to beat geniuses like you.”
“But I’m gonna win without proof. I don’t need proof. The argument I’m gonna make, relies on simple facts that are totally obvious, so the judge is gonna--” Cecil-Rowe stuck up his hand.
“Stop right there. I know what’s coming. You’re going to ask the judge to take *judicial notice.”
And he was right. That was exactly what I was going to do.
There are some things so obvious that you didn’t have to prove them, things that everyone knew. You didn’t have to prove that water froze at zero degrees and boiled at a hundred, or that Bixity was between West Bay and East Bay.
“You got it,” I said, “judicial notice all the way.”
“You’re going to tell the judge that the centerpiece of your argument, the lynchpin of your case is a fact known to pretty well everyone, and so you don’t need proof.”
Exactly,” I said. Cecil-Rowe took another sip of his coffee, and left me hanging in the silence for a while before he spoke.
“If that’s true, then why does coming up with that argument make you a genius?”
“Oh, I said,”I didn’t think of that.”
“It is acceptable to rely on judicial notice for minor, ancillary points. But you never should walk into court thinking that the court will take judicial notice of your entire defence. It’s just too risky.”
“But how am I going to rustle up a witness in time for this afternoon?”
“Worry about that after you leave my office. I can’t help you with that. What I want to know, is why you’re doing this at the last minute.”
“What makes you think I’m doing this at the last minute?”
“Because you never would have resorted to judicial notice if you were properly prepared. If you’d opened this case a bit earlier, you’ve have everything lined up. But you got to work on it late, and so you want to rely on judicial notice. You’ve messed up, Calledinthe90s, and you know what my rule is when you mess up.” Cecil-Rowe didn’t extend aid to me, until I admitted the error of my ways. It was infuriating, but he was inflexible. So I fessed up.
“My idiot cousin Ray’s been trying to retain me for almost two weeks, but I was putting him off because I was mad at him. So now my wife’s mad at me, and if I don’t win this case, I’m dead. Plus her dad’s mad at me too and --” My brain roared into overdrive, a mess of family and law and fear, and at the centre of it, thoughts of Angela’s anger and her father. My mind took off, and then came to an instant halt at a helpful destination.
“Yes?” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Sorry. I just realized how to solve the evidence problem. Look, can I ask you about the thing I actually came here to ask you about?”
“You have a problem that’s worse than having no evidence? What could be worse than -- oh. You don’t have a retainer. Your client doesn't have any money.”
“Exactly. How do I get paid? That’s the problem.” I explained that Ray had no money, as in none, and that if he did have money, he wouldn’t spend it on me. Instead, he’d go back downtown and throw his cash at some big firm, who would take on his case, and proceed to lose it in a calm, careful, sober manner, ending in a reporting letter to Ray telling him that he’d lost.
“Now that’s a problem I can solve,” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Really? ‘Cause I can’t see a way around it. I think I’m gonna have to do this for free, and that really pisses me off.” Cecil-Rowe shook his head.
“You may or may not get paid, but you can set things up so that if you win, you’ll win pretty good.”
“How? Ray’s a deadbeat. Tapped out.”
“But is he desperate?”
“Totally. The first time he failed, he lost his own money, but if he goes under this time, he’s taking family money with him, and he’ll be the black sheep forever.”
“And he’s using family to emotionally blackmail you into helping him?’
“Like no shit. That’s the part that pisses me off the most. I’m like a goddamn slave, being forced to work for free.”
“Never fear, young apprentice. I have just the thing in mind.” He reached into a drawer, and pulled out a form. “Fill in the blanks, and have him sign.”
I looked it over, and saw that the document was a retainer agreement. I whistled. “Holy shit. If he signs this, he’s almost my slave.”
“Close, but not quite” Cecil-Rowe said, “the Latin term for this is "contractus pro venditione animae"”. It’s the ultimate retainer agreement. Once Ray signs that, you own any cause of action he has against the person suing him. You can settle the case on any terms you like, and you get to keep whatever proceeds there are.” Cecil-Rowe placed the folder back in a drawer, and from his manner you could tell that the interview was over.
“Awesome, Mr. C. I’ll call you from Commercial Court when we’re done.”
Commercial Court?” he said.
“Yeah, Commercial Court.”
“This just keeps getting worse. Take notes, Calledinthe90s, while I school you on Commercial Court. Commercial Court is a jungle, and without preparation, you’ll get savaged.”
“That’s what happened to Ray when--”
“Take notes, young apprentice,” he said, tossing me a pad and a pen. He started to lecture, and I took notes that I have with me to this day, in a safe deposit box downstairs in the vault at Mega Bank Main Branch.
* * *
By the time Cecil-Rowe finished schooling me, it was close to ten, and the case started at two. I didn’t have much time. I ran down the hall to my office, and called Ray’s restaurant. No answer. Then I called Ray’s house. I expected to get Ray’s wife, but the man himself answered.
“You’re not at work. Why aren’t you at work?”
“Sy-Co Corp served all my employees with a cease and desist letter. They all got scared and took off. The place is shut down.”
“You gotta fax machine at home?” He did, and asked why.
“I’m taking your case, but only if you sign the paper I’m about to send and fax it back.” I sent the fax, and five minutes later it came back signed, and it was official: Ray had sold me his legal soul.
I went out to the parking lot, got into my beater and drove fast. In less than thirty minutes I reached my destination. I knocked on the door, and when it opened, my diminutive mother-in-law poked out her head. “What a pleasant surprise,” she said.
“Sorry, Mrs. M, but I’m in a super hurry. I gotta rush to get to court to help Ray. But first, I gotta speak to Dr. M.”
“He’s not here,” she said.
