Johnny rodgers whiskey bottle

Hola chicos, voy a quedarme con una familia familiar por un par de días. Soy de los Estados Unidos y quiero llevarles unos regalos de mi pais. Hay algunas cosas que un Español le gustaría que solo puede obtener aquí o alguna recomendación. Gracias!
Hi, I am traveling from the US and staying with family friends. I want to bring them some gifts from my culture that they would like. Are there any items or snacks that a Spaniard would like to try that they don’t have in Spain? Or any recommendation for gifts in general. I was thinking of bringing a bottle of bourbon/whiskey and beef jerky for them to try plus other items. Thanks in advance!

I believed in fairies as a kid. More than believed in them. I think something terrible happened to me, and I've just buried it until now.
Call me a typical emotion-bottling man, but I have never considered therapy. No matter what I went through, no matter how many times I thought to myself, verbatim, that I should talk to someone about this, I just never thought of it as an option. It simply wasn't on my roster. It was just one of those things that existed on a separate plane of existence than I was living in, never to cross paths or interact lest the universe collapse in on itself.
I have no problem with therapy, don't get me wrong. It isn't like I don't understand the overall appeal. I have plenty of friends who swear by it, swear it has helped them tremendously, including my wife. It just wasn't ever something I thought was in my cards.
"I just never really thought about it," I told Alice one evening, when she had brought the topic up once again after dinner.
There was a serene sense of peace wafting through the entire house that day, and I was feeling content. It was a Sunday, and swimming season, so we had dropped Emmie off that morning at the public pool for practice and gone straight to our favorite breakfast place. The rest of the day was filled with all the conversation that had built up over the week, all the topics we couldn't fully dig into with each other while babysitting our eight year old, and lounging, all crammed in between sporadic bursts of housework and paperwork we had to catch up on. It was the perfect day, in my humble opinion. It was a lovely moment of peace in the midst of a chaotic life, as is life with kids. And now the sounds of Mario Kart drifted in from the living room, Emmie's squeals cutting through the cheery music every now and then, causing Alice and I to share small smiles of acknowledgement.
Oh, to be a child again. Still a little drenched from a post-swimming shower, full of chili, eyes glowing with the reflection of a television screen.
"Well, maybe you should." My wife was scooping leftover chili into a Tupperware with a ladle. Her hair had been tied up like it was every day after dinner, as if she planned to run a marathon rather than do the cleaning up. She wasn't looking at me, dialed into the task at hand.
It's crazy how some parts of my memory could be so good, and others nonexistent.
I reached over from where I stood before the dishwasher, sliding my arm around her waist. She gave me a look, like, what?
"I just don't think it's for me, babe," I muttered, resting my mouth on her shoulder as if I was trying to skip her ears and speak right through her skin. "You know those things make me uncomfortable sometimes."
She let out a half groan, half sigh, setting down the container and the ladle and turning to face me, draping her arms over my shoulders.
"Everything makes you uncomfortable, John."
I smiled, letting my hands fall to her hips. I knew her frustrated act was just that, an act, at least for the most part.
"It's good for you," she continued pointedly, reaching up to tap her pointer finger against my forehead as I swayed her back and forth to a nonexistent tune. "Like medicine. And I know for a fact there are some things you need to work through."
I feigned offense. "You think I'm some kind of nut job?"
"Everyone needs therapy," she snarled, pulling out of my arms, but she didn't resist when I reached out and drew her back in. "Not just nut jobs."
And that was how most of those conversations went. Some got a little more heated, ending with a lightly slammed door (so as not to wake our daughter) and a whisper-shout of "this is why you need therapy!"
I feel I'm making it sound bad, but it wasn't. Even our more serious fights never quite felt like fights. They felt like playing. We were like two cats, biting and tackling and swishing our tails, but never baring our teeth to hiss. I never felt genuine, full-bodied anger towards her, and I knew she felt the same. It sounds sappy, but we were just very in love. I sometimes felt that we had never actually left the honeymoon phase.
I'm also making it sound like that conversation was incredibly common, and it wasn't. It came up maybe once every few months. I knew she was just looking out for me. She knew me better than anyone.
We had met through mutual friends, and we had initially bonded over our terrible childhoods. We both had moms who were out of the picture, and over emotional, over compensating dads, although this manifested in vastly different ways. Alice's mother left her father for a D-list rockstar type, following him on his state wide tour. She would sometimes send Alice letters or postcards from the road, although her dad wouldn't always let her keep them if they seemed to be stained with blood or seemed to have made contact with any strange white powders.
Her dad coped with anger. He never laid a hand on her, but his shouting and the sounds of glass bottles smashing against the walls kept her up almost every night. During the days he'd take her out, buy her things, go mini golfing and bowling and to the movies. Anything to seem more fun than her mother.
My mother passed away on my seventh birthday. She was driving home from work, which was at a law firm half an hour away from our house, when it began to rain. She was texting my dad her ETA when she ran a red light and a semi truck T-boned her, completely obliterating her car.
After that, everything changed. My seventh birthday could've been my twenty-first. At night it was the worst. I remember sitting with my dad as he cried, curled up in a sobbing ball on the filthy living room carpet, whimpering like a kicked puppy. He would scream and wail so loud the walls shook. He would say, over and over as if I wasn't hearing him, sometimes mumbling and sometimes shrieking, "She was cut in half. I'm sorry sir, she's gone. No, there's no chance she survived, she was completely cut in half."
The days were almost worse. During the day, when he could decrease the helpless wails into weeping at the very least, his attention turned to me. He tried to get something out of me, almost silently begging me to break down with him. Every other second it was, "How are you feeling, son? Do you understand what's happening? You poor thing, you must be devastated, your mommy is gone... Don't you want to cry?"
But I couldn't indulge, and I didn't want to. I had to wash the sheets, because he'd pissed them again, and I didn't want him to sleep in it and smell like pee when he took me to school the next day. I had to vacuum the carpet, so the next time he curled up on it and begged God to take him too, when he finally stood up, his cheek wouldn't be caked in crumbs and dust.
I don't know if I ever truly mourned. My mother's death was more like an absence, as if someone had taken a pair of scissors and carved a chunk out of my side, or snipped off a limb. I could still feel her, I could still talk to her, but all I got back was a deep ache and a crushing silence.
I hated how people reacted when I told them my mom was dead, and had been since I was a little boy. I hated the looks on their faces when they asked how she died, and when I told them. How their mouths fell open dumbly and their eyebrows twisted and contorted in sympathetic horror. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know," they said, as if there was vomit rising in their throats, and I wanted to say, "Well, you fucking asked, didn't you?"
