Idk if anyone else if having the same problem, but I am having the most AWFUL time finding a pair of genuinely high waisted straight leg jeans that do not give me the dreaded camel toe. I do not have the same issue with skinny jeans or wide leg pants...maybe I'm just not built for them. Idk! Any luck? Anyone relate?

I don’t think I’ve ever found bottoms that hit me in the right spot. Too high and I look like Steve Urkel, but too mid rise-low rise and it just doesn’t look proportional. I also have the issue of everything wanting to ride up to my hips and so I get camel toe in almost anything I try so I’m constantly pulling them down and fussing with them, don’t even get me started on shorts they are even worse. What works for you?

My mom now has massive camel toe all the time!
I'm considering it but so fearful of what she's going to be like?? Has anyone else had a cry over it?

I've been searching for the perfect shorts for my first marathon and it's been a journey, so I thought I'd share my notes with you all. What I wanted: a pair of high-waisted compression shorts that wouldn't cause chafing, legs that wouldn't ride up/would stay put, had pockets for my phone/fuel, and was flattering/didn't cause my thighs to poke out at the bottom of the leg seams. This has been surprisingly very hard to find!!
I was lurking on here and on TikTok trying to research the best and most-recommended, so here's what I tried:

• Lulu wunder train shorts: $74. These were recommended to me by a running friend and I had high hopes because I love running in my Lulu base pace tights, but they unfortunately caused my thighs to pop out at the bottom of the leg seams which I hate. I tried them in a 4 and a 6 and neither of them looked/felt how I wanted.
• Oiselle pocket jogger: $66. These had an interesting feel fabric-wise that was more soft and almost cotton-like than I'm used to. I tried on a 4 and I liked how they looked/felt on and they seemingly checked all the boxes BUT when I turned around in the fitting room I realized they are completely see-through in the back. Why??
• Old Navy powersoft biker shorts: $16-$25. I am an Old Navy active lover and these feel really nice on, but the legs of the shorts didn't stay put when I took them for an hour-long run. I wore a small and I kept wanting to pull them down which is annoying and they also don't have the pockets I wanted.
• Janji 5" pace short: $68. I thought these were going to be my unicorn shorts. They are very promising! They've got silicone grips at the bottom of the legs to prevent riding up, a good amount of pockets, and a super light-weight feel. I got a medium from a local running store, took them out for a test run/speed workout and was feeling great, but I started to get major camel-toe discomfort in the front seam area towards the end of my run. Ended up returning.
• Rabbit speed leggy shorts: $60. Tried these on in a small and medium and didn't like how they looked or felt on because they did the leg squeeze thing at the bottom.
• Athlete interval stash short: $69. Tried these on and I liked the feel of the fabric, the compression, and the pockets. Unfortunately the 7 inch length wasn't flattering on me (I'm 5'4) and looked more like Bermuda shorts on me/caused doink-age on my knees.
• Baleaf high waisted bike shorts: $20. Ordered these in a small and a medium. They were fine, but I wasn't impressed either. The medium felt a little too loose and the small did the leg doink-out thing.
• FlipBelt compression shorts: $46. FINALLY. So glad I came across a TikTok of a runner praising these shorts because I never would have heard of them. I ordered these in the same Amazon order as the Baleafs and liked how these felt and fit much better. I got a medium which fit perfect. The material is thicker, almost like a slight scuba vibe, but I liked the feel. These have a built-in flip belt for storage that doubles as a nice compression high-waist and deep side pockets. The 5" length was flattering on me AND the legs didn't squeeze my thighs out on the bottom. I just took them out for an 18 miler yesterday in the sunshine/70s and they were perfect! I didn't feel any kind of camel-toe discomfort in the front and the legs stay put!! I didn't have to pull them down. I did put on precautionary body glide just in case since they were new but can confidently say these are the best I've tried.

TLDR: The FlipBelt women's compression shorts are a really, really nice pair of shorts!