“Not here?”
“He’s on his way to his bridge game. He left just a few minutes ago.”
“Where’s the club?”
“He’s walking there,” she said, and pointed down the street.
“Thanks.” I got into my car and headed where Mrs. M had pointed, passing big houses and new project with an “Opening Soon” sign. And walking past it was the figure of Dr. M.
“Hey, Dr. M,” I called out the window. He stopped and looked around, startled. But he didn’t see me, not at first.
“It’s me, Dr. M. Me, Calledin90s.” He leaned forward as if to see me better. I got out of the car.
“Is something wrong with Angela? Or the baby?”
“No, no not at all, sorry to scare you, it’s nothing like that. I need your help.”
“Oh.” He started walking again, and now it was my turn to be a bit stunned, watching my father-in-law walk away from me. I caught up with him in a few quick strides.
“Listen, I really need your help.”
“And I really need to get to a bridge game.”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about Ray.” That brought him to a halt. He turned to me, angrier even than he’d been the night before.
“Did you drive all the way out here just to make fun of me? To remind me of how you won, distracting me with nonsense about Ray’s case?”
“I mean it,” I said, “I can win Ray’s case. I can prove it in a few words.”
“Prove it, then.” So I did. I spoke words, only a few words, but they were the right words to speak to Dr. M, for the words I spoke were in his language, words that he understood perfectly.
“I understand,” he said, “you’ve come to boast some more, to prove that you were right after all.”
“I want to win Ray’s case, but I don’t have any proof of what I’m saying.”
“You don’t need to prove that two plus two is four.”
“This, I gotta prove, and I need you to help me prove it. I need you to come to court with me, as my witness.”
“I can’t do that. I didn’t witness anything.”
“As my witness. My expert witness.” Unlike a normal witness, an expert witness can give an opinion. An expert is there not to advocate, I explained to Dr. M but to instruct, to teach.
“My bridge partner won’t be very happy,” he said.
“But Ray will, and so will Mrs. M and Angela and--”
“Very well. Do you have a cell phone? We can call the bridge club from my car.”
* * *
We were on the highway getting close to the downtown exit, when my wife called my cell phone. Back then cell phone service was super expensive and my wife only used it for emergencies. Or when she was really angry. I picked up the phone, wondering which it would be.
“I’m so happy that you made things up with my father,” she said.
“How did you know?”
“My mother called. She says you took him with you, that you went out together.”
“He’s with me right now,” I said.
“Where are you going?”
“To court. Going to court to win Ray’s case for him.”
“And you brought my father with you to watch?” She was so happy, I could hear in her voice that she was smiling. “That’s a great way to bond with him, Calledinthe90s. Look, I’m sorry I got so mad at you earlier, I really am. My dad’s a bit too sensitive and--”
“Sorry, Angela, your dad’s not coming to watch me.”
“Why is he with you, then?”
“He’s my witness,” I said.
“What?
“His expert witness,” Dr. M said, loudly enough for Angela to hear.
My wife’s anger exploded into the phone. She wanted to know how I could expose her elderly, vulnerable father to the stress of a court case. I tried to tell her how I needed him, how there was literally no one else I could turn to, that her father was an expert, a true expert, and the judge was legally bound to believe him, but Angela heard none of this.
“Look,’ I said, “I promise you that--” And then I lowered the phone and pushed the red button, terminating the call. I’d learned that the best way to hang up on someone, was to do it when I was doing the talking. That way it looked like the call had dropped.
“I’m going to steal that move,” Dr. M said.
We rolled into the parking lot. I grabbed the cloth bag out of the back of my car, the bag that held my law robes and shirt and tabs, plus the other stuff I needed for court. It was one-thirty, still thirty minutes to go, not a lot of time to get robed and ready for court. It was just past one-forty five when I, with Dr. M in tow, opened the door to a courtroom on the eighth floor of an old insurance building that had been converted into a courthouse, the home of Commercial Court.
“Commercial Court is an exclusive club,” Cecil-Rowe had explained to me earlier that day, “the legal playground of the rich and powerful. They’ll know instantly that you’re not one of them.” And he was right. It was clear from the moment I walked in that I did not belong, for I was the only lawyer in robes. Everyone else was wearing a suit, and not some cheap thing off the rack like I wore.
There were a half-dozen lawyers present, and after they saw me, they exchanged knowing looks about the stranger amongst them. I ignored them, and walked up to the Registrar. I told him the case I was on, and he signed me in.
“First time in Commercial Court?” he said, eyeing my robes. “You know you don’t have to be robed in Commercial Court.” In other Superior Courts, you always had to bring your robes and get all dressed up. But Commercial Court had its own set of rules, and in the court for rich people, their lawyers did not have to wear robes.
“You’re here on the Sy-Co case?” a young woman asked. She was a junior like me, give a year or two either way. She was dressed in the finest downtown counsel fashion, some designer thing that Angela would know if she saw it.
“Just got retained,” I said.
“You know there’s no adjournments, right? We don’t do adjournments in Commercial Court. I’m just trying to be helpful, because I don’t think you've been here before. You know you don’t have to be robed, right?
“So I heard.”
“So where’s your material? You haven’t served anything, so how do you plan to argue your case?”
“I gotta witness,” I said.
She smiled. “There’s no viva voce evidence, either. Affidavit only.”
“We’ll see what the judge says.” There was a knock from the other side of the door to the judge’s chambers, and then the man himself entered.
I was amazed to see that even the judge wasn’t wearing a robe; instead, he was wearing a light coloured suit and a bright blue bow tie. He was dressed as good as the lawyers, all part of the downtown Commercial Court club, the playground of the richest and most powerful corporations in the City.