Alice never reacted like that. In fact, she never really even asked me what happened. We were on our second date, nursing beers while leaning against the pool table a a dingy speakeasy, when she told me about her own mom. It was the first time in a long time I actually felt like the conversation was open, like I could respond and she would listen and care, but not too much. Not an uncomfortable amount. When I told her about my parents she didn't say anything, and her pretty face didn't contort. She leaned over the corner of the pool table and kissed me on the cheek, took my hand.
The day she found out she was pregnant, we promised each other to be better, to not let our child ever have to grieve alone or feel the very specific hopeless terror that only a parent can cause.
So maybe I should have listened to her. Maybe I should have gone to therapy the first time she brought it up, the first time she told me how it had helped her get through her own terrible memories. But if I'm being honest, I didn't think I had anything to get through. I had left it in the past, I had coped so far in my own somewhat crooked way, I didn't want to dig any of that back up. I didn't want to be put back in that place where I was expected to talk, to cry, to open up. It made my skin crawl just thinking about it.
"I was always the therapist," I would say to her with a crooked grin. "And I like it that way."
Then, the dreams started.
I could tell you I don't know what triggered them, I don't know why it was now. But that wouldn't be the truth. I know exactly why I started to remember.
At first, they were brief. Nightmares that I couldn't quite recall or explain, waking up disoriented and a little sick. The rest of my day would feel strange, like I was surrounded by a thick fog. Eventually, they started to wake me up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and screaming, scaring the shit out of my wife. Once I ran to the bathroom and threw up, barely making it to the toilet. That was when the word "therapy" came up again.
It feels like I've been in a coma for twenty years, and I'm just waking up now.
It's so strange how different the world looks to a child.
I believed in fairies as a kid. Laugh it up if you want. When I turned four, my aunt brought me this book - we've all had one, I think. It was one of those huge hardcover books filled with information about something mythical, with little patches of fabric to simulate a mermaid's scales or a dragon's claw.
Mine was about fairies, and it was so real to me. My mom would sit up with me later than she probably should have, reading to me, placing my hand on the textures to feel. I wanted to know everything about them, I became obsessed, and naturally, my parents played along. They bought me toys, books... every year I had a fae themed birthday cake, and any kid who dared to giggle behind their hands weren't invited to next year's celebration.
When I was old enough to use the internet, supervised of course, I began further research. My mom helped me navigate Wikipedia first, and they had plenty of information to sustain me for a while. My interest turned from wings and magical powers to different types of fae from every corner of the earth, mushroom rings and their alleged distaste for iron. While I still wasn't very good at reading, I would just look at the pictures until she got home from work.
When my mom died, the fairy memorabilia began to amp up. My aunt bought me new books, gave them to me wrapped and tied with ribbons with tear filled eyes, and my dad brought them up whenever he thought I needed comforting and felt strong enough to leave the house. "Wanna go look in the forest for fairies, son?"
I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I began to worship the fairies. I was convinced they lived in the forest behind my house, just behind each tree I looked at, hiding from me. I would spend my weekends escaping into the woods with a bucket and a cheap pair of binoculars, positive that this time, this day, I would see one.
At night, when my dad finally passed out in his own puddle of tears and other bodily fluids, I would pray to them. I never believed in God, we weren't a particularly religious family, and besides, I had seen what good He had done for my dad thus far. But I believed in the fairies.
I asked them for help with my father. I asked them for peace. I asked them to bring her back to me.
They never answered.
Until they did.
It was a Friday. I remember now, I'm not sure how I could have forgotten. After school I had sprinted into the shade of the trees before my dad could stop me, gripping the hem of my shirt in my fist, the thin fabric bearing the weight of two handfuls of the shiniest silverware and most colorful buttons I could find in our dusty cabinets.
I had a plan that day. I was going to lure them to me.
My path began in a clearing where I thought a ring of mushrooms may have begun to grow... but even without that, it was just the perfect spot for fairies. I could picture them flitting between the trees, chirping to each other happily, picking wildflowers to weave into flower crowns.
I walked backwards all the way back to my bedroom window, dropping another item every few steps. When I got inside and looked out my window, I could see my trail of shiny things curve through the overgrown grass in our backyard and disappear into the trees.
I was so excited, I could hardly contain myself. Tonight, surely, they would come to me. They would show themselves, and they would help me. But after another few late hours of coddling my father, finally convincing him to drink some water and get in bed, I was exhausted. I completely forgot about my plan. When I got to my room I collapsed on my mattress, not even bothering to undress before I closed my eyes.
Then I heard it. The scratching.
I opened my eyes. The moonlight shining through my bedroom window casted strange shadows across my ceiling, shadows of the swaying grass and the creaking trees.
It was strangely silent, other than the sound. Usually there was lots of noise, or at the very least a few crickets, but not tonight. Tonight, I realized, I couldn't even hear the wind.
I sat up slowly, as if in a dream, and looked toward my window. I couldn't see anything out there, nothing glaringly obvious at least, that could be making that noise.
The scratching turned to a tap. Tap tap tap, like a fingernail against a glass. It had a playful air to it, like someone was saying, look over here!
I stood, rubbing my eyes, and stumbled over. The tapping stopped abruptly when I got to the window and peered outside, out to the dark yard, pitch black if not for the moon's glow. The grass didn't sway, the trees didn't creak. I frowned and unlatched the window, sliding it up above my head.
I was right, there was no wind. Not even a gust. Everything was still outside, like it was frozen. I actually started to believe it was frozen, that time had stopped completely somehow, before I saw it.
My trail of silverware and buttons. Sparkling softly in the moonlight.
Disappearing.
It began where the path met the trees, curving off where I couldn't follow it anymore. A fork disappeared right before my eyes, right on the edge. Just vanished, as if someone who was invisible had picked it up and stuffed it in a pocket very quickly.
Then another went, a spoon. Then a particularly large gold button. Whatever was taking them was doing what I had wanted, it was taking my bait, it was coming to me. And it was as if whatever had tapped at my window had wanted me to see this, wanted to show me.
But something felt very, very wrong.
This wasn't how I had pictured it. There was no twinkling, tiny winged thing at my window, winking at me before dashing back into the safety of the trees. There were no secrets being whispered in my ear, no fairy dust or promises of better things.
Something about this wasn't right. It felt like a mimicry, almost a mockery, of what I had imagined. Like something was trying to give me what I wanted, but was rusty at it.
