Simple question. Emaina annukondi... About 13 years ago, 2010, 2011 aa time lo, there were movies like Inception, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Part 1), Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol etc. Movies that had been shot for IMAX. Back then, we in Hyderabad had the facility in Prasads to watch these films in their intended format. The IMAX big-screen cinematic experience had become a staple for films in Hyderabad. Daani taravaata, ye cinema aina, whether it was IMAX or not, we opted to watch it on that massive screen.
Then, something changed.

1. Interstellar became the last IMAX film ever shown on Prasads screen 6, as an IMAX film. To this day, every single time when there is the topic of theatres and Prasads especially, everybody in the city refers to it as IMAX. The road alongside Prasads is called the 'IMAX road'. Prasads screen 6 was the third-largest screen in the world during its initial launch in 2003 and people (film lovers) had literally flown in from other countries to watch films in their proper intended format.

Last year, films like Oppenheimer, Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning Part 1, Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse and EVEN Indian films such as Pathaan and Animal were all meant for IMAX. They were made - FOR IMAX. The whole point of IMAX is for it to completely immerse you into the world of the film. The IMAX screen is that massive, because anywhere you sit in the hall, it manages to cover every part of your two eyeballs, to a point where you have to physically move your head to see each part of the screen. I mean, there is a reason that it is a three-floor screen. Hyderabad is a single city, and the TFI audience is the one audience that I know who will stand by a film. Once we own a film, there is no way we will let that film down. I am only saying, why shouldn't we stand up for the theatre and the experience of that film as well? Hyderabad right now, is the only major city in India without an IMAX facility. This was all because of the conversion to digital projection. We used to get IMAX films in reels that were printed and shipped from the US (and wherever the films were made). When all these countries and major Hollywood industries were sending in massive, 11-mile film reels after printing, packaging and shipping, the costs were just too high when they compared it with digital projection. The projector that we had in Prasads was a proper film projector. A manual projector that didn't manage to adapt to the digital form. Prasads was running the IMAX theatre on a loss in the first place because the ticket price back then had to be much lower when compared to a proper IMAX film cost. All the profit they gained was from the commercial aspects of the mall like the shops and restaurants that were there at the time.
On top of this: there came the shift in location. The entire city somehow gravitated away from the Necklace Road and Tank Bund area. The main booming area of the city (for films especially) are areas like Gachibowli, with theatres like AMB Cinemas in Sharath City Capital Mall, Platinum Cinemas in SLN Terminus, PVR in Atrium, PVR in Preston Prime, and PVR Icon in Next Galleria Mall. When there are five theatres, in the proximity of within 5 kilometres from each of them, not a single one has an IMAX in them. AMB even has screens that are in the 4:3 ration, where IMAX films can be shown, in the intended size. Their screens, 2, 3, 5 and 6 are all 4:3 ratio screens which can show films that are filmed in that ratio. For example, I went to Barbie in Atrium mall, where it was playing within a box, within the 16:9 screen and then I went to Oppenheimer in AMB (to at least watch it in their screen 1, to compensate for IMAX), when I peaked into the next screen (screen 2), where Barbie was playing, The size of the screen was compatible with the aspect ratio that it was shot in - 4:3.
All over India right now (at least in major cities, excluding Hyderabad), PVR has created IMAX screens, but they are all digital IMAX screens that are 68.1 ft wide. Prasads has a 70mm IMAX screen (95 feet wide and 71 feet tall). This is the normal height of a five floor, commercial building. Just imagine that. It is a window into a whole another world. When we have a screen, we do not have the projector, and when others have the projectors, they simply just do not have the screens.
Here is the simple question to conclude it...
Do we want IMAX in Hyderabad, yes or no?