“Commercial Court’s not like other courts,” Cecil-Rowe told me earlier that day, explaining that most cases were over in fifteen minutes or less. A plaintiff showed up with some papers, and had a short consultation with the judge. The judge signed an order granting an injunction, or taking away a man’s business, or freezing his money. Commercial Court is where you went to get quick and simple court orders that eviscerated your opponent before the case even got going.
Defendants would appear sometimes in Commercial Court, Cecil-Rowe explained, but it was usually their last time up. Defendants always died a quick death in Commercial Court.
The judge took his seat, and then looked over the lawyers before him. His eyes moved along, and then stopped when they reached me, the one lawyer who was not like the others.
“You don’t need robes in Commercial Court,” the judge said to me.
“I’ll remember that for next time,” I said.
“What case are you on?”
I told him.
“He’s filed no responding materials,” my opponent said, “nothing at all.”
“I’m just vetting the list,” the judge said, “I’ll circle back to you two in a few minutes.” I listend while the judge vetted the rest of the afternoon list: a Mareva, plus a Norwich order, with counsel on those cases sent away in a matter of minutes.
Now the courtroom was almost empty, just the judge, two lawyers, the registrar and my star witness and father-in-law, Dr. M, who sat in the back of the courtroom dressed in an old business suit, put on hastily at his place two hours earlier, when I urged him to hurry it up, to not waste so much time on picking a suit.
“Back to you,” the judge said, addressing my opponent, “I thought this was an uncontested matter. That’s what your confirmation sheet said.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honour, but I didn’t know until I got here that the case was defended.”
“I got retained at the last minute,” I said, “barely three hours ago, the day after I read the papers. But I’m ready to go, ready to argue the case on the merits, so long as you grant me an indulgence, and let me call my witness, to let him testify in person instead of by affidavit, there being no time for me to draft anything.”
Opposing counsel was on her feet. “That’s not how things are done in Commercial Court,” she said, “or any court that I know of, for that matter. My friend (that’s what they make lawyers call each other in court, ‘my friend,’ even though you might hate the other guy’s guts),” the lawyer said, “my friend should have served his responding materials and filed them with the court. Instead, he’s taken us totally by surprise.”
“I’m sorry my friend is surprised by opposition,” I said, “but then consider, it’s my client’s livelihood that’s at stake. If my friend gets her injunction, Ray Telewu’s business is dead, and he loses everything. So yes, my client opposes the injunction, and yes, I’d like to call evidence.”
The judge didn’t consult the papers before him nor the books, but instead, he looked up at the big white clock on the courtroom wall. Its hands said two-fifteen.
“How long will your witness take, counsel?”
“In chief, ten minutes.” I’d practiced with Dr. M on the way in, and I was pretty sure he could do it in five, but I gave him a bit of extra time, just in case.
“We’ve got about two hours,” the judge said, “but I want to be fair to you and your client. Let’s take a fifteen minute recess so you can get instructions. Either we go ahead today with viva voce evidence, or we adjourn, and that will give Calledinthe90s time to file responding materials.”
When everyone came back, the junior’s boss was there, Senior Counsel, a heavy weight, one of those big guys downtown. Plus they brought this guy from Sy-Co Corp, the head of some bullshit division, with some bullshit title, Head of whatever, so that’s the title I’ll give him here. He was The Head. He was the man, the big cheese, the signer of the affidavit on which Sy-Co relied that day.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked Senior Counsel.
He stared at me, all lean and steel grey, looking every inch the hard hitting lawyer that commanded the biggest fees. “If you’re calling a live witness, then so can we. The Head will give evidence today, in advance of your client, so that the judge hears it from him first.” His junior smirked at me, and the two of them sat down, delighted that they’d thought of a way to one up me.
Except that they’d done it by exposing their client to cross-examination. The judge came in, allowed the Head to testify, and when he was done, I stood up.
“Just a few questions,” I said. Senior Counsel was stunned for an instant, and then he stood.
“This serves no purpose, Your Honour. The witness has confirmed the simple facts of his affidavit, and there’s no disputing it. Ray Telewu opened a restaurant less than seventy-one kilometres from Bixity City Hall, and that’s in breach of the Minutes of Settlement he signed.”
I did not bother to respond. Instead, I just stood, and I started to ask questions.
“Have a look at that map in your affidavit,” I said, and he did. I picked up my copy, and tore the map out of it. I passed it up to him.
“What do you notice about this map?”
“That it’s accurate,” the Head said, repeating his evidence in chief, amplifying it, talking about how the map contained perfect measurement.
“You will notice that the map is flat,” I said, laying it on the witness box before him.
“Of course it’s flat. That’s what maps are. Maps are flat.”
“But the earth is round,” I said, “or more properly, a sphere.” Senior Counsel was on his feet in an instant.
“What difference does that make?” he said.
“What you’ll hear from my expert witness, is that a flat map cannot accurately show Earth’s curves. A flat map distorts distances, and in this case, reduces them.”
“But that can’t be by very much.”
“In this case, by just over twenty meters,” Dr. M said from the back of the court.
“That’s my expert witness, the esteemed Dr. M.” I didn’t actually say Dr. M. Instead, I said his real name. But I’m not going to use the real names of my family here, so I’ll just keep calling him Dr. M. “Dr. M was a professor of Physics at the University of Bixity for almost thirty years. He has published numerous papers on particle physics, and is the first Canadian winner of the Wolf Prize for physics.”
It went downhill after that for Sy-Co Corp. My father-in-law testified, explaining in simple language, language that even a child could understand, that the Earth was a sphere, that the shortest distance between two points on Earth was a curve, not a straight line. He summarized his calculations in plain English, dumbing down the math, so that everyone present imagined, if only for the moment, that they shared his understanding of a difficult mathematical equation.