I didn't want this anymore.
My stomach twisted and my hands shook as I pulled the window back down slowly, watching more glittery things disappear from the grass, growing closer and closer. As soon as it was closed I quickly locked it and pulled the blinds shut, turning my back to the window as if something would happen that I didn't want to see.
Nothing happened. The deafening silence continued for a few seconds as my ears strained to hear anything else happening outside. Then the wind picked up, and the sounds of crickets, muffled by my closed window, filled the night air.
I don't remember when I fell asleep that night, I just know I felt unnerved and jumpy for a while. I woke up the next morning feeling guilty. Had the fairies really come last night? Maybe they had come to talk to me, to bring me gifts, favors, and what had I done? I had closed my window on them. I felt ungrateful. Why had I even been scared? Because it was dark outside? What was I, a baby?
When I opened my window and peered outside, I gasped. The trail of silverware and buttons was completely gone, all the way up to the last one, which I had placed on my windowsill. In its place was a shoe. I didn't know what kind of shoe it was, but it looked sort of nice, fancy. I remember smiling out the window as I opened it, as if they were looking, and taking my gift.
How could I forget that night? How could I have forgotten what happened after? I feel crazy, either like I made it all up or like I've made up everything since then, like my life isn't truly my own.
I remember telling my dad. I remember saying, "Dad, the fairies came last night!" and the absent smile he gave me.
Until I showed him their gift. The shoe. Instantly his face went pale and he snatched it from my hands, staring at me as if I was something unholy.
"Where did you get this, Johnny?"
"The fairies, dad, I told you!"
He didn't respond. Just gave me another long, solemn look, before turning away from me, still holding the present I received close to his chest. I was upset, but I knew better than throwing a tantrum. That would be too much emotion anyways, too uncomfortable. Even back then, I didn't know how to handle those things.
I didn't show him their gifts after that. I didn't want to risk having them taken away. I tried not to be scared of the fairies, even though they always came at night, but I didn't go to my window when they came anymore. I read everywhere that fairies didn't particularly like to be seen, even though this one seemed to want to be. It always began with tapping, but otherwise complete silence that almost felt like it was swallowing me... and eventually the tapping would stop, the silence would pass, and I would fall asleep. In the morning there was always another gift for me, sitting on my window sill. A sparkly gold ring, the other matching shoe, a hat... I smiled when I took every one, wanting them to know I was grateful. And I would leave things for them too, little sweets or shiny things like coins or paperclips that I found on the ground at school.
Things seemed to get better with my dad for a while. He kept to himself more, he was quieter. At night he would cry softly in his room, rather than his uproarious wails that I used to have to quell so the neighbors wouldn't come knocking. During the day, he would talk to me, but more casually. He didn't ask me how I was feeling anymore, or tell me to let it out.
I hoped this was the fairies. I felt invincible, like I had a secret superpower that no one knew about. I was friends with fairies.
Then one night, everything changed.
It started with the tapping, as always. That night I was fast asleep, catching up on well earned rest since the nightly therapy sessions had ceased.
The tapping woke me. It was that loud. It was louder than usual... but it seemed like it stopped abruptly as soon as I raised my head to look.
That was different...
That night, I had left my blinds up and my window open by accident. Since that first night, even though I wasn't scared anymore, I had always closed them... but this time, I must have forgotten.
It was silent outside. It seemed darker than usual. I could almost make out something, a shape, way on the other side of the yard, but it was too dark and I was too far away to tell.
That feeling from that first night retuned. A twisting like a hand reaching into my stomach and mixing things around, a heavy feeling in my chest like someone had stolen all of the air from my room, even though the window was open. The silence seemed to crush me, bearing down on me from every angle, making my ribs hurt.
The feeling that something was very wrong.
I don't remember deciding to stand: looking back, I have no idea why I would do that in my state of fight or flight. I don't know if I consciously chose to. I don't remember walking over, but I remember getting there, my hands on the windowsill and my head poking out into the completely still night air.
There was something there. On the edge of the trees. Right where I had seen that first fork disappear into thin air. I squinted, leaning further into the darkness to try and make out what it was.
When I finally did, the outline taking shape as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I began to shake uncontrollably. I remember that I tried to scream, but no sound would come. I couldn't move, couldn't do anything but stare.
Two legs stood in front of the trees, facing me. Two legs, a blood-soaked pair of slacks, no shoes on the purple, swollen feet. And a jagged, violent rip in the torso where the rest of my mother's body had been severed from its lower half.
It took me a while to realize that the legs weren't standing on their own. They began to move, jerking clumsily toward the window, like something I couldn't see was struggling to hold them up. I finally forced myself out of my trance and fell to my carpet, vomiting.
I don't remember much else about that night yet. My dad came running when I started crying, I'm sure, but he didn't see what I saw. My mom's legs were gone, or hidden. Because they weren't for him.
They were for me.
We moved after that. Before now if you had asked me why we moved so far away so suddenly, I probably would have mumbled something about the grief, and it being too hard to stay where my mother had died. But I remember why now.
It was because the next morning, when I checked my windowsill, there was a hand. My mother's hand. Purple and stiff, and missing her gold wedding ring. Reaching, fingers rested against the glass, like it was trying to get in.
Like it had been tapping.
I don't want to think about what else it might have brought, had we stayed.
That thing, whatever it was, wasn't my mother, and it wasn't a fairy. I had invited something else with all my praying, with all my naive and innocent beliefs, and with all my bottled up emotions. I had invited it, and I had let it in.
And then I had forgotten everything. Maybe I bottled that up, too.
Now I remember. Now I'm having nightmares, and waking up with that sick feeling in my gut, my eyes jumping to our closed bedroom window.
Because a week ago, my daughter woke me up very early in the morning my jumping on our bed. A week ago, she shook me awake, her eager smile stretching all the way across her face. A week ago, she told me, "Dad, the fairies came last night!"
She showed me a doll, a ballerina, with a pink tutu and beautiful long blonde hair.
And now, with all these terrible memories hitting me like cold water to the face, only one keeps me awake at night.
I asked them for help with my father. I asked them for peace. I asked them to bring her back to me.
It has granted two of my wishes, in its own twisted way. My father grew distant from me and my mother was brought back in pieces.
I'm happy now. But I don't have peace. I don't think I'll ever fully have peace, at least not with a child and a wife to try and provide for, and not with all of these memories.
So what has it come back for?