(See update at the end) Some context before I (32m) get into the situation as I feel it's important to how I reacted. I have been in two situations, one as a 6-year-old and at 28, that involved women and unwanted touching and beyond in both occasions I have been powerless as a child or incapacitated as an adult like unable to control my bowels or bladder kind of incapacitated. Both my wife and my guest are aware of my past. I'm trying to keep this broad stroke so as not to violate any rules, but again I think this context is important.
So on to the current situation. We currently have a (26f) friend who is living out of a tent, and we often invite her over so she can do laundry, shower, and other hygiene tasks. In this instance, I decided to hop onto my computer and play some games while she did her stuff and hung out with the wife while I chatted back and forth with them a bit. As she wrapped up her visit, she approached me from behind and hit me with a hairbrush not hard just to get my attention. It for sure startled me, and I did snap at her telling her to stop. I looked up at her from my chair, and she does it again, and I tell her to stop again while making direct eye contact with her, which she doesn't doing it once more and then demanding I hug her, which I refuse to do, telling her very clearly "fuck no, I don't want to touch you," and I follow that up with if you keep going like this I'm going to kick you out. She gives me a kinda laugh and says whatever, I'm leaving anyway and then touches me again.
I get to my feet now both extremely panicky feeling and angry we have a bit of a scuffle not a fight, and I end up shouting at her to leave and not come back. I felt entirely violated in my own home during all this, but both her and my wife insist it was just a game and she did not mean it despite me telling her no repeatedly and both my wife and the guest hearing it. I'm for sure not saying my behavior was great, and I've been seeking long-term treatment to help with my issues both mainly being PTSD related to my time as an Army MP and the events mentioned in my personal life. Despite that, I 100% should not have acted in anger like I did.
So am I wrong for feeling the way I do? Or is the wife and the guest right and it was just a game and she didn't mean it.
EDIT: to be 100% upfront it escalated and I reacted (badly) physicality was involved but as also pointed out I was near panicked and overwhelmed due to my past.
EDIT 2: EDIT: Gonna try and respond to a few more posts then I've gotta have a break. I do thank everyone that took the time to write out comments or interact with me.
Edit 3?: My husband gave me access to this account, and I told him I wrote down my perspective. When I asked if I should add it, he said "it's up to you." So here it is.
Our friend approached my husband, who was playing an online cooperative action game on his computer, at his desk. I was sitting on the couch about 8 feet behind them, waiting for my friend to be ready for me to drive her home. She was wearing a long night shirt with a loose v-neck. She stood at his left side peripheral for about 2 seconds before she tapped the back of her hairbrush firmly against the side of his left shoulder. I immediately was not comfortable with this, as I don't tend to engage in horseplay unless someone else has repeatedly demonstrated to me that it's a method of expression that they like and want. I do enjoy my husband's frequent physicality with me, including picking me up or tickling me. My friend and husband have engaged in horseplay on many occasions before, tickling, poking at one another's stomach, and playfully throwing soft objects. This often included my friend's fiance, who usually only reciprocated with my friend. I will frequently smack my husband on the butt, but only when I am sure he is in a mood to be okay with it.
My husband said, "Hey, I'm busy," and didn't turn to her at first. She hit him again with the brush in the same spot, and my husband said "stop" in a normal voice, and my friend responded, saying "give me a hug (which we almost always all do at the end of visits). I don't remember if she hit him again, because he said (and I'm going to paraphrase, because at this point I began to get alarmed, and was only listening to the tone of his voice, and less to his words, unfortunately) that if she didn't stop, he'd make her leave. She said lightly that it didn't matter anyway; she was leaving. At this point, I realized by her teasing tone that she didn't understand how upset he was getting, which I did understand, through years of experience with his tone of voice and what it means. He didn't raise his voice, and I could hear that he was attempting to remain casual as he said something else, ending with "my dude" but that she had really pushed him past the point of anger and I didn't think she realized it. She put her hand on his shoulder, and he said "I don't want to fucking touch you now" and he stood up, and grabbed her by the neck of her shirt, pulling her foreward, and then put both hands around her throat, and I saw his hands tense, as he leaned down into her face and told her to leave the house and never come back. He pushed her backwards and she started to cry, and put her head down, hurrying to get pick up her things. My husband sat back down at his desk and didn't say anything else until I told him I was going to take the friend home and I'd be back, and he said "sure." The friend cried during the ride home, and her voice was harsh, but I wasn't sure if it was stress or physical. She did have marks on her throat, but those faded over the next few hours. She asked me repeatedly why he got so upset, and if anything was different, and I did point out to her that he said "stop," and she said that she thought it was part of the play. When I returned home, my husband did not seem upset, and seemed more relaxed than before, although he seemed nervous about my response to the situation. He said that he didn't remember putting his hands around her throat when I told him that he did.
My thoughts about this are that: 1) horseplaying with people with trauma, which all three of us have, to various degrees and in various forms, is potentially dangerous, and I'm frequently uncomfortable when it happens, although I often don't say anything, as I'm usually the odd one out when it comes to initiating social teasing, although I often enjoy receiving it.
2.) Our friend should have stopped at the word stop. I don't know why she didn't, but I don't think it was out of malice, because she genuinely did not seem to see how she was provoking him.
3.) Her actions were inappropriate, in my opinion, but his were potentially life-threatening and the fact that he didn't remember what he did was alarming. I am concerned that this will happen again, and he will have charges pressed in a situation where he is the first physical aggressor. This would be even worse if he inadvertently harms someone, and the escalation of force combined with memory issues in this latest case makes me worry that it might happen.
4.) I possibly could have prevented this from happening by being quicker stopping her or by getting between them, but I know from experience that once he has a grip on someone, I'm not strong enough to break it, and he ignores my presence or physically shakes me off if I try. He ignores my words entirely at these times. I expected her to see that he was upset before he snapped, because it seemed obvious to me, but she didn't, and I have no idea why. She's had lots of trauma of her own (as have I, including SA) in the past (and, like me, has worked in jobs that revolve around dealing with people dealing with trauma).