Senior Counsel tried to cross-examine Dr. M, but it did not go well, my father-in-law indulging him, gently chiding him, continuing his explanations until the lawyer sat down, defeated by Dr. M’s mastery of the subject,his own lack of preparation and his inability to improvise. When counsel said that he had no further questions, the judge addressed us all.
“I’m not going to reserve, and I don’t think I need to tell everyone why. I think it will take about a minute for me to write a decision saying that the Earth is not flat. I’ll give you some more time after that, but after fifteen minutes, I”ll be back to render my decision.” He rose, everyone bowed, and he disappeared behind the door to judge’s chambers.
I pulled a piece of paper out of my file, and slammed it on the desk before Senior Counsel and his junior. “Fill in the blanks, and sign,” I said.
Dr. M’s head shot up at the commotion, and he shuffled over to see what was going on.
“What’s this?” Senior Counsel said, picking up the paper I gave him..
“Minutes of Settlement. You fill in a number, a big number, for the costs you gotta pay me. Your client signs, and then we’re done.” Senior Counsel opened his mouth to bargain, but I overrode him.
“You know your client’s going to lose; the judge made that obvious. Hurry up if you want to settle; we don’t have much time.”
At the end of most Canadian court cases, the loser has to pay at least part of the winner’s legal fees. That’s the way it’s been since forever, and I think it’s a good rule. Sy-Co Corp had lost, so it had to pay a good chunk of Ray’s costs, and Ray’s costs were somewhere between whatever bullshit figure I claimed they were, and where they actually ought to be. Senior Counsel took the paper over to his client. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back, with the form signed, and a number written in the blank space.
I’ll give it to Sy-Co Corp and their lawyer. It wasn’t a bullshit number, a low ball number. They gave me a real number, a number more like something I’d actually accept, a number that made sense to pay me in costs, in light of the success I’d had, and how I got it. It was a respectful number, a common sense number, and I appreciated it an awful lot.
I tossed the paper back at them.
“Add a zero,” I said, continuing on when Senior Counsel blanched, and his junior retreated a step. “I know what’s going on here. Your client sold mine a bullshit franchise, one with a history of failing.” The franchise had opened up again under a new owner not long after Ray had lost it and then it promptly failed again. Like I said at the start of this story, it’s an old story. It’s how some franchise companies make money. “Your client makes more money selling bullshit franchises doomed to fail, then it does from the honest ones that make money. So add a zero to that number, or Ray’s gonna sue you, class action and all that, for all the people you’ve fucked.”
The Head stepped forward from the benches and spoke to me.
“We get threats like that all the time, but no one follows through. They don’t have the money to fight us, and neither does your client. So go ahead and sue.”
“It’s true that Ray doesn’t have jack shit,” I said, “not a pot to piss in, but he’s my cousin, Ray is, and even if he doesn’t have money, he’s got me. Ray’s family, and for Ray, I’ll sue you guys for free. Hell, I’ll even pay the expenses. Plus I’m gonna put a jury notice in, too, come to think of it, ‘cause juries--”
Senior Counsel cut me off, and moved his client to the back of the courtroom. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back. I watched as Senior Counsel wrote a single digit on the Minutes, a zero, written right where I wanted it.
“You’ll have to initial the change,” I said to the Head of Sy-C0, and it gave me great satisfaction to watch him sign.
“Don’t forget,” I said the moment his pen stopped moving, “for the settlement to be valid, I need to get the money today. Right now.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” the Head said.
“Not if you want the settlement to stay in place. I’ll follow you back to your office, and you can put a cheque in my hands.”
“What’s this?” my wife said when I entered the apartment later that day, after I’d driven Dr. M home, stopping first at a local pub for beers.
“It’s an absurdly expensive bunch of flowers,” I said, “although no flowers, however beautiful, however expensive, could expiate my--”
She took the flowers, and gave a kiss.
“My mom called. She told me what happened. You fixed things with my dad.”
“Yup,” I said. I had certainly done that. I’d made Dr. M a professor again, if only for a few minutes. Not only a professor, but an expert witness. The judge had declared him an expert in plain terms and Dr.M had beamed when he’d heard those words.
“And you won Ray’s case, too. But my mom didn’t know how, and I don’t know how you did it either.”
“I’ll tell you over dinner tonight,” I said.
“But we agreed no more dinners out; we have to save money, now that a baby’s coming.”
I passed her the envelope that I’d received a few hours before. She opened it, and took out a cheque, a cheque drawn up for an amount I specified, made payable to Mr. and Mrs. Calledinthe90s.
The moment I got that cheque, all I could think about was how my wife would react when I put it into her hands. I could not wait to see her eyes bulge, to hear her voice say “oh my god,” to hear her laugh.
She did none of these things. Instead, she cried.
“Does this mean we can buy a house?” The money wouldn’t be enough to buy a house, not nowadays, with prices being so crazy. But things were different back then in the 90s. Sure, the internet was barely a thing and cell phones were super expensive and a lot of things sucked, but I’ll give the nineties one thing: houses were cheap.
“I think so,” I said.
submitted by Calledinthe90s to Calledinthe90s [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 03:33 SouthBayHubert Slip on dress shoes: Thursday Lincoln or Amberjack slip on?

Hey everyone,
I’ve spent the last couple months overhauling my work attire to be a little more formal (got too used to quarter zips/sweaters during hybrid work). Keep in mind my office is far from a formal environment, but at least I’ve gone from jeans/loose trousers to tapered Lululemon ABC trousers and slim fit, tucked in shirts. It’s made a big difference as I’m gunning for a senior director role and folks have comments more times than I can count (perhaps a testament that I dressed like shit before lol).