Well, it’s daytime over here, it’s nighttime over there, like a daytime and a nighttime, oh yeah
It’s just like somebody bending down, whispering in your ear, it’s like daytime and a nighttime, oh yeah
Called peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece
Peace by piece, peace by piece
I was born and raised in the U.S.A., I got the red, white, and blues, I cut my driver teeth in the Chevrolet
Wearing a black brothers shoes, patented in Berkeley and sugar red, baby in my neighborhood
A G. I. Joe in the yesterday, and a boy named Johnny B. Goode
A sweet potato pie and a teenage queen, a both on the flow
Be a radio and an M-16, and flipping on rock n’ roll
It’s daytime over here, it’s nighttime over there, it’s like a daytime and a nighttime, oh yeah
And it’s like somebody bending down, whispering in your ear, It’s like daytime and nighttime, oh yeah
It’s time to take a breath in the middle of the race, somebody tries to sell you something
They say it’s next to the best man give me a break, the best is next to nothing
When the line in the lamb laid down together, I know the main stand will be gone forever
But until that time when the rapture comes, piece of mind, better wear your gun
The mothers and the brothers that you’re beating on the street, they are looking at you, like you are something to eat
And ever where you look it’s the same thing, everybody looking just to get off hard
Something, you got to get off life, that’s the main thing, anybody asking you what you’re doing when you don’t know
But your dream, and your rank, and your still not coming by, when the medicine comes, you better get your piece, cause you gotta to have a piece just to get some
Peace is the last of the ammo stash, that’s the only way you are ever going to make it last
It’s called peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece
Playing on your guitar, fighting in the real war, everybody wants to be a player or a superstar
Spinning on your back, dancing on your knees, you gets no slack from the Red Chinese
You’re dancing in the streets just to ease your mind, while Cuba is dancing on your behind
Living in Russia, oh my Lord, you gets no Social Security Card, you gets no Welfare, you gets no Food Stamps, you gets no barbeque, you gets no cash
There’s no fried chicken when you’re living in the work camp, you gets no parts of feminine ass
Say what? I said, you gets no bail, you gets no more laughter in the Communist jail, you gets no woman, you gets no chance, you gets no mercy, you gets no breakdance
It’s just like somebody bending down, whispering in your ear, it’s like daytime and nighttime, oh yeah
Like daytime over here, it’s nighttime over there, it’s like daytime and nighttime, oh yeah
It’s just like somebody bending down, whispering in your ear, daytime, nighttime, oh yeah
You dance on your toes, you stand on your head, you run your mouth, until your dead, sell your mama’s fat behind, then wrap your mind, till your blind, funky till the angels sing, cause sex and violence is my thang
I don’t give a damn if you change your name, when your buried in the ground everybody’s the same
Shoot on me, shoot all night, I can to do it in one shot when the timing is right, you can do the camel walk, you can pick the grid, you can boogie your woogie till your head caves in
You can work the mojo till your toenails curl, and be the baddest man ever in the civilized world
There’s a finger on the trigger, somebody’s going to pull it
Be a honky or a n***** who can rap away a bullet
When the time is right, you’re going to hear the man say, you already heard the meat that you got to pay
You can pay with your money, you can pay with your life, you can pay with your momma, you can pay with your wife
Better flash your cash, with respect, cause a hard panic weapon don’t set no check
But tighten up your set, clean up the machine, happiness is a fully loaded magazine
I got six fingers on my left hand, I’m gonna be the president’s right hand man
Every fine man needs a CNI, I know he’s gonna call me, I can read his mind
I’m a worm, baby, I’m a wolf in a flock of sheep, I’m a mutated string, you can cut me and I just don’t bleed
You can cram the jam, snap the rap, you can lay off the minority welfare crap, this ain’t no job that your eyes be seeing, but the nuclear war is a state of being, called peace by piece
It’s a P.E.A.C.E. by a P.I.E.C.E.
P.E.A.C.E. by a P.I.E.C.E.
P.E.A.C.E. by P.I.E.C.E.
P.E.A.C.E. by a P.I.E.C.E.
(Peace by piece)
(Peace by piece)
(Peace by piece)
(Peace by piece)
(Peace by piece)
(Peace by piece)
(Peace by piece)
(Peace by piece)

Well, it’s daytime over here, it’s nighttime over there, like a daytime and a nighttime, oh yeah
It’s just like somebody bending down, whispering in your ear, it’s like daytime and a nighttime, oh yeah
Called peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece
Peace by piece, peace by piece
I was born and raised in the U.S.A., I got the red, white, and blues, I cut my driver teeth in the Chevrolet
Wearing a black brothers shoes, patented in Berkeley and sugar red, baby in my neighborhood
A G. I. Joe in the yesterday, and a boy named Johnny B. Goode
A sweet potato pie and a teenage queen, a both on the flow
Be a radio and an M-16, and flipping on rock n’ roll
It’s daytime over here, it’s nighttime over there, it’s like a daytime and a nighttime, oh yeah
And it’s like somebody bending down, whispering in your ear, It’s like daytime and nighttime, oh yeah
It’s time to take a breath in the middle of the race, somebody tries to sell you something
They say it’s next to the best man give me a break, the best is next to nothing
When the line in the lamb laid down together, I know the main stand will be gone forever
But until that time when the rapture comes, piece of mind, better wear your gun
The mothers and the brothers that you’re beating on the street, they are looking at you, like you are something to eat
And ever where you look it’s the same thing, everybody looking just to get off hard
Something, you got to get off life, that’s the main thing, anybody asking you what you’re doing when you don’t know
But your dream, and your rank, and your still not coming by, when the medicine comes, you better get your piece, cause you gotta to have a piece just to get some
Peace is the last of the ammo stash, that’s the only way you are ever going to make it last
It’s called peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece, peace by piece
Playing on your guitar, fighting in the real war, everybody wants to be a player or a superstar
Spinning on your back, dancing on your knees, you gets no slack from the Red Chinese
You’re dancing in the streets just to ease your mind, while Cuba is dancing on your behind
Living in Russia, oh my Lord, you gets no Social Security Card, you gets no Welfare, you gets no Food Stamps, you gets no barbeque, you gets no cash
There’s no fried chicken when you’re living in the work camp, you gets no parts of feminine ass
Say what? I said, you gets no bail, you gets no more laughter in the Communist jail, you gets no woman, you gets no chance, you gets no mercy, you gets no breakdance
It’s just like somebody bending down, whispering in your ear, it’s like daytime and nighttime, oh yeah
Like daytime over here, it’s nighttime over there, it’s like daytime and nighttime, oh yeah
It’s just like somebody bending down, whispering in your ear, daytime, nighttime, oh yeah
You dance on your toes, you stand on your head, you run your mouth, until your dead, sell your mama’s fat behind, then wrap your mind, till your blind, funky till the angels sing, cause sex and violence is my thang
I don’t give a damn if you change your name, when your buried in the ground everybody’s the same
Shoot on me, shoot all night, I can to do it in one shot when the timing is right, you can do the camel walk, you can pick the grid, you can boogie your woogie till your head caves in
You can work the mojo till your toenails curl, and be the baddest man ever in the civilized world
There’s a finger on the trigger, somebody’s going to pull it
Be a honky or a nigger who can rap away a bullet
When the time is right, you’re going to hear the man say, you already heard the meat that you got to pay
You can pay with your money, you can pay with your life, you can pay with your momma, you can pay with your wife
Better flash your cash, with respect, cause a hard panic weapon don’t set no check
But tighten up your set, clean up the machine, happiness is a fully loaded magazine
I got six fingers on my left hand, I’m gonna be the president’s right hand man
Every fine man needs a CNI, I know he’s gonna call me, I can read his mind
I’m a worm, baby, I’m a wolf in a flock of sheep, I’m a mutated string, you can cut me and I just don’t bleed
You can cram the jam, snap the rap, you can lay off the minority welfare crap, this ain’t no job that your eyes be seeing, but the nuclear war is a state of being, called peace by piece
It’s a P.E.A.C.E. by a P.I.E.C.E.