Not a bartender, don't own a bar or anything. Just trying things out at home. And I'm intrigued by this one. Just gonna pitch it and see if anyone more experienced has intuition on how to elevate it. The ingredients?

• Hoshi sake - first bottle of sake I've ever tried. Not loving it, but I do feel like this cocktail actually lets it shine a bit. Bravo.
• single malt Yoichi Nikka Japanese whiskey - a smokey one aiming to mimic some Scottish peated influences. This one's a keeper.
• St. George spiced pear liqueur

I didn't precisely measure, but it was like 2:1:1 or maybe 1.5:1:1. I definitely see the components play off each other - spice forward, smoke late, but there's a distinct sake feel that I believe builds and lingers.
Do with it what you will - I don't know what I'm doing yet, but I feel like I'm on to something nonetheless.

I'm going to bed - 12 am Danish time. Getting my rest for a huge day tomorrow. I would like to thank you all, especially the ones providing valid and argumentated information, it's much appreciated. Thank you all for HODLING through the next days, ups and downs.
Remember: Place the amount you can afford to lose. And if you then are easily affected by the mental fight with seing the stocks rise and/or fall - all of it will happen. Then go away, don't look at it. Keep your cool by distracting yourself, take deep breaths, wank, drink a beer, or a bottle of whiskey, WHATEVER, you need to. Just HODL through, and we will together be apart of something meaningful, in a meaningless world.
WE ARE AT WAR. YOU WOULD NEVER LEAVE A COMRADE IN BATTLE, EVEN THOUGH YOU DONT NOW THEIR FACES, YOU NOW KNOW THEIR SPIRITS.
/Peace and love from a Freeman in vikingland

So, when I was 15, my parents were part of this tight group of family friends, like five families in total. We were all super close – dads hanging out, moms chatting away, and us kids just doing our thing. But, man, things got pretty tough at home because my mom cheated on my dad and came clean about it. They were trying to work things out, but it was rough.
We were especially tight with this one family that had a son and daughter around the same age as me and my sister. We practically spent every weekend together and often hung out during the week too. Then, out of the blue, I found out about my mom's affair, and it hit me hard. It messed up my relationship with her and made things tense with my folks.
I really needed someone to talk to, and that's where Julie came in. Julie was the mother of one of the families.She was like an honorary aunt – always there to listen and chat. I'd crash at their place whenever I had a fight with my parents, and surprisingly, they were cool with it. They saw Julie's family as part of our inner circle, someone we could trust no matter what.
One thing I forgot to mention was we had migrated to Australia when i was much smaller and all my friends were there and due to my moms affair my dad made us move back to our home country, which I hadnt lived in and had no friends for years. Around this time i fell with the wrong kids at school and started smoking cigarettes, weed and drinking alcohol.
At these family gatherings on the weekends the adults would drink alcohol and Julies husband would always give me a small glass with a very small amount of alcohol. He was kinda the cool uncle guy. Julie being the cool aunt as-well was okay with my smoking and drinking. I used to smoke around her when we were alone.
One night after a fight with my mom julie picked me up and took me to her house. Her husband was at an overseas trip with my dad and her daughter was at a sleepover. Her son was in his room and playing videogames (Me and her son were never really close because were just very different). She told me we could sit down, talk and have a drink if it would make me feel better and i agreed. She pulled out a bottle of scotch whiskey and we drank half a bottle and smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. You could say were both very drunk. After this we agreed to go to sleep. She went to her bedroom and i went to the guest bedroom. After around 10 minutes she came upto my room to check on me and left. After a few minutes, I walked up to her room and asked if I could lay down beside her. I held her hand and one thing led to another and we kissed. A minute into the kiss she backed out and said it was wrong. I agreed and went to bed. I felt ashamed and embarrassed. A few minutes later she texted me. She told me to go over to her bedroom. In the quiet of the house she asked me why did we kiss. I didn’t know what to say. She looked into my eyes and me being speechless I initiated the second kiss. After that we had sex. She took my virginity that night. In the act she asked me if it was my first time and I lied and said it wasnt and she didnt say anything. I dont know if she believed me or not. After i went to the guest bedroom and slept. In the morning i got up early and went home.
In the morning she texted me “last night was one of the worst and best nights of my life”. After that i hd a sexual relationship with her for over a year. Up until now I don’t know how to feel about this. Was this sexual abuse? I had sex with her. Multiple times. At times i liked it and sometimes I hated it. Sometimes I was disgusted with myself and hated myself for what i had done. She used to tell me she loved me.But she was 45. I was 15. Now i feel like it has impacted everything in my life. Specially my relationships with women.
Btw julie is a made up name her name was something else.