I’ve turned my attention to shoes and my thus far I’ve been wearing Amberjack dress shoes and Chelsea boots. Kicker is that I travel a lot for work, as in 3-4 cross country (6 hour) flights a month between offices. For this reason the Amberjacks seems liked a good option and have been thus far.
Looking for a pair of slip ons and curious if anyone has tried both the Amberjack slip on or Thursday Lincoln?
https://thursdayboots.com/products/mens-lincoln-penny-loafer-rich-mahogany
https://www.amberjack.shop/collections/the-slip-on/products/the-slip-on-obsidian
submitted by SouthBayHubert to mensfashion [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 01:50 elons_burner_acc Tips for Internship Wardrobe at a Big Bank in NYC?

I'm a rising undergraduate senior moving to NYC on June 1st for a summer internship at a big bank downtown. This is my first in-person high finance internship, so I need help purchasing affordable work attire. I bought a cheap navy suit from Chaps last minute for an interview, but that's all I have. How many shirts and pants should I buy and what colors? Should I get another suit? (I was thinking charcoal). What about dress shoes? Any advice is welcome. Thanks!
submitted by elons_burner_acc to FinancialCareers [link] [comments]


2024.05.14 19:24 Individual-Manner-67 STA rewrite attempt

A couple of years ago I tried writing my own version of Stones Abbigale. I never got past the first couple scenes, but I'm considering returning to it. I wanted to basically rewrite and change up a lot of things, mainly focusing on Abbi and Davis and changing some elements. Let me know what you think!

1
It's almost four in the morning and Seth is threatening suicide again. Good. Fuck him. I hope he does it. I don't text him that because I read about this girl who told her boyfriend to kill himself. The irony was that when he actually did it she got charged with second degree murder. My life is fucked as it is I don't need to make it worse. I’m shivering under my comforter because we’re halfway through November. I think about the turkey that won't get made this year and the family I won't see. I think that's swell. Seth is still texting.
Its like u dont even care after everything that happened and after everything we did together i saved ur life and i stayed with u when u cried and i hugged u and i did everything for u but that wasn't enough was it? i try so hard and all u ever are is a bitch to me that's not fair u want me to die and u hate me and u dont even care and im sick of it abbi why is is so hard for u to care about me?
I don't respond. I don't like how I feel about this. This should be easy. He won't actually do it. He won't. He’s too self involved to kill himself. I put my phone face down on my bed. The sheets shake around it as he sends message after message. I was sleeping on a ticking bomb so I got off of it. My feet stick to the floor, I struggle to step. I might as well have been standing barefoot on ice. I trudge to my window so I can see my street at night.
Winter is really coming. You can't hear as many birds as you used to. They've all gone. They've all flown away. I can see three streetlights from where I’m standing. If you look from right to left, you can see the concrete fracture into the sand. I open my window and brace for the chill. I stick my head outside. The ocean is not far away. I hear it hitting the shore over and over. Waves of water splashing incessantly, almost beating out my text notifications.
The street lights flicker. I think of last summer. When Seth and I got really high after the news broke. I was making out with that bong. Emptying bowl after bowl, clanking the glass on the road to empty it out. Just thinking about it makes me feel the street pole against my back again. I was laughing and crying. Seth leaned in and hugged me. “I’m a sure thing,” he said. “I love you and I always will.”I caught my reflection in his sunglasses. I looked awful. I shiver at the memory.
My phone is still buzzing. I try to catch my breath. I shut my window and start to walk back to my bed. A room always looks different in the dark. Maybe you think you know where you are, but there is always something that can jump out at you on the floor. Like a ghostly paper bag or a vengeful shoe. Objects that seem to move on their own with the sole drive of tripping you.
I crawl back into bed. There's the phantom of Dad’s snoring . I know he's not sleeping in his room, he fell asleep on the couch after finishing his seventh fifth. Sometimes my brain fills in the gaps so I can hear it everywhere. Funnily, I haven't actually heard him snore since Mom left. That's the one thing I ever heard them fight about. Before she turned out to be a whore, I guess.
BZZT.BZZT.BZZT.
I can't bring myself to read any of his messages. They're coming so fast all the paragraphs are lost to motion blur. Seth’s arms wrap around me and I think about the beating of his heart and the warmth of his lips against my skin. I open up the texts, ready to respond.
I love you
I text this over and over until I fall asleep.
Davis was the only senior on the bus. Somehow, everyone else had a car or a ride. It’s all right, though. James would probably give him one if he had a car, but he skated to school every morning. That's why he barely ever rode the bus with him. The bus thumped along the under paved roads. Davis forgot his earbuds at home, so the only music that accompanied him was his racing thoughts. Two sophomore girls popped their heads over.
“Ohmigod, Davis!” One of them shrieked.
“As I live and breathe,” he smiled. “Nice,” she said. “I’m so excited to see your finished painting.”
Davis took the lower level art class for a requirement. Like most things, he's not taking it very seriously. For their pop art unit, he's painting a portrait of the art teacher with a warthog face. It's one of his funny disruptions. He knows Mrs. Stanley is going to have a real field day with it, but it doesn't matter. Artistic liberties, he’d profess.
“She's such a bitch, isn't she?” The sophomore girl turns to her compatriot, who only nods in response.
“She's just jealous,” Davis says. “It must be depressing to teach art and see the youth soar above her.”