P.E.A.C.E. by a P.I.E.C.E.
P.E.A.C.E. by P.I.E.C.E.
P.E.A.C.E. by a P.I.E.C.E.
(Peace by piece)
(Peace by piece)
(Peace by piece)
(Peace by piece)
(Peace by piece)
(Peace by piece)
(Peace by piece)
(Peace by piece)

Just bought a few trousers from Zara. While the waist fits well, idk how to deal with the camel toe. I tried panty liners and body shapers. While the avoid it being obvious, it doesn’t vanish
So I wanted to know is camel toe really that big of a deal? If so, please give me suggestions on how to fix it

made this for my narrative essay in american literature, but one of my friends said i should share the story
“But I Still Need You” Throughout my life, I had always fallen easy for girls. The elementary mindset of, “she’s cute, so I have a crush on her,” prevented me from developing a legitimate relationship with any girl I tried to talk to. The few times that my feelings were reciprocated, I had no idea because I was already on to the next girl, and this continued until I was left with a multitude of friend-zone situations and a list of “crushes.” My charisma already lacking, it seemed each year that passed, previous to 3rd grade, I grew in weight and therefore awkwardness. The struggle to interact with women lessened as I grew up, while the fat remained. So, by the 8th grade I was the ideal guy friend; easy to talk to, kinda funny, understanding, and unintimidating. My approachable “funny fat friend” nature had its ups and downs. While guys, for reasons I still don’t fully understand, suspected me to be gay, girls found it intriguing and it made them want to be friends with me more. Back then I didn’t know, but now I know that by being forced to be friends first, after finding out I was in fact not gay, the right woman for me would want to be with me for my personality. In the winter of 2021, I fell hard for a girl named Madeline. Maddie was no different than many of the other girls in that she had a bland personality and I thought she was cute. She had brunette hair with bangs, big glasses, way too much makeup on, and a unique fashion sense. Her sense of fashion was one of the few interesting things about her, yet it was disregarded by the public. Not too many guys found her appealing, but I did, for whatever reason. I was dead set on getting to know her better in hope of becoming more than friends. Unfortunately, she hardly paid attention to me, but I didn’t give up. I merely slowed down because of my interest in her friend, Isabella. Isabella is the Spanish and Italian variation of Elizabeth (derived from the Hebrew name Elisheba). The meaning of Elishiba can be translated to, “God is my oath.” In Arabic, the beginning of Isabella, “Isa,” is the classical Arabic name for Jesus, while in the French language, the shortened version of Isabella, “Belle,” translates to “beautiful.” I had met Isabella in the sixth grade, and grew a tiny crush on her, in the elementary sense, before we all went into hibernation (COVID). I barely knew her though, and she had no idea who I was, so when we interacted in my last two classes, if we did at all, it was like two strangers who kept running into each other. I sat by her in my sixth period, and one seat up and to the right from her in seventh. We only ever made small talk and the occasional joke, but when I spoke with her I felt content. Still barely knowing her, all I could admire was the little things in the way she laughed and spoke. I longed to know more about Isabella, she was mature, intelligent, and very opinionated, but still light-hearted and made time pass at the speed of light. It wasn’t until she was in my group in sixth period one day that she began to open up a little by sharing the details of her current long-distance relationship. The shards of my heart stabbed and crushed my stomach; hope, the oxygen to my mind, depleted faster than the air of a broken space shuttle; palpitation, nausea, asphyxia, and neurosis bombarded me like Persian arrows on the Greeks. Then, all at once, the excruciating tidal wave evaporated, but instead of calm waters, I was left with a drought. Every emotion muted or gone, my body went numb while everything I cared for vanished from my mind. I didn’t speak throughout the rest of that day, and went directly from the bus to decaying in my bed. I was devastated, so I retreated to my pointless crush on Maddie. Unrelated to the rather sad lovelife, my anxiety and depression worsened throughout 8th grade, and while I was going to therapy, most of my issues wouldn’t and still haven’t been worked through. Throughout the school year I had developed a toxic system of self pity, in which I would spend hours a day cycling through the feelings of hope, anger, and despair- never that of joy. I knew what I was doing, gathering enough hope to face the school day just before I reflected on the doubts and grievances going on throughout my life. I’d bring myself up just for a greater fall because honestly, overtime I became numb to the natural pain. If I were going to fall into the pit that is depression, the higher I peaked in terms of optimism the more excruciating the freefall of nausea and the heavy flow of salt water. At that point in my life, I saw no point in getting out of bed to do anything, school or even my own mother’s birthday. By the end of eighth grade I had spent almost a total of six weeks absent, two of which were from me being quarantined. Typically over the span of one or two days, others up to four, I would be in my bed “sick.” During these mini-vacations I would sleep all morning, if my mom let me, and stay up all night, oftentimes listening to Radiohead or Cigarettes After Sex while staring at my ceiling. I wanted to stay up, I wanted to feel the bags grabbing and pulling towards my cheekbone, I wanted to feel empty, emotionally and physically. During the day, my anxiety attacks became panic attacks and I would get sent home for vomiting. I'd throw up to give Mom a reason to let me stay home. I’d throw up to feel something, anything. I’d throw up to keep my stomach empty. I’d throw up because I had to, because the nerves and overthinking forced me to. Every morning, I’d drag my black air force ones across cement, carpet, tiles, and marble, each step leading towards Mrs. Clements’ homeroom. For every step, a different worry or insecurity flashed through my brain. But then, out of the blue, I’m “Lincoln” again. I walk into homeroom with an ear-to-ear grin and