I’m taking the MSF tomorrow I know to wear jeans and a helmet but I am unsure about my shoes and shirt.
For my shoes, are hiking boots acceptable? They go over my ankles.
For the shirt it says to wear a long sleeved top but nothing in detail. Is this from a safety perspective as in I need to wear a jean jacket or something that will help if I fall or am I fine with just a long sleeved shirt or hoodie to simply cover my arms?

(See update at the end) Some context before I (32m) get into the situation as I feel it's important to how I reacted. I have been in two situations, one as a 6-year-old and at 28, that involved women and unwanted touching and beyond in both occasions I have been powerless as a child or incapacitated as an adult like unable to control my bowels or bladder kind of incapacitated. Both my wife and my guest are aware of my past. I'm trying to keep this broad stroke so as not to violate any rules, but again I think this context is important.
So on to the current situation. We currently have a (26f) friend who is living out of a tent, and we often invite her over so she can do laundry, shower, and other hygiene tasks. In this instance, I decided to hop onto my computer and play some games while she did her stuff and hung out with the wife while I chatted back and forth with them a bit. As she wrapped up her visit, she approached me from behind and hit me with a hairbrush not hard just to get my attention. It for sure startled me, and I did snap at her telling her to stop. I looked up at her from my chair, and she does it again, and I tell her to stop again while making direct eye contact with her, which she doesn't doing it once more and then demanding I hug her, which I refuse to do, telling her very clearly "fuck no, I don't want to touch you," and I follow that up with if you keep going like this I'm going to kick you out. She gives me a kinda laugh and says whatever, I'm leaving anyway and then touches me again.
I get to my feet now both extremely panicky feeling and angry we have a bit of a scuffle not a fight, and I end up shouting at her to leave and not come back. I felt entirely violated in my own home during all this, but both her and my wife insist it was just a game and she did not mean it despite me telling her no repeatedly and both my wife and the guest hearing it. I'm for sure not saying my behavior was great, and I've been seeking long-term treatment to help with my issues both mainly being PTSD related to my time as an Army MP and the events mentioned in my personal life. Despite that, I 100% should not have acted in anger like I did.
So am I wrong for feeling the way I do? Or is the wife and the guest right and it was just a game and she didn't mean it.
EDIT: to be 100% upfront it escalated and I reacted (badly) physicality was involved but as also pointed out I was near panicked and overwhelmed due to my past.
EDIT 2: EDIT: Gonna try and respond to a few more posts then I've gotta have a break. I do thank everyone that took the time to write out comments or interact with me.
Edit 3?: My husband gave me access to this account, and I told him I wrote down my perspective. When I asked if I should add it, he said "it's up to you." So here it is.
Our friend approached my husband, who was playing an online cooperative action game on his computer, at his desk. I was sitting on the couch about 8 feet behind them, waiting for my friend to be ready for me to drive her home. She was wearing a long night shirt with a loose v-neck. She stood at his left side peripheral for about 2 seconds before she tapped the back of her hairbrush firmly against the side of his left shoulder. I immediately was not comfortable with this, as I don't tend to engage in horseplay unless someone else has repeatedly demonstrated to me that it's a method of expression that they like and want. I do enjoy my husband's frequent physicality with me, including picking me up or tickling me. My friend and husband have engaged in horseplay on many occasions before, tickling, poking at one another's stomach, and playfully throwing soft objects. This often included my friend's fiance, who usually only reciprocated with my friend. I will frequently smack my husband on the butt, but only when I am sure he is in a mood to be okay with it.