“For sure,” the girl doesn't get it. Class clown is a semi-heavy burden. Davis doesn't really feel like talking to these girls, but his position demands it. Comedy informs everything about him. To the giant thrift store jeans, to the loud Hawaiian shirt. He and James are the ultimate combination, at least he likes to think so. Quiet brooding begs for bright distraction.
The girl is still trying to talk to him and Davis is saying his preprogrammed lines. The bus stops in front of James’s street. Surprisingly, James is standing there.
“Like I’m this close to just filling my hydroflask with vodka, yaknow?” says the chick. Maybe she's just trying to get a rise out of him.
“Better be prepared to give me more than a sip,” Davis is watching James grumble towards the bus.
The sun is beating down on the forming ice puddles. James stomps through them with small shattering steps.
James turns up the bus aisle and plops in the seat next to Davis. Davis’s smile is genuine now, but he fights it from getting too wide.
“Crash your vehicle?” Davis asks.
“Something like it,” there's something off with him. Davis doesn't want to push it.
“Well damn, hope insurance covers it,” Davis wants James to break and laugh. Is it just another mood or did something actually happen this time?
“It won't, I got bad credit,” James grins and it's like heaven. “What's the move for you today?”
“Surviving art and physics for me,” says Davis. “Those bastards love to keep me down.”
“Who doesn't,” James eyes the girls who have since returned to whatever they were doing before. It's the judgement stare, as Davis calls it. James likes to observe his peers like a zoo-goer. Breaking them down to taxonomic types. Davis likes to think that James doesn't do this to him, but he knows he probably does.
“It sucks you decided to be bad at school and take baby art,” James is still dissecting the sophomore girls down to their tropes. “We could have done Art II together.”
“I wouldn't want to get between you and Alex. I know how you love it when people piss in jars next to you.”
“That's disgusting,” James breaks his glare at the girls.
“It's performance art, it's beautiful,” Davis gets up out of his seat to yell. “Everyone witness the wonderful work of Alex Madov! Disengage yourself from the shackles of capitalism by shouting with me: Poopy, pee pee, poop!”
Davis gets a few chuckles from the other kids on the bus.
“Sit down, fatso,” mumbles the bus driver.
“I will not be silenced! I’m a messenger of the good word, sir!”
"More of this shit and I’m skipping your stop!” “Fine, but I will make Alex remember on the day of judgement,” Davis sits back down. James is full belly laughing.
“You're so retarded,” James wheezes. Davis can't even come back with a response. He's high off of it.
The bus pulls into the school lot with a short stop. The mobs get up and begin to race out. Davis follows James down the line.
“You know Abbi?” James asks. Davis feels a little pit form in his stomach, but he doesn't change his expression.
“Vaguely, what about her?”
“She's in my art class,” James begins. “And I think … well you know, I’m going to talk to her.” He walks down the steps and out the door.
“Doesn't she have a boyfr-” before Davis can descend the driver's arm blocks him.
“I’ve had enough of your shit, kid,” he says. “If you keep being obnoxious, I’m gonna find a way to make you pay for it.”
James looks back, but he can't stay. Davis knows that he's gotta get to class. James does a little wave goodbye and Davis salutes him. “Are you even listening to me?” the bus driver seethes.
“Yes, sir. Divine retribution, got it.” Davis ducks underneath his arm and exits the bus. James has already disappeared into the crowd.
I pass the bong to Ashley. She starts another bowl. She’s the transport and I provide the material. The little things that keep our friendship afloat. I look at the clock in her car.
“It's 8:45,” I pick a piece of bagel out of my teeth.
“So that's it, we officially missed first period,” Ashley tops it off.
“They won't mark us, you know. It's a study.”
“Yeah, but when's the last time we signed in? I heard they're changing the policy again. Do you still have the lighter?”
I toss it to her. I don't get it. It's always her idea to pick me up so we can smoke before school, why now is she suddenly caring about attendance?
“We're pretty girls, we can get out of it. I’m next,” I tap on the clock. “Are you sure it's not fast?”
She shakes her head as she takes a snap. We're parked in the pond area a block or two from the school. It's our designated smoking spot. I like it, even at the end of fall it's pretty. I’m so engrossed that I don't realize her tip out the bowl and put it back in the cup holder.
“I don't know if it's wise to keep up the activity, we should probably get going soon,” she starts up her car again.
“Okay,” I say.
She reverses and swings out of the lot. We lean into the silence and it's super weird.
“Seth texted me last night,” I wait for her reaction.
“Oh,” she grimaces. “What did you say?”
“That I loved him.” Silence again. Ashley's trying to put together something well-meaning while understanding that I’ll probably ignore whatever she has to say.
“Abbi, I’m not trying to tell you how to run your life, but …” Her expression is now quizzical. She's said what she is about to say a number of different ways all ready. She thinks and thinks and decides to say nothing. Good call, I would have screamed at her. Not because what she thinks about my situation isn't true, I’m just in a ‘screaming at people mood’ because of it.
“I’m going to dye my hair again,” she changes the subject to avoid conflict. Classic Ash.
“Oh yeah? What color this time?”
“I don't know,” she checks her reflection in the rear view. “The red has faded out, maybe blue or pink this time.”
“You should go with a softer pink,” I say. “Since you're a soft spring.”
“Yeah, maybe.” We enter the school lot. “Listen, do you want to get together when I do it? Maybe you can dye your hair too.”
“I don't know, I might be busy,” I say. “Seth might want to do something,” I pause for her to protest. “Okay,” she says. She parks and we get out.
I barrel into art class. I don't care if I reek, out of all the teachers I can tell Mrs. Stanley smokes the most. It would be hypocritical of her to care. It looks like I’m the first one. Weird. I check my phone. It's 8:45. Well, fuck. Looks like Ashley needs to fix her clock. Mrs. Stanley is at her desk. She looks at me knowingly.