dap up “the boys”. I’d spend the morning building up hopes of making Isabella laugh today, or maybe calling her once I got home, but I knew that nine times out of ten my hopes were delusional. To “Lincoln,” this was no problem, he would make a gay joke, join the boys with teasing a cute girl in my class, and laugh until just for a moment, the despair was gone. Finally, the sixth period would come and I’d get to see Isabella. In here I got the least work done out of all my classes as I would find myself strategically planning my next interaction with her, just for said plans to go out the window when I was brought face to face with her. Typically seventh period followed the same pattern except Ms. Shirley Davis could never allow small talk in her classroom. When the last bell rang, I went straight to the buses. I’d sleep on the way home, dreaming of a call that would hardly happen. On the off chance my phone didn’t reach its feared 11th cry, we’d talk for hours at a time. On a weekday or not, it seemed that, when we did call, it was guaranteed to go into the early morning. It’s hard to put my finger on a specific topic, or even general. In our conversations, we discussed anything and everything. Everything, except her own love interest. I admired this, as my inability to keep who I’m thinking about at the time a secret is a major flaw of mine. The more that me and her spoke, the more I grew to love her. Our talks were so honest, so raw, that the secret I held began to eat away at me. My core collapsing like a dying star, each day it felt like the pain got worse. To cope with the feelings I had buried deep inside me, I’d turn to my friends. At first, they said to come forward with my feelings, but I knew that’s what any friend would’ve said. The relief I got from venting the conflicting hurricane within me was brief. Overtime, their words of encouragement turned to annoyance, and understandably so. When people grew sick of the same old sadistic untold love, I turned to Isabella. I wrote a text so full that, to read it, one needed to tap on an arrow at the bottom right corner of my message. The essay was compiled with the confliction I had, developing feelings for a friend, and the sorrow that filled me each day that passed without her. I described the perfect imperfections that I admired about her, how life was complete when I spoke to her, the beauty that paralyzed me every time I saw her in person, and the character that I felt God had curated specifically for me. Sitting there unsure if I should press send, a fear grew within my chest that Isabella would see right through me. I could hear the music that so often triggered tears; the vocals of Thom Yorke or the beats of Kanye West, they faded in and out. What if she didn’t even respond? What if she thought I was a creep? What if- then she responded. Suddenly, the ominous 808s & Heartbreak pounding vanished, my respiratory chaos became paralyzed, and time stood still. I couldn’t breathe until I finished reading, and once I did, my sigh was all but relieving. Isabella explained to me how unhealthy my habits were; even in comparison to the anguish that would follow, I’d suffer far more and far longer should I suppress my emotions. She told me how that level of affection, in the context of the warped concept of romance most men had, was something she had only dreamt of. Isabella said that holding these feelings would eat away at me, exponentially increasing in severity, until I broke. Not only would I be hurting myself, but I would be depriving the person I care about most from the appreciation they deserve. I became bloated with fear of the friendzone, those insecurities, all based upon inference, became a reality with Isabella’s last piece of advice. She said, “If she doesn’t reciprocate those emotions, then don’t worry. I’m sure there’s a girl out there who can appreciate your compassion.” The blame had no other place to go than my shoulders, after all, I got what I asked for, advice on another girl. Isabella, even if she saw the crush I had on her, is far too kind to address it. She cared for everyone, and to her, she was merely boosting up a friend who’s down. For the rest of the night her text echoed through my mind; pain, regret, and admiration caused my mind to sporadically leap from conclusion to conclusion. Two years later, those words still haunt me, reiterations of that phrase torturing me when I least expect them. The school year progressed, but my aspirations with Isabella didn’t. Over time, the frequency of my writings grew to be weekly, at times reaching two a week, and the weight of my confessions depleted. I opened my audience to a mutual friend of Isabella’s, Miley, with the intention of acquiring useful advice. Eventually, my choice to try concealing what I felt for Isabella became too heavy of a burden, weighing down on me in forces I had not endured before. Soon, the love I had for Isabella turned to hatred for myself. I was relentlessly criticizing every aspect of myself and my mind. I hated how fat I was, my smile, my voice, my laugh, and most of all my personality. What I had thought was my greatest strength, was revealed as my worst trait. The gullibility I exhibited when thinking for a second Isabella could possibly like me; the lack of confidence that caused me to chicken out of confessing my feelings to her; my insufferable need to make people laugh; the hyperfixation I would develop for those that I love. Everything about me was wrong. I stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped caring, and eventually I stopped living. The “Lincoln” my friends had grown to recognize, the only remnant of the joy I felt when I was younger, died, and I was left with only my love for Isabella and resentment for myself. I began testing the limits of what was left of me, praying for relief. At first in the middle of the night, an anaconda would find its way to my throat, wrapping around my neck. Its cold black scales gracefully gliding across my skin before silencing my cries with the swift tug of its metallic USB head. The snake would maintain pressure until I let go of it, the entire time whispering into my ear, begging me to hold on. Some nights it came with what must have been a full stomach for it was drastically wider, it was brown these nights, with leather skin, and a slight warmth, but it behaved the same. Most visits from the snake ended with my vision blurry, my breath