My husband said, "Hey, I'm busy," and didn't turn to her at first. She hit him again with the brush in the same spot, and my husband said "stop" in a normal voice, and my friend responded, saying "give me a hug (which we almost always all do at the end of visits). I don't remember if she hit him again, because he said (and I'm going to paraphrase, because at this point I began to get alarmed, and was only listening to the tone of his voice, and less to his words, unfortunately) that if she didn't stop, he'd make her leave. She said lightly that it didn't matter anyway; she was leaving. At this point, I realized by her teasing tone that she didn't understand how upset he was getting, which I did understand, through years of experience with his tone of voice and what it means. He didn't raise his voice, and I could hear that he was attempting to remain casual as he said something else, ending with "my dude" but that she had really pushed him past the point of anger and I didn't think she realized it. She put her hand on his shoulder, and he said "I don't want to fucking touch you now" and he stood up, and grabbed her by the neck of her shirt, pulling her foreward, and then put both hands around her throat, and I saw his hands tense, as he leaned down into her face and told her to leave the house and never come back. He pushed her backwards and she started to cry, and put her head down, hurrying to get pick up her things. My husband sat back down at his desk and didn't say anything else until I told him I was going to take the friend home and I'd be back, and he said "sure." The friend cried during the ride home, and her voice was harsh, but I wasn't sure if it was stress or physical. She did have marks on her throat, but those faded over the next few hours. She asked me repeatedly why he got so upset, and if anything was different, and I did point out to her that he said "stop," and she said that she thought it was part of the play. When I returned home, my husband did not seem upset, and seemed more relaxed than before, although he seemed nervous about my response to the situation. He said that he didn't remember putting his hands around her throat when I told him that he did.
My thoughts about this are that: 1) horseplaying with people with trauma, which all three of us have, to various degrees and in various forms, is potentially dangerous, and I'm frequently uncomfortable when it happens, although I often don't say anything, as I'm usually the odd one out when it comes to initiating social teasing, although I often enjoy receiving it.
2.) Our friend should have stopped at the word stop. I don't know why she didn't, but I don't think it was out of malice, because she genuinely did not seem to see how she was provoking him.
3.) Her actions were inappropriate, in my opinion, but his were potentially life-threatening and the fact that he didn't remember what he did was alarming. I am concerned that this will happen again, and he will have charges pressed in a situation where he is the first physical aggressor. This would be even worse if he inadvertently harms someone, and the escalation of force combined with memory issues in this latest case makes me worry that it might happen.
4.) I possibly could have prevented this from happening by being quicker stopping her or by getting between them, but I know from experience that once he has a grip on someone, I'm not strong enough to break it, and he ignores my presence or physically shakes me off if I try. He ignores my words entirely at these times. I expected her to see that he was upset before he snapped, because it seemed obvious to me, but she didn't, and I have no idea why. She's had lots of trauma of her own (as have I, including SA) in the past (and, like me, has worked in jobs that revolve around dealing with people dealing with trauma).

Hi everyone, I bought a 2011 Hyundai Sonata in Sept 2023 for $8100 cash from my boyfriends cousin. His cousin owns an auto shop in my city and told us that a woman had come in with her engine blown so he gave her $200 and decided to replace it with a “brand new engine”. His dad also claims that he saw it fresh out of the crate before they put it in and that it “looked new”. There have been other issues with the car but the main problem happened yesterday; I was driving to work and the engine blew out. Boyfriend’s stepdad, who also works on cars, looked it over and said the engine was completely blown due to a disconnect from the oil pump. He told us to call his cousin and ask about the warranty on the “new” engine. Well my boyfriend called and his cousin fought with him for a bit before saying “junkyard engines only get 30 day warranty” and hanging up. So he completely lied to us, way oversold the car, and now Im out of a vehicle and will have to spend possibly thousands on a new engine. I know I should’ve been smarter but he’s family so I trusted him. My boyfriend wants me to sue, but there’s nothing in writing. Is there anything we can do? (New Mexico)