I purchased the “Find Your Essence” personal curated discovery set for DSH Perfumes from their Etsy shop. It was $35 USD compared to the $25 for the pick your own scent discovery set. It came with five 1 mL sample vials personally chosen by the perfumer and a few extra samples on the side. The vials are dabbers in a vdp (voile de parfum) oil format, not my favorite, so it was hard to judge longevity and projection this way. However, SPOILER ALERT, I ended up purchasing two larger sized EDPs based on this discovery set and the longevity on those is excellent (all day on skin and clothing).
When submitting my purchase for this discovery set, I was asked to include information on what I was looking for and what scents I already enjoy. Basically I said I was looking for a vintage floral animalic and separately, something green. I received Tubereuse, Chinchilla, Emerald Hyrax, Musc Al Madina, and Halfeti Rose. Midway through my sampling I reached out to DSH Perfumes via Etsy messaging just to let them know how much I was enjoying the discovery set and received a reply from Dawn Spencer Hurwitz herself, so she seems to be very involved in the process. I feel like she did an excellent job with the choices I was sent based on my preferences.
Quotes included at the beginning of my reviews are the perfumers' descriptions taken from the DSH Perfumes website. I am just a novice admirer of things that smell good, so of course these mini reviews/impressions are just my own opinions. I have more samples from DSH that came with this set and also with the two bottles I bought so I can maybe do a part 2 if there is any interest :)
Tubereuse - “Its milky white and flesh flowers bear the secret of attraction. In India, this flower is called ‘Mistress of the Night:’ The most sensuous and intoxicating of perfumes.” Tubereuse is a sweet, creamy, and rich tuberose. Not much else going on but it’s oh so pretty. Whatever this soft base is, it’s really nice. It’s not complicated, it’s exactly its title; a soliflore tuberose. Lovely, I can't stop sniffing my wrists.
Chinchilla - “A ‘retro nouveau’ floriental/honey musk animalic fragrance. It’s gorgeously sexy, and yet so very cozy and comforting.” My latest OBSESSION. Chinchilla is a soft honeyed animalic. It is indeed gorgeous and sexy. A very vintage feeling, animalic floral. This can be worn dressed up for an evening out but it also feels very comfy on your favorite sweatshirt curled up on the couch. It opens with this rush of sweet honey and then these soft, powdery florals all with this musky hint of something furry underneath. If I made that sound too sweet, it really isn’t. Smells great on clothing but AMAZING on skin. This was an instant love and I ended up purchasing a 10 mL bottle.
Emerald Hyrax - “The newest addition to ‘my menagerie’ of animalic fragrances: a glamorous, retro-nouveau green chypre animalic with notes of Galbanum, Bergamot, Muguet, Jasmine(s), Sandalwood, Amber, Cistus, and Oakmoss.” Emerald hyrax to me has a boozy but green opening. There is no booze note listed so go figure. There is galbanum which I love and it’s giving it this fresh cut grass thing. After that there are some sparkly florals along with a soft animalic musk. This is so beautiful. I feel like a woman ready to go out in the 1940s in my furs, hair perfectly coiffed, with a whiskey cocktail in hand. When I first tried it in its tiny vial, I was like “how can I get this little amount all over my body” because I wanted to BATHE in it. Needless to say, I purchased a larger sized EDP…
Musc Al Madina - “A dense and very dark, animalic musk with rich and earthy nuances.” Musc Al Madina is a dusty kinda musty musk and I like it. It’s a little funky but somehow still beautiful. It’s like the dark dusty corner of an antique attic where hand woven laces are being eaten away by time and old dried out bouquets have been long forgotten. It is a tad dank and dark but also pleasant at the same time. I appreciate this but I don’t think I could wear it. If you like something a bit dark and musty in your musks, then this could be for you!
Halfeti Rose - “A deep, red-black rose oud design, rich with resins, incense notes, and luscious pigmented fruits; featuring Turkish aromatics like Turkish rose absolute and Galbanum.” Halfeti Rose, oh my. This opened dark and smoky. Like, whoa, it caught me off guard with this thick charcoal smoke. That lightens up a bit and then this deep red rose pushes through, though that dense, dark, what I perceive to be smoky note, remains throughout. It could be the oud, I am not very familiar with actual oud (and not sure if that is what is used in this). I didn’t get any fruits or incense. I may need to revisit this again, I just wasn’t vibing with it. It is very interesting and was a little journey for my nose, but first impressions; this perfume would wear me. It would take over my life and do dark things. This is not for me.
BONUS SAMPLE (not included in my curated set)
Giverny in Bloom - “An impressionist style perfume of green budding trees, wet dewy flowers and soil, that transforms to a rich floral bouquet as it wears.” I went into this one blindly, knowing nothing but the name, which I vaguely recognized but couldn’t place where I knew it from. It opens with notes of realistic damp, freshly turned soil, and wet green leaves! I almost gasped out loud, this is a garden! It then turns into a beautiful soft floral like the garden is coming into bloom. Surely this is what people must mean when they refer to “perfume as art.” I had to know more, so headed over to the DSH perfumes website where I read that this was actually created for Denver Art Museum’s “In Bloom” exhibit ‘scent experience’. “The inspiration for Giverny In Bloom is not only taken from actual information about Monet’s garden but also from the flowers found in the paintings of the exhibit. This ties the scent experience to more than the Monet paintings in the show.” She definitely nailed it. And alas, I remembered where I recognized Giverny from. I’m sure a larger size is in my future.
TLDR; Go and get yourself some DSH Samples available in their Etsy shop or directly from the website DSHPerfumes.com