“Eager to create today, Abbi?”
I just nod and sit at my desk. I’m really feeling it. I open up my precalc notebook and just start sketching. Birds, eyes, trees, whatever. Kids start coming in. Their chatter echoes around me, I try to focus on what I’m doing. Someone bumps into my table. I look up. It's this lanky blonde kid, I think his name is James. He presses his hands underneath the desk as he leans up to talk to me.
“Eww!” He shouts. Some kids turn and laugh. I don't. I just stare at him. James goes red and sits next to the kid who pissed in a jar. Once an adequate amount of students are in the room, Mrs. Stanley starts her lesson slideshow. On the screen is a dirty urinal.
“How many of you are familiar with this work by Marcel DuChamp?” she asks. At this point, Jason, the designated meathead jock, enters the room.
“Sorry I’m late, Mrs. S,” he booms. He looks at the slide. “We building bathrooms today?” Mrs. Stanley glares at him.
“Wouldn't you like that? Considering you spend all of your time in there.”
“Whatever,” Jason brushes his mullet behind his ears.
“No, not whatever. Would you like me to move you into the sophomore class with Davis? Believe it or not he's getting much better marks than you are getting in here.”
Jason rolls his eyes and takes his place in the chair next to me.
“Up to a little extra curricular activities before art, Abbi?” he motions a joint in his fingers. I scoff and go on my phone. There's another text from Seth.
sorry about last night
and
im reading it all right now that was fucked im sorry
I start to respond, but before I can Mrs. Stanley outstretches her hand.
“Give me your phone, Miss Hagerty. I’m sick of giving you warnings.” I don't have the energy to fight, I just give it to her. “You can pick it up at the end of the day.”
My jaw actually drops. Jason must have really set her off, she's not usually such a cunt to me.
“Anyways, found art. What is it? Well, found art is the use of everyday objects to convey an altered meaning. It can be something you find on the street or something that once held value to you. For example, My Bed by Tracey Elim.” She pulls up a picture of a messy bed that looks suspiciously like my own. “So for your final unit of the quarter, you will be making your own found art. I really want you to take this project a little more seriously than most of you have been taking this class. I’m giving you the privilege of picking your own partners, but I’d like to remind you to be thoughtful with your choice. This will be worth more for your grade.”
I look around. I don't have any friends here. I toy around with the idea of asking Jason for convenience and he looks like he's about to pull that move. Behind me there's that James guy. He’s sheepishly looking at me. He seems kind of nice. Okay. I don't feel like getting up so I just turn around in my chair.
“Hey James, wanna be partners?” He balks a bit and then smiles at me.
“Yeah, totally,” He's beaming and it's somewhat endearing. Alex and I switch seats and now I’m next to him.
“I’m gonna be real with you …” I begin. He stops and shifts a little. “I have no idea what we're supposed to be doing for this.” He regards me oddly. Like he's trying to piece me together. It doesn't bother me.
“She said we have to bring in an object that's special to us and present it artistically basically,” he rubs his chin. Damn, I must be baked to hell. I didn't hear her saying that at all. “So got any stuffed animals we can cut up and make Lovecraftian monstrosities out of?”
“I got a hamster cage, hold the hamster,” I say. It comes out kind of weird and I probably sound stupid, but he doesn't seem to care. “Let's make a fucking zoo.”
“Perfect!” He’s kind of cute actually. In a way. Something about this feels fun. I realize the bell will ring soon.
“So um,” I rip out a page of my precalc notebook, still fresh with my drawings. I scrawl out my number and push it to him. “Call me so we can figure out the project some more.” I pack up all my stuff and start to head out. I can feel him watching me and it's not that bad.
“I sure will,” he says. Everything feels really groovy. There's a lightness now. I’m halfway out the door when I remember my phone. I can't believe that I just forgot about Seth. I think about begging for my phone, but I feel too above that. Still, something shakes the good feeling as the bell rings.
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2024.05.14 18:46 _briz_the_wiz_ Resume Help Needed

I am a recent retiree from the Army. I have been interviewed for one position I did not get, and I am looking for pointers on improving my resume. I also use the USA.jobs resume creator when required. I have 15+ years of operations experience up to the Sergeant Major level but also just graduated with an accounting degree with honors. I am trying to leverage my education and experience, but also applying to the fields separately. I keep getting conflicting advice on my resume, so any help is appreciated.
Citizenship: Yes - United States Citizen Security Clearance: Active Secret Clearance Availability: Full-Time/ Permanent
PROFILE SUMMARY
Accomplished leader with over 15 years of experience in operations, strategic planning, and team leadership. Dedicated to driving organizational excellence through dynamic strategies aligned with institutional objectives. Proven track record of adept leadership, fostering cohesive teams, and ensuring timely project delivery. Skilled in problem-solving and communication, adept at identifying and resolving operational challenges. Proficient in fiscal management and cost optimization, resulting in budget-friendly solutions and improved profitability. Experienced in organizational development, enhancing work culture, and boosting employee engagement and retention.