Hi. SEBS major here, complete freshie I’m in a bit of a dilemma. So I took my Math placement test and got a 30 😭😭 friend at work says to retake it and place into Calculus cuz pre calculus is so difficult and btw for my school getting a 30 means I’m most likely getting placed in IMA Intermediate Math. I’m currently taking precalc in highschool and rlly don’t feel like retaking it anymore same friend says it’s better to retake it possibly cheat instead of having to take a shit ton of courses before taking calc and having to retake pre calc again which apparently a rlly difficult class at Rutgers. I’m feeling a ton of senioritis and don’t feel like retaking it but same friend says it saves a lot of stress id just do it now and not be so behind and retake pre calc again. What do I do 😭😭😭, also I’m most likely going Busch Campus cuz I’m a Bio Major. Any general Rutgers tips for a newcomer all suggestions and opinions are welcome 🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾

I need to get this off my chest as so many people seem to think autism is just a “different ability” or a “superpower” and I’ve had enough!
I live at home with my parents (as I cannot get a job nor live independently) and we’ve recently had new neighbours move in. I had my McLaren Lando Norris shirt on when I went to see them - I have an autistic obsession with Formula 1, for context.
It turned out the new neighbour and her family also really like Lando and F1, so we got talking for a while about the Miami Grand Prix in which he got his first win. I hadn’t realised at this point that she hadn’t seen today’s race, and I, without thinking, said, “oh yeah and Lando came second today, so I think we’ll see more wins this season now as it was so close!”
At which point she put her fingers in her ears and said oh no, I told my brother not to tell me the result…
I should’ve at least guessed from the way she hadn’t spoken about today’s race that she hadn’t seen it. I know a neurotypical person would’ve!
I hate my autism and I hate that I blurted that out without thinking! I could’ve had a positive relationship with my neighbour and my autism ruined it. :(
She did laugh it off and she did say don’t worry, but I think she was still upset and probably didn’t want to say anything because my mother had already mentioned my autism.
So that’s the reality of autism, for anyone who asks. Not self diagnosis. Not having a job, a girlfriend/boyfriend/husband/wife etc or living independently - instead it is all about screwing up relationships with people you could’ve ended up being quite close with!
Wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy.

Okay, so I met some guy about a year ago. We met at my HS senior prom, he asked me to dance, we danced, he asked for my number, and then he asked me out. We went out on one date, then just texted a lot. We lost contact after a while, then I ended up randomly getting a job where he worked in late July (neither of us knew the other would be working there, but cool coincidence ig). I ended up having to quit when college started, but we started texting again on and off until Thanksgiving, then stopped until January, when he sent a Happy New Years text and I sent one back.
Today, I saw him at his summer job. I didn't get a chance to say hi or anything because he was in the back, but I'm sure he probably saw me. So I could theoretically text him and say something along the lines of, "Hey, I saw you at ___ today. How're things going?" But I'm not sure if that would be too weird since we haven't texted in so long and idk if he really wants to be friends/more at all anyways. I guess I could also just wait and see if he reaches out first, but I get the feeling he won't.
So do I text him or just give up and leave him alone?
(Man, I really wish I had people I could talk to in person about this, lol. I feel so lame for having to come here for relationship advice)

I [M21] am at my wits-end with my SOs [F20] messiness
One year relationship
In the beginning of us being together this wasn’t the case. When I would come over she would usually have a clean room and even if it was even a little bit messy she would apologize and/or not let me in until it was clean. Over time her cleanliness seems to erode (I guess) over time, especially after moving into her own place with her sister (who isn’t much better). It’s even started to feel like her being clean and tidy in the beginning was a mask and I’m seeing the real her now
Examples:

• Her car

is always (ALWAYS) messy. It’s become the norm for me to have to push away trash on the passenger floor with my feet, there’s usually a cup that she uses for a small garbage/ashtray. There’s even other peoples trash (usually sister’s but friends too) that she complains about but doesn’t stop them from doing.
I remember one time her phone fell under the seat so I helped her reach it. I saw so much trash and food and filters and weed crumbs under her seats.
Ive expressed about this before and she changed temporarily. Eventually I gave up on it because it’s her car and I’m never in it for long (I don’t have my own car). Plus if it really bothers I just don’t have to be in it