short, or my head dizzy. The only consistency of our transactions was Asia’s Death Lake that streamed down my face from start to finish. Eventually, the snake seemed closer and closer to silencing me forever, but I also became used to its visits. I began writing letters to everyone I loved so that, should the snake come out victorious, they’d have a final goodbye. Once I had sorted out my notes, I called the snake to my room. This time it came striped with shades of blue, its skin a soft fabric. For once, I controlled the snake, because our intentions finally aligned. I locked the door, sent out my texts, placed the written notes on my dresser, and joined the snake at my closet door. Holding onto the doorknob, the snake wrapped itself around my neck just as it had done in nights of the past. It whispered to me, “let go,” for I had been on my knees in hesitation. I followed the snake’s order by making a sort of plank with my body, the bottom half resting on a stack of dirty laundry and pillows while the top was supported by my elbows. Pressure swiftly fell down on my neck and didn’t stop. “This is it,” I thought to myself. My eyes seemed to pop out of my skull, and my tears, falling down like summer rain, became blurry dots as my vision went dark. Next thing I know, I’m waking up, snot, saliva, and tears strung between my face and the carpet floor. My head pounding and my eyes burning, I looked up at the “snake” that was the tie my mom had gotten me for Sunday service. Although my mind was more clear, it was not out of revelation, but from a muted sense of the world around me. Other than Isabella, nothing mattered anymore, and the little emotion I felt was squashed by my immortal love. The following day I get called to the counselors office on charges of suicidal thoughts and self harm. I said what I had to in order to escape her grasp, but left infuriated. Not only had my own friends betrayed me, but the lady who was supposed to guide me essentially scolded me for being sad. Throughout the day my anger faded out and my focus became making an excuse as to why my parents got a weird call from my counselor, then I’d find the traitor who sold me out. That afternoon, I lost two friends, and for the first time ever got mad at Isabella. Apparently, Miley, Maddie, and Isabella all reported me to the counselor that morning. They said I had been traumatizing them with what was going on in my life, being normal and messing around at school, then detailing my thoughts and actions to them outside of school. I felt like I had been tricked. I thought they were my friends. I thought they understood me. They asked me if I was okay, they said they wanted, cared, needed to know, but now I had scared them? I addressed what had happened with Miley first. She immediately lashed out at me, saying I should be thanking them, not be mad. While I didn’t want to accept it, I understood the core of her choices. On the other hand, Maddie’s response to my confrontation was disgustingly cruel. She said I had been unfair and just seeking attention, that no thirteen to fourteen year old should hear about what I was going through because it was unnatural. Before she continued, I apologized, that’s all I could think to do, because deep down I believed her. She told me it wasn’t all my fault because my brain was messed up, and that opening up to the girls would only make them not want to be friends with me. The one word that rang through my head then, and still does today, was “creep,” she claimed that what I felt wasn’t love, but I was just mentally unstable and creepy. Any remnants of the sweet kid from elementary school who just wanted a friend and loved everyone were obliterated. Maddie was right, all I had done was hurt and scare them, it didn’t matter what I thought. I told her all I could, that I didn’t know what to say other than I was sorry for the damage I had done, and I would try and get better. Her response, like a branding iron on my mind, was, “It’s not damage, it’s baggage. Imagine if the roles were reversed.” It was only then that I stopped texting back. I wish I could say it was out of frustration or self respect, but the reality of my manipulative traits is what silenced me. Shockingly, the response that hurt the most was from Isabella, yet it somehow meant the most to me too. Isabella told me that she needed me in the world. She told me that if I ever got those thoughts again, to think about her as well; to think about the pain I’d be causing her; to think about the trauma she’d live with for the rest of her life. After repeating the phrase, “I need you in my life,” she acknowledged how selfish it was, but still didn’t care. Isabella continued elaborating, she didn’t care because no label of selfishness outweighed the value of my life. What she said that night has been vivid in my mind since, but my only wish is that she had needed me as I needed her. Tears began to hide my freckled cheeks as I texted her about how much her words meant to me, how much she meant to me, and I apologized to her. I said sorry for the baggage I caused, the “creepy” behavior, and any other ways I had wronged her. I said sorry for loving her, and told her I’d do better. She disregarded my apologies, telling me that I could always talk to her because no matter the baggage she could carry, it’d be worth taking the smallest bit off of me. Her words meant so much to me, yet hurt me just the same. I hated myself for it. I couldn’t see a life without an affection for her, it was pathetic. If I truly loved her, I’d let my feelings go, right? What kind of person did that make me? Summer came and went. Hoping that time would kill the crush I had on Isabella, I prohibited myself from contacting her. Instead I spent time with my family and a few friends, but Isabella never left my head. Even when accompanying my dad to Berry College for the Governor’s Honors Program, she’s what filled my head. At first I felt frustrated because before I had come forward to her, she had known about the feelings I had. I came to the conclusion that she had been dragging me along, but even then I knew how easily that thought would be abandoned. First day of High school, I got in touch with her. For maybe two weeks, I maintained a platonic relationship before free falling into the ominous pit once again. This time felt different though, it felt like what I had thought about everyday, for what seemed eternity, could be