PROFESSIONAL EXPERIENCE
[U.S. Department of the Army](): Senior Operations Manage Operations Sergeant Major 1-314th Infantry Battalion - Joint Base McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst, NJ April 2022 to Retirement (40 Hours per Week)
~Duties & Related Skills:~
U.S. Department of the Army: Senior Operations Manage Future Operations and Planning Lead & First Sergeant Fort Drum Garrison Headquarters & 10th Mountain Division Headquarters - Fort Drum, NY September 2019 to March 2022 (40 Hours per Week)
~Duties & Related Skills:~

U.S. Department of the Army: Senior Operations Manage Current Operations Lead & First Sergeant 1-504th Parachute Infantry Regiment & 82nd Airborne Division Headquarters - Fort Liberty, NC December 2015 to August 2019 (40 Hours per Week)
~Duties & Related Skills:~
CIVILIAN EDUCATION
Institute: Southern New Hampshire University Degree: Bachelor of Science – 2024 Major: Accounting Honors: Summa Cum Laude (3.9 GPA)
MILITARY EDUCATION
Basic, Advanced, and Senior Leadership Course U.S. Advanced Airborne School Air and Unit Movement Officer U.S. Air Force Air-load Planner Combat Lifesaver Emergency Medical Technician
CERTIFICATIONS
· U.S. Defense Counterintelligence & Security Agency – DOD Mandatory Controlled Unclassified Information, Awareness & Reporting · U.S. Department of the Army – Information Security Program, Army OPSEC Level 1 · U.S. Department of Defense – Certified OPSEC for EOP Operators/ OPSEC Awareness for Military Members, DoD Employees & Contracto Combating Trafficking in Person for Investigative Professionals/ Combating Trafficking in Person General Awareness/ Combating Trafficking in Persons for Acquisition & Contracting Professionals/ Level 1 Antiterrorism Awareness, Military Occupational Code, Managing your Transition, Financial Planning for Transition, Employment Fundamentals of Career Transition, Identifying & Safeguarding Personally Identifiable Information PII, Introduction to Privacy Act 1, 2, & 3
SPECIALIZED KNOWLEDGE, SKILLS & ABILITIES (KSA)
· Demonstrates comprehensive understanding and proficiency in deployment and mobility operations, including wartime contingency plans and adherence to relevant instructions, regulations, directives, and local operating procedures.
· Proficient in handling classified and/or protected documents, with adeptness in utilizing various automated data management systems.
· Proficient in budget analysis and administration, encompassing knowledge of budgetary methods, practices, policies, procedures, regulations, and precedents, as well as the accounting system for budgetary information.
· Skilled in implementing security methods, rules, regulations, and principles, supporting security administration, resolving security-related issues, and performing diverse security assignments.
· Proficient in providing authoritative consultation and conducting complex training administration, with the ability to assess program needs, evaluate status, and recommend/implement improvement solutions.
· Proficient in applying tact and diplomacy in advising individuals and high-level officials on complex and sensitive issues, related to planning, organizing, and directing functions of small organizations.
· Demonstrates entry-level proficiency in applying basic principles, concepts, and practices of the occupation.
· Effective communication skills in conveying factual and procedural information clearly, both orally and in writing.
· Proficient in assessing and measuring organizational trends, concerns, and needs, identifying gaps in services, and providing recommendations for effective plans and tools.
· Ability to analyze problems, identify significant factors, gather pertinent data, and utilize critical thinking skills to recognize solutions.
· Skilled in conducting one-on-one training, group presentations, and training sessions through oral communication.
· Demonstrates ability to plan, organize work, follow instructions, and manage multiple ongoing projects effectively, with proficiency in locating, assembling, and composing information for reports, inquiries, and limited technical correspondence.
· Proficient in identifying training needs, instructing personnel, and communicating effectively both orally and in writing.
ADDITIONAL DUTIES
Budget Analyst 2022 [– ]()2024 Knowledge Management Officer 2016 – 2018 Digital Master Gunner 2016 – 2018 Army Instructor 2011 – 2013 DTS Authorizing, Certifying, and Reviewing Official 2008 – 2024
AWARDS
Eagle Scout Bronze Star Medal Meritorious Service Medal (4) Army Commendation Medal (6) Army Achievement Medal (5) Army Good Conduct Medal (7) Drill Sergeant Identification Badge Combat Infantryman Badge Expert Infantryman Badge Command Cyber Readiness Award First Army Commanding General Award Friends of Lynn Woods Cyrus M. Tracy Award
ORGANIZATIONAL PARTICIPATION
National Eagle Scout Association Veterans of Foreign Wars National Infantry Association 82nd Airborne Division Association
VOLUNTEER ACTIVITY
Habitat for Humanity 2022 - Present Salem Hospital 1992 - 1996
EDUCATIONAL FOCUS AREAS
Organizational Leadership, Leadership Communication, Operations Management, Principles of Management, Human Relations in Administration, Principles of Finance, Financial Accounting, Managerial Accounting, Intermediate Accounting I II & III, Advanced Accounting, Cost Accounting, Auditing Principles, Auditing and Forensic Accounting, Financial Statement Analysis, Business Valuation, Federal Taxation, Microeconomics, Macroeconomics, Business Law I & II, Global Business Dimensions, Driving Business Opportunities, Critical Business Skills for Success, Applied Marketing Strategies, Data Analytics for Financial Professionals, Statistics, and Technology in Society.
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2024.05.14 15:05 Goldenchicks South Texas Race Ranch: racing Saturday night! 🏎️🏎️

South Texas Race Ranch: racing Saturday night! 🏎️🏎️
STIMS Modifieds, Texas Dirt Truck Series, , Live Music, Bounce Houses, and on track BUS rides! 7 classes of car racing including Big Mods and Trucks !
$20 for adults children 10 and under free! Senior and Military $15
Live Music
Amazing food trucks at great prices!
Gates open at 5:00pm and the racing starts at 7:00pm
$1 Dos XX all Night long!
May 18th, 2024
Corner of Old Brownsville Road and Saratoga!
Kids Club Activities, join the kids club get free t-shirt plus activities during the races for kid club members.
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2024.05.14 14:01 Zappingsbrew A post talking about 400 words

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