So, when I was 15, my parents were part of this tight group of family friends, like five families in total. We were all super close – dads hanging out, moms chatting away, and us kids just doing our thing. But, man, things got pretty tough at home because my mom cheated on my dad and came clean about it. They were trying to work things out, but it was rough.
We were especially tight with this one family that had a son and daughter around the same age as me and my sister. We practically spent every weekend together and often hung out during the week too. Then, out of the blue, I found out about my mom's affair, and it hit me hard. It messed up my relationship with her and made things tense with my folks.
I really needed someone to talk to, and that's where Julie came in. She was like an honorary aunt – always there to listen and chat. I'd crash at their place whenever I had a fight with my parents, and surprisingly, they were cool with it. They saw Julie's family as part of our inner circle, someone we could trust no matter what.
One thing I forgot to mention was we had migrated to Australia when i was much smaller and all my friends were there and due to my moms affair my dad made us move back to our home country, which I hadnt lived in and had no friends for years. Around this time i fell with the wrong kids at school and started smoking cigarettes, weed and drinking alcohol.
At these family gatherings on the weekends the adults would drink alcohol and Julies husband would always give me a small glass with a very small amount of alcohol. He was kinda the cool uncle guy. Julie being the cool aunt as-well was okay with my smoking and drinking. I used to smoke around her when we were alone.
One night after a fight with my mom julie picked me up and took me to her house. Her husband was at an overseas trip with my dad and her daughter was at a sleepover. Her son was in his room and playing videogames (Me and her son were never really close because were just very different). She told me we could sit down, talk and have a drink if it would make me feel better and i agreed. She pulled out a bottle of scotch whiskey and we drank half a bottle and smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. You could say were both very drunk. After this we agreed to go to sleep. She went to her bedroom and i went to the guest bedroom. After around 10 minutes she came upto my room to check on me and left. After a few minutes, I walked up to her room and asked if I could lay down beside her. I held her hand and one thing led to another and we kissed. A minute into the kiss she backed out and said it was wrong. I agreed and went to bed. I felt ashamed and embarrassed. A few minutes later she texted me. She told me to go over to her bedroom. In the quiet of the house she asked me why did we kiss. I didn’t know what to say. She looked into my eyes and me being speechless I initiated the second kiss. After that we had sex. She took my virginity that night. In the act she asked me if it was my first time and I lied and said it wasnt and she didnt say anything. I dont know if she believed me or not. After i went to the guest bedroom and slept. In the morning i got up early and went home.
In the morning she texted me “last night was one of the worst and best nights of my life”. After that i hd a sexual relationship with her for over a year. Up until now I don’t know how to feel about this. Was this sexual abuse? I had sex with her. Multiple times. At times i liked it and sometimes I hated it. Sometimes I was disgusted with myself and hated myself for what i had done. She used to tell me she loved me.But she was 45. I was 15. Now i feel like it has impacted everything in my life. Specially my relationships with women.

I turn 40 today, and my wife wants to surprise me with a bottle of nice whiskey. I'd say I'm easy to shop for since I like all whiskey; single malt, bourbon, rye, etc.. We are looking for something around $100, but could be more or less.
Once this has enough suggestions I'll send her the link and she'll decide. We have a bevmo and total wine near us.
Thanks in advance. Appreciate you all.

the MTV VMAS are a ceremony to celebrate and reward artist for their music, specifically Music Video.
in the 2009 VMAS, attended many celebrities, such as Beyonce, Pink, Green Day, Lady Gaga ETC. but 2 attendees that night will mark and make history in the Pop Culture
Kanye West (32 years) arrived at the VMAS with a bottle of Whiskey, he was messing with paparazzi's.
Taylor Swift (19 years) arrived in a Cinderella type of dress with fancy and classy manners
That night there were 3 amazing rewards, Female VOTY, Male VOTY and VOTY
in Female VOTY, the winner was Taylor Swift "You Belong With Me" she went to the stage and reived her 1st VMA, she was thanking everybody saying, i quote "Thank you so much for giving me a change to win a VMA Award, I-" in that moment rapper Kanye West went onstage and snitched her mic, saying, i quote "Hey Taylor!, I'm really happy for you and imma let you finish... But Beyonce had one of the Best Videos of All Time!, One of the Best Videos of All Time..." with a smile in his face he left the stage, Taylor scared stayed confused, while the crowd was booing the rapper, she stood holding her breathe, the crowd started a standing ovation for Taylor, but the damage was made, she leaved the stage and the rest is history
Since the 2009 Incident, Kanye (formerly Ye) claims he made Taylor Swift (the mega-popstar) famous in his song from the album "The Life Of Pablo" "Famous" he mentions "I think me and Taylor might still have sex/ Why? i made that b*tch famous", this narrative has been going on since, and Swifties and Kanye Fans have been choosing sides as anyone who knows the story, but did Kanye West "made" Taylor Swift?
The answer is no, but he helped her career, how?, well you can check in the charts that right after the incident Taylor Swift was trending in the world, everybody wanted to know who this girl was, even though she was already famous, What Kanye (Ye) did was sped up the process that would normally take one year, so he didn't made her famous as he says, but he gave Taylor a push in her career.