• her room

has become a consistent mess. It’s crazy that she always apologizes for it when I come over but nothing gets done about it. She has clothes and dishes and wrappers on the floor, her nightstand is always cluttered, there’s even been times when she “didn’t get a chance to do laundry over the week” so we will sleep on towels or t shirts over pillows instead of having pillowcases.
I’m no neat freak but I was raised to be a good host but it seems she wasn’t(?) One time after we had sex I accidentally left a used condom laying around (nothing inside, just used). The next day she had a friend over unexpectedly. No biggie, she hung out her in her room for a bit while I watched tv in the living room. She told me after that her friend left and she saw it and pointed out the condom. I sincerely apologized to my girlfriend for it as I know it would be seen as gross and embarrassing. My girlfriend didn’t care, saying “this is my house”.
A few days ago (let’s say Wednesday) she told me she accidentally spilled her ashtray on the floor. Weekend comes and that spill is still on the floor. I laughed about it initially, thinking she would get to it. She never did, despite us eating and watching tv in the living room all night and it being as simple as sweeping it up. I even accidentally stepped on the pile of ash, filters, and sticks and expressed it made me upset. Still nothing done about it, instead just walks around it every time.
what am I doing about it?
You may be saying to yourself, “why not help out sometimes?” Well one, it’s her house so it’s not my responsibility. And two, I actually have. I’m someone who was raised to be a good houseguest as well. When I’m over her place I clean. Not only do I genuinely want to help sometimes but I try to take care of any mess I contribute to. I’ll wash dishes, take out trash from our food delivery bags, etc
You may also be asking, “well have you communicated this to her?” One, I feel this isn’t something a partner should have to bring up as it is her personal and basic well-being. I feel it’s weird to have to tell my partner about the importance of keeping her home/room clean. Plus if this basic thing is changed just for the sake of the relationship or because a partner brings it up, similar to her car, would be it be real change? Two, tactfully I mention it all the time: “the trash is getting full, you guys should do the dishes more often I don’t want y’all to get pests, I think you should throw out the food in that Tupperware in fridge being it’s been in there for a few months, etc
some understanding
She works too jobs, one at a daycare and another as an aba therapist. She was heavily abused as a child and endures emotional and financial abuse from her sister often. In my opinion, she has every reason to be burnt out and not have the energy to do even basic things sometimes. She does try to be better. Though she has back problems that deter her from being able to do the dishes in one go she has done it here and there. She has cleaned the bathroom, washed her clothes, and keeps bed bed clean. It sounds like I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel here, I know, but I’m saying these things to say ‘I don’t think she’s lazy. I think she’s dealing with more than she can handle externally and internally and it’s affecting how she lives. I see her efforts and I don’t want it to come across as me condescending’. (Therapy would be helpful imo but she lacks the time and desire, she says).
TL;DR: my so has become messier and messier over time. She deals with a lot so I can get not having the energy to always clean but it’s a little crazy at this point. She wants to improve a lot in her life so that leads me to be hopeful but I’ve heard you shouldn’t be with someone for their potential. Perhaps I’m taking this too seriously
What do you think?

I’m currently a junior in high school and have noticed this really cute guy at my school. Unfortunately, I don’t have a class with him and the only time I see him is in the hallway when I’m walking to a particular class — does not matter what route I take or the schedule of the day, I’ve never seen him any other time :/ Since the school years about to end and I think he’s a senior, I’ve been trying to build up the courage to ask for his number. It’s very risky bc I don’t know anything abt him besides his possible name (through friends). He could be going to college in another state or something for all I know. Buuut he’s rly cute and like the epitome of my type so I don’t really want to pass this opportunity 😩 I’ve been thinking of either straight up going to him and asking for his number or just handing him a note saying I think he’s cute and leaving my number since I see him so briefly when I walk past him. Im a very shy person and have never approached someone like this before so I’m kinda leaning towards the note. Is there a better way to approach him that isn’t too sudden?? Should I even try..