more than a daydream. We texted each other throughout the school day and facetimed after her cheer practice and my band practice. Eventually, Isabella was falling asleep on call. Before, we’d talk long into the night, and it began to drain the energy out of the both of us. Now, we were listening to music, playing Roblox, watching Netflix, or just sitting in silence. I had never felt comfortable with silence, but she made it seem better than having a conversation with anyone else. It’s a beautiful thing when words aren’t required to appreciate someone. The moment I had the courage to do so, I asked her out to Steak n’ Shake. It’s just my luck that the restaurant was hardly a shell of what I remembered as a kid. At first the conversation was awkward because we hardly spoke in person, but as time progressed so did we. I still remember the tightness of my cheeks as I failed to suppress my ear-to-ear grin. The euphoric nausea and beating heart that disappeared throughout our conversation. I remember the booth we sat in, the fact that she wanted me to swap seats with her because of her creaky seat, the way she giggled, how I fought tooth and nail to pay for such a small bill, the way she smiled when she said, “next time you’ve gotta let me pay,” and the shared excitement for our next hangout. Even though Isabella and I were still friends, even though the restaurant was a disaster, even though the fries were stale and the milkshakes chunky, that moment is one of the best in my life. With how well things were going, I thought that it was my best chance at making something more out of this friendship. So, I shot my shot. I told her that despite my efforts the summer before, she still held a special place in my heart. Isabella responded with her own struggles with recovering from a past relationship, detailing the trust issues and pain she still felt almost a year later. I was yet again, devastated. Then she added that despite her own feelings, she had to be careful and the risk of losing our friendship scared her. I understood her reasoning, but it made me sick to think of how close I was. In response, I expressed how I could relate to those feelings, and the conflict I had with them. It felt ridiculous having opened myself up once again, to just be friendzoned. Her response struck me with both hope and devastation, “I f*cking love you a ton Lincoln, but I’m struggling to differentiate my admiration as a friend and as something more. I’m terrified of losing you.” Previously I would have seen this as a sign to keep trying, but at that moment, I couldn’t see past the blatant friendzoning. After pursuing her for so long, it felt cruel of her to continue dragging me along like this, even though she was being honest. My reaction to the straw that broke the camel’s back is one of, if not, the biggest regrets in life. Homecoming was a little over a week away and she was going (as friends) with my buddy, Davis, so in a storm of hatred for myself and the situation I was in, I gave up on her. Our conversations grew to be minimal and far apart. Soon, I started to resent her. Each day since then, I have somehow felt more remorse than the last for not asking her to Homecoming. Homecoming night is when I began flirting with Claire, a sweet redhead from gym class. We connected on not going with the person we had hoped for. All it took was me joking that I should’ve spent more time around her, instead of leaving the dance early, for Claire to lose her mind. Over the next month or so, I was becoming closer and closer with Claire, despite her irritable “quirks”. I only spoke to Isabella if she reached out to me first with the only exception being when I would ask her for “advice” about Claire, which was a shameful habit I started as petty revenge on Isabella. Eventually, Isabella blocked me on Snapchat, but it didn’t matter. Things with me and Claire were going great, she made me feel like I didn’t need to starve myself to be good enough for her. She made me feel like I was enough. For the next two and a half months, life was great. After the first couple months of ignorant bliss, I was sick of her. Sure, there were a variety of reasons to find her annoying, most people I knew could list more than they have fingers and toes, but she didn’t do anything wrong. I shouldn’t have gotten into the relationship in the first place not only because of Isabella, but also the speed at which me and Claire started dating. She was still growing out of the elementary relationship phase, so while it was nice to connect with someone so quickly, it was rushed. Another issue being that I was her first real boyfriend, the baggage that followed me was detrimental to her and I couldn’t give her the attention she needed. As me and Claire began our month long drift apart, I was unblocked by Isabella. She and I caught up, and we quickly began to talk trash about Claire while on call. It was unbelievably toxic, and I’m embarrassed of how I handled things to this day. Eventually, with the support of Isabella, I decided it was time to break up. The only issue was the guilt I had in such a terrible choice, I could never do it. So I began to get more distant by the day, ignored texts and calls, and stopped walking her to classes because “I had to pee.” Eventually she caught wind of my plans and called me after school one day. Sobbing, she told me what she had heard and how she knew it wasn’t true, but it still worried her. I began to get ready to break the news, but she was already crying so what's the worst that could happen? I wish I had never asked myself that, because next she told me she’d been cutting herself. My heart sank in remorse for what I knew I would do. If I led her on longer, the aftermath of my cold actions would lead to even more catastrophe. I was scared, but knew the lesser of the two evils I had to pick from. I calmed her down, quickly notified her friends to be keeping an eye on her, and then dumped her. To this day, I am disgusted by my actions. Throughout the past three months, Claire expressed how she had loved and trusted me, yet I threw that all away. There are so many ways I could’ve handled the situation differently, but two stood out the most. Showing respect by speaking to Claire the moment I realized my feelings had fleeted was the bare minimum that I disregarded, but the second was far simpler. I had known from the start that I was still in love with Isabella and that love