After a year of waiting for an MRI scan on the NHS, and going to the scan a month ago, I finally received a letter confirming whether or not I have a hereditary condition called arrhythmogenic right ventricular cardiomyopathy (ARVC) which causes heart muscle to not form properly... and the results suggest there is no damage or irregular activity that would point at the condition being present. Happy days! It was a 50/50 chance and finding I had it would have drastically affected my life expectancy and quality (I would have been lucky to see another ten years), but my ticker is apparently perfectly healthy. I celebrated the news last night with a bottle of whiskey as a giant weight is lifted off my shoulders. Have a fabulous day all. 🥃

Day after day
I drown myself
In bittersweet whiskey
And a peaty scotch
Then a dry martini
All to wash away
Your lingering flavour
//
The first sip burns
My tongue is scorched
The second sip floods
My senses bombarded
The third I savour
Bitterness dominates
But I still remember
//
A few shots and glasses
Don’t do the trick
A whole bottle and my liver’s life
Barely keeps me awake
For your taste always comes back
I am again drunken
In your intoxicating sweetness
//
Within the depths of despair
I’ve learnt to brew
This salty liquor
A sip from my lips
A drop from my lids
My own blend
That you will never know
—
https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/s/4zuBsrugkW
https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/s/s4vAT5Z3S6

For like last few months since like December I was drinking a big can of twisted tea everyday and maybe half of my girlfriends can and once a month usually get like a bottle of screwball whiskey and drink that in like 3 days. But not common. I picked up nicotine again around February and quit about a 1 month and half of realizing I was getting these thoughts weren’t normal for me. I feel like I’m a normally a very happy person and those thoughts scared me. I kept drinking through withdrawals and it was bad at first but one day I get hit with this pressure of anxiety in the morning. I have been smoking weed for 5 years straight and it’s the only thing that helps rn to get rid of this pressure. Everyday I wake up and it’s like I’m going to school knowing I didn’t do my homework and am going to get in trouble and just waiting and suffering in my head for some reason. I’m in my 20s and have no worries really and have no reason to be feeling this way. This isnt my first time quitting nicotine but it is my first time quitting alcohol and holy shit I don’t know what I did to myself. I quit about a month and a half ago drinking everyday but the other day I did take a shot a restaurant like an idiot and I felt so fucking good for 1 hour but the next morning I wanted to die from how bad it was. Idk how long this shit will last but should I keep smoking to help or is it just gonna do the same thing until I spark. Everyday I’m irritated and this shit is killing my mentally idk how people that have this can go through life honestly. Any tips help. This shit is taking longer then expected