Okay, so I met some guy about a year ago. We met at my HS senior prom, he asked me to dance, we danced, he asked for my number, and then he asked me out. We went out on one date, then just texted a lot. We lost contact after a while, then I ended up randomly getting a job where he worked in late July (neither of us knew the other would be working there, but cool coincidence ig). I ended up having to quit when college started, but we started texting again on and off until Thanksgiving, then stopped until January, when he sent a Happy New Years text and I sent one back.
Today, I saw him at his summer job. I didn't get a chance to say hi or anything because he was in the back, but I'm sure he probably saw me. So I could theoretically text him and say something along the lines of, "Hey, I saw you at ___ today. How're things going?" But I'm not sure if that would be too weird since we haven't texted in so long and idk if he really wants to be friends/more at all anyways. I guess I could also just wait and see if he reaches out first, but I get the feeling he won't.
So do I text him or just give up and leave him alone?

The baby died four days ago.
For context, we live in a small town. It’s remote, and we like it that way. Gives us privacy. My wife didn’t grow up here—she moved from up north, and never talks about her life from before all that much. I’ve gathered enough to know she has a sister, but is estranged from her family and that she never really felt like she belonged anywhere until she met me. Our little family is everything to her. She said she just wanted to hold him a little longer. For an hour. Then for the rest of the evening. Then through the night.
Now it’s been four days, and she’s barely set his tiny body down. When she isn’t rocking him, she’s praying, soft words muttered to the Lord under her breath.
When my wife first moved here she brought snacks and stayed after the church service for coffee and chit-chat—that’s how she and I got to know one another. She said it was different than the church she grew up with, less strict. Ours is a unitarian church that’s welcoming to everybody. There’s even a Buddhist who shows up just to socialize and sometimes leads a yoga group outside when the weather is nice. But tomorrow is the first service since our baby’s passing and I don’t want to field all those looks of sympathy and kind words and hugs…
… I do need advice though. Because you see, my wife has decided that if she prays enough, a miracle will restore our baby to life. She reminded me how last winter a frozen cat was thawed out and revived. One of our neighbors had a litter of puppies with one stillborn, and that thing was dead for fifteen minutes before it started to breathe.
But our little baby has been dead four days.
It's not that I don’t believe in scripture. But even Jesus revived after three days, not four.
My wife’s eyes used to always shine when the reverend talked about how much greater God is than any illness, how faith can bring us on a path of healing.
But I also know our reverend cut red meat out of his diet because his doctor told him to. He takes vitamins and goes on walks with his dog, and he is a down-to-earth man who believes God works miracles through us, not for us. In other words, we must take action if we are to heal, to be better, to do better. And he has counseled many of our congregants through times of grief. I’m hoping he can help my wife realize that our baby isn’t coming back…
***
After the reverend paid us a visit and offered his condolences, my wife flew into a rage at him and ordered him out of our house. Afterwards, she declared to me, “That man is a disgrace to the church! I should’ve known he was a fraud from the start.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Your church is a joke. They do yoga, Frank. They let Buddhists in.”
“I thought you liked Amita!”
“I do like yoga,” she relented. “But she shouldn’t be doing it at church.”
“It’s supposedly a very spiritual practice—”
“There’s no spirituality there, with Reverend Atheist in charge! If he really believed, why wouldn’t he pray with me for a miracle to restore our baby? Why did he tell me our baby’s not coming back?” She burst into tears.
What could I do? She would not brook even the possibility that our baby was gone forever. And after she collected herself, she told me she was going to pray. She moved our baby’s body up to the attic. She has a room up there, a room that’s hers and that I don’t go in. Every woman needs a room of her own, and when she first moved in with me, almost all her worldly possessions could fit inside one small travel trunk. She brought it in there and claimed that as her space. She used to say it was just her and God up there.
Now, it’s her, God, and the baby.
***
It's been six days. I’m glad she brought him up there because he was starting to smell, but it’s disconcerting to think of his little body decomposing and not yet put to rest.
I didn’t dare try to take him from her, though. She’d already chased away our reverend, was refusing all company, and left unopened the growing pile of sympathy cards and gifts. If she shut out me, too, she’d have no one. Only herself in that little room, with our dead baby and her prayers.
So, I offered to pray with her, too.
She didn’t want me to see the baby yet. Said he didn’t look very nice, and insisted on blindfolding me when bringing me upstairs to her little attic room, with her prayer shrine and the crib. And though I couldn’t see him, I could definitely smell him. I sank to my knees beside her and we both prayed for what felt like hours, until my back ached and sweat pooled under my arms and under my blindfold. I sucked in a breath, just about ready to tell her we should take a break when I heard a sound that sent my heart crashing into