never faded, but was only suppressed. The entire relationship we developed, while we both enjoyed parts of it (her more than me), was a lie, and essentially a cruel joke played on Claire. There’s no excuse for my actions, and even worse, I could’ve cared less back then. It was only when time had passed that I began to understand the damage I had done. Without Claire holding me back, my newfound freedom led to a closer friendship with Isabella. I dove headfirst into the familiar pit all over again. A friendship was not enough, I appreciated every interaction I had with Isabella, but my life depended on a future with her. It’s likely she felt this as she slowly began to drift away from me. Before I had stayed up speaking to Isabella, but now I couldn’t sleep out of the tormenting absence of her voice. The only path to good health was time; distance was best for the both of us, and I knew it. For the rest of that school year, everything around me was going, but I stood still. It was like my life was just a sitcom, and I was no longer the main character. The summer that followed was just the same, I was living but dead, moving but still, speaking but silent. I was dissociating from my friends and family, but the absence of that violent snake made my depression insignificant. Living a life without her was more punishment than death itself, and I didn’t deserve relief. Even now, I think of that summer and remember almost nothing, for my life isn’t worth remembering without Isabella in it. Sophomore year began, and so did my conversations with Isabella. This go around, I was subtle with my feelings for her. The excitement I had for speaking with her was under control, but it was because the spark inside me had faded, even when it came to Isabella.The years of self pity and depression had left a toll on me that could never be reversed, and it didn’t help that Isabella began to build a relationship with another guy. When we spoke, if we did, Isabella’s concern for my mental state outweighed the friendship we were struggling to preserve. I had come to the conclusion that pursuing Isabella would only make things worse, and I needed to just be her friend. Since I couldn’t lose the feelings I had for her, I just sat in them. While I sat in the pit, Isabella and I had one particular Facetime call in which I brought up how much I regretted dating Claire. To that, Isabella added, “Yeah, she’s so annoying. I can’t remember if you told me why you got together in the first place, what led you to her?” I paused with the thousand-yard stare of an American private fresh out of West Point. “I guess I was just so disappointed with myself for not being able to go to homecoming with you and being stuck on you for so long that I impulsively got with another girl to forget about my shortcomings,” I said with reluctance and stuttering every few words. She told me that she would’ve said yes to homecoming without a second thought, but I knew she meant as friends. Then, to my dismay, Isabella revealed that whenever I got with Claire, she still had feelings for me. It was me talking to Isabella about how great things were with me and Claire that led her to block me and cut contact with me. The piano melody from “No Surprises” by Radiohead began looping through my mind as tears ran down my face. I forget how I ended the call, but once I did, I broke. I lost my breath, my head got light, my eyes became blurry, my stomach was nauseous, and my insides sank as far as they could. Everything I wanted, dreamed of, needed had been so close, and I blew it. Everything was my fault. Later I would ask her why she lost them, and her answer proved how much better she was than me. Isabella answered, “I had been hurt, so I moved on. Just got over it.” We hardly spoke anymore, but one text message has found a permanent home in my mind. After asking me how I was, Isabella wasn’t satisfied with, “it’s complicated.” She asked that I explain it to her so that she could try to understand. I told her about all the issues going on in my life, except the torch I still held for her. She wrote, “I know you’re not religious, so it may not mean anything, but I pray for you every night, Lincoln. Even though it sounds bad, I think that I've known you weren’t in the greatest mental place for a while. I want you to know I'm not judging you, I want you to feel comfortable enough to share that with someone. You have to be able to recognize how you’re feeling in order to even fix it.” These words broke me despite their simplistic appearance. Reading that she prayed for me hit me hard as she had always tried to get me to believe in God again. I’m agnostic, and nothing has come closer to bringing me back to faith as Isabella did. The idea that if God were real and I could see her in heaven was appealing, but should Christianity be the wrong choice, I wanted to be wrong with Isabella. In the following days, Isabella told me about Alex, a guy she had been talking to a lot, and how they were at most a month away from being together. I hated everything about Alex, which is a stupid name in the first place. I hated his choice of friends, I hated how white-washed he was, I hated how he dressed like a conservative cowboy, I hated the underbite that made him look like a pug, I hated his short curly hair, I hated the fact that he was a diehard Trump supporter while people of his race were being oppressed, I hated how he pretended to be someone else when he was around Isabella, I hated how he hid unhealthy habits from her, I hated that a guy like him garnered Isabella’s affection when I couldn’t. I barely knew the guy and I was wasting my energy with hatred for him, when in reality, he was just a mind-numbingly basic douche among the hundreds just like him at our school. Isabella regularly complained about Alex, but hardly did anything. Instead she stopped bringing it up, saying that talking about her issues with others only makes it worse and that she was just wining. The monotone delivery of her reasoning hurt my soul, it was like she was reciting a text from Alex. Each day that passed, I felt the urgency of expressing my feelings one more time rising. Soon Isabella and Alex would be official, and I would lose my chance to try and express how I felt one more time. I reached out to Isabella and asked if she was free to hangout that friday. On November 10, 2023, Isabella picked me up around 5:30 in the evening. She kept the inside of her SUV looking brand new in contrast to the familiarity of her smile. My nerves left me winded after every sentence and shivering in her passenger seat. Quickly our conversation became more natural as I cracked jokes to ease my anxiety, but my shaky breathing never stopped. We went to Publix to grab some snacks and drinks and headed right back to my neighborhood park. At the Grove Point Park, we found a swinging chair to sit in. Due to the time of the year, the sun had already set, but Isabella’s beauty was indifferent under the moonlight. I haven’t the slightest clue how long we sat there together. When I’m with Isabella, even Father Time gives me grace, for he knows that he is as powerless as I am to the frequency of these moments. After a while, I mentioned that it was getting late and she agreed. On the ride back to my place, I mustered the bare minimum of strength it took to confront my feelings. As she drove over the speed bump before entering the roundabout, I began to open up. I briefly told her that I still felt the same way I did two years ago, that I had tried to forget about the feelings I had with no success, and that I was sorry to once again ruin our unstable friendship. She told me it was fine and my feelings were natural, nothing to regret or be ashamed of. Her words meant nothing to me this time because I had already heard them. Defeated, I paused for a moment, then said, “Isabella, you reciprocated my feelings in the past, so after Alex, do you think that maybe we’d have a chance?” She looked at me with pain in her eyes, not for herself, but for me. She quietly said, “I- Lincoln, you know I can’t answer that. I’m with Alex now, it wouldn’t be fair.” All I could get out was, “Oh- I- I’m sorry. Uh yeah no, you’re uh- you’re right.” Everything in me pulled and begged at my lips to say what I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I still look back on that night and wish I had said the few words I never got to tell her. What if saying them could’ve changed something? Realistically, it wouldn’t have, but the regret remains. I doubt Isabella would have even remembered where my word choice stemmed from. Regardless, the words rang in my head then, and never stopped. All I wanted to say at that moment was, “but I still need you.” Today, 1,725 days since I first saw Isabella, 822 days since I first facetimed Isabella, and 178 days since that heartbreakingly beautiful night, I still love her the same. Looking back on my experience with her, I regret many things (oversharing, Claire, the snake, etc.), but the one thing I have never regretted was meeting and loving her. It was only recently that I realized that loving her has been one of the biggest mistakes in my life. For three years, day in and day out, I’ve thought about her. Three years where I could have met other people, worked on myself, enjoyed my friends and family, but instead I’ve loved her and nothing, nobody else. The one lesson that was essential for me to take away from my experience was impossible. In eighth grade I was 5’7 and 215 lbs, today I’m 5’10 and 165 lbs. In eighth grade I spent time with my parents, today I hide in my room. In eighth grade, I told people how I felt, now I’m too scared. In eighth grade, I talked about my depression, now I am left alone to deal with it. In eighth grade, I had many friends, now I rarely speak to them. In eighth grade, I needed Isabella, but the one lesson I should’ve learned never took effect. I still need her.

how she gonna say she filming brand deals behind the scenes but then say she couldn’t film it bc her other phone was dead.. but then say she’s gonna film brand deals and a clip later she’s putting on pjs🤣 nothing she says adds up and if ur filming multiple brand deals a day get ur ass out of bed and stop tanning and showing your camel toe every 5 seconds. i genuinely wonder what brand wants to work with a dirty bum like her who can’t even do her “job” correctly.

I’m so fucking over her and her stupid face complaining about a sleep schedule, and how she needs to reset! Literally that’s all I can say bc that’s all she does is complain and reset lmao and eat greasy food and show off her camel toe / ass and give us weird forehead angles

Good day all... I have a pedal board that I have finally added my WH Camel Toe to, and found that when on the Green Rhino side, if I have the Gain past noon, I get a squealing noise (think 90s poorly isolated car stereo whining with there alternator)... I can change the pitch of the squeal with the tone knob...
this only happens on the Green Rhino side... switching to the Red Llama side makes this go away...
At first I thought it might be my RC-10R that I have on the board directly below the Camel Toe... causing some interference, but I removed the RC-10R and still had the issue.
The Camel Toe is on loop 3 of my EHX Super Switcher, and plugged into a 250mA 9v-center power jack on a One Spot CS12 Pro...
I also have a Notaklon on loop 4 (no noise issues) and a Tumnus behind a DS-1 on loop 2 (no noise issues)
Any ideas where I could begin to look for a remedy? I REALLY like the Green Rhino side of the Camel Toe... and honestly do not see running it past 10:00 or 11:00 (where I do not hear the squeal), but I'm concerned that there is something failing either in the pedal or somewhere else on my board that needs to be addressed.
Thanks in advance for any guidance!

cam·el toe [camel toe] noun cameltoe (noun) an effect created by a pair of pants or shorts that fit very tightly around a woman's groin, drawing attention to the shape of the external genitals.
Okay so what is the term that applies when the same effect happens on the ass?
Deer track? Goose caboose? Eagle talon?
Or something else? Really!

Let’s chat flares: sizing is like half the reason I’ve put of buying any of their flares for so long.
So basically I size bang on a small and I found one of there models who has very similar measurements to me. I’m getting Agni and Layla.. I’m thinking of sizing up to medium for both. What’s everyone’s experience sizing up? not between sizes, but one up? I’m a mum of 3 and I don’t want camel toes, and really tight fitting clothes (yea I know they are made to be form fitting yoga clothes)
Or if anyone wants to share anything about flares in general? Does anyone own anything in the charcoal colour? I traditionally go for the earthy browns, reds, greens but they caught my eye in the charcoal.