The Yaire exile to earth chapter-8 parts 1 and 2
What was I thinking after all those years without a drink? I didn’t even have so much as a drop when Monica passed and now, now I dropped myself into a bottle and I have to crawl back out.
Those were the thoughts running through my mind. I hated myself for it. I pissed away so many years, I couldn’t work cows unless I had a flask. I couldn’t make hay or hell coach Joshua’s baseball games if I didn’t have a half rack in the truck. I hid it from her and the kids. I was a useless drunk. Until one day Monica took the kids and left. That’s what it took to kick me in the ass. I started AA, started going to church with them, and tried my best to be a better man. All these years without the destruction that I caused. And this event, us finding these poor abandon people in the brush, trying to get them help in whatever way we could and I cracked.
I needed to leave. I needed to do something, even if it was wrong. If I didn’t try to abandon these demons, they would most definitely grab me again.
The light was just starting to grow in the distance; my head was splitting me in two. The very act of walking to the barn causes me to vomit twice.
It took a long minute for me to gather my strength as the waves of sick, washed over me. Leaning against the wooden gate that leads to the horse pen was all I could do to stand and be present. Wave after dizzy wave nearly takes my feet out from under me.
Kicking my tongue to the pair of horses in the round pen next to the barn, I hoped I could manage to saddle one and go find some of my still abandoned cows. “Ha girls, I know it was a rough night.” The gray mare snorted her offense at my still drunk odder. The scent of cheap whiskey was obviously drifting to the pair of horses and they didn’t appreciate it. After a lot of effort, I was able to call the gray horse over. Reaching up to scratch her cheek, I realized in my haze that all my tack was in the trailer. “Shit!” I muttered to myself in extreme irritation.
Hanging my throbbing head, I managed to make the short distance to the trailer that I had left half parked in the yard. As I reached the trailers tail gate and slowly opened it, a distant voice reaches me. “Rough night?” I gazed up to the porch to see Joshua with a thermos of coffee, standing outside the front door.
“It wasn’t a fun one,” I muttered, as I could see an out cold Mic propped up on the porch swing. “At least it was too cold out here last night.”
“It wasn’t cold because we brought you two a couple of blankets.” Josh stated as frankly as he could. “You want something to eat before you get knocked off a horse?”
“No, food will just make me sick. I just need to work the poison out of my system.” I said, trying to keep the spins down as a fresh round of dizziness begins.
“So you’re going up the hill. Do you want help?”
Josh asked, sounding concerned. “No, I need to help with..” my voice trailed as I couldn't think through the fog.
.“Yaire”, Joshua interrupted as I searched my hazy mind for the right words.
“Yep, you’re on top of it. Best of luck, boy.” I grunted as I bent to pick up the saddle and tack for my spare horse.
Straining to hold on to my leather implements, I turned to make the trudge back to the round pen. Joshua called over my shoulder. “Just like that?”
“Yes, son, just like that.” A muttered back as I made the short walk back to the horses.
Dropping my saddle so the saddle horn was helping to prop the assembly out of the dirt. I reached out for one of the mares to begin the procedure to saddle up, only to be jerked backwards.
“Wait one fucking minute!” Josh all but spit.
“You help save these people, but now that you’re drunk, you’re going off to ride to the sunset like it’s some shitty western?” He barked.
I reached up and hit him full in his face. “You think I know what to do?” I yelled back. “Some galactic despot has been dropping these people all over the hell and gone leaving them in the sage to die!”
I hated myself for what I was doing; my mind was screaming at my body and mouth to stop. I couldn’t. “I’ll fail these people, Iv already failed you and your sister. I’m a cosmic fuck up without your mother.” Now my tears started to well. I couldn’t stand there anymore. Reaching down, I scooped up my saddle and gear and walked into the corral.
Chapter 8 part 2
Joshua’s personal perspective
It’s been a few hours since dad left. I was sitting on the front porch steps, still stewing in my irritation.
“The eye, better?” A female voice asked from the front porch doorway.
“It’s a little black, but it’s….. ok,” I said, the last word stalling out as the voice came into view when I turned my head. There, standing in the doorway, was Lis, her straight grey hair cut short at an angle, letting the light from the house shine on her angler right cheek. She had on my old ac/dc shirt from high school and a pair of Becky’s “cowgirl jeans”.
Trying hard not to stare, I whipped my head back out to overlooking the farmyard. “You’re picking up English really fast. Another week or two and you’ll be better at it than me.” I stammer out.
The tired wooden floor boards begin to creak with her footsteps as she walks up and sets down next to me on the steps.
“Thank you,” she says with some effort. The words were still being practiced.
“For what?” I said, trying my best to sound cool.
She looked confused, then Mic’s voice interrupted with their native language. A flurry of sounds and vowels later. Lis stood up and turned to go back inside. Stopping long enough at the doorway to turn and look back, “you people saved us.” She said in near perfect English, and with that she turned and walked back into the house.
Still looking over the yard, it was hard to keep a small grin off my face. Flicking a small piece of gravel off the steps, I could hear a fresh set of footsteps walking up to me. With a plop mic flopped himself next to me.
Looking out at the yard with a thousand mile stare, he took a long breath in. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he began. “What happens now?” He managed, trying hard to wrap his mouth around the words.
“I don’t know, we’ll keep working on your English and you guys can decide. Maybe your people will come back for you.” I said.
“No one comes, Zeen prison word.” He said while pointing to the ground in front of us and shaking his head.
“That’s, that’s not good.” I replied, while not understanding what a Zeen is.
We sat there in silence for a moment longer. Until I finally got up to stretch my legs and headed back inside. About half of the Yaire were seated in the living room, watching the first Hangover and giving their constant commentary. I guess if you have to learn a language from a movie, it should at least be a good one.
Becky was standing in the kitchen, while on the phone, with a troubled look on her face.
“What’s going on?” I whispered. Her response was to hold a single finger up in a just a minute manner.
“Thanks for checking, ya they had it out this morning and dad left in a huff. Ok we’ll look for him tomorrow. Thanks Mary,” Becky set her cell phone down before she acknowledged me. Looking down as she let out a tired sigh.
“So that was Mary. She told me dad went to her and Dave’s after he left here. Dave will give him a hand getting the cows down to his winter feed lot so we can truck them back.” Becky said. “She also said dad was pretty hammered, she thinks he was drinking on the way. Apparently, he was stinking of buzz and babbling about aliens. They're letting him sober up in their spare room before they head up the hill.”
“That’s no good.” I said, still upset about this morning.
“No, it’s not. Do you want to tell me what happened, for dad to get drunk and kick your ass?” she asked, a slight chuckle in her voice at the last part.
“I guess it’s the stress from all of this. But he was going on about being a failure and that someone dumped here the Yaire, I don’t know.” I stated
She just frowned at my explanation. “Well, we’re just in, autopilot around here this afternoon. Can I get you to head to town for some groceries?”
“I guess, are you sure you’ll be ok alone?” I asked, not sure if that was the smartest things to do. Leaving my little sister with a house full of aliens.
“I’ll be fine. The guys are having a hangover marathon and some girls are in my bedroom using your laptop to practice English.” She said dismissively.
“Wait, my laptop?” Embarrassing concern running through my mind.
I all but ran to Becky’s room. The sound coming from there confirmed my worst fears. On the bed Sofia, Ava, and Mia, all I would guess in the early to mid twenties started giggling at my approach, which made this even more awkward. As I entered the doorway, they all reached for the screen and closed the laptop. Our collective embarrassment set the trio to giggling again as now both Lis and Becky walked up behind me. From the bed, Sofia started speaking to Lis in their own language and holding her hands apart giving a literal scale for their conversation.
I was red faced with shame and embarrassment as the giggling picked back up.
“You didn’t delete your search history, did you?” Becky chuckled as I passed her in the door way
“What do you want from the store?”
This story was brought to you in large part due to u/Fit-Capital1536. A big thank you for the collaboration and story ideas.

i am trying to build a little studio and the shops in my country are selling backgrounds for 50 euros a piece ,I was wondering if there was a cheaper solution . i would hang them on the linkstar studio backgrounds (products id be shooting is mostly bottles (wine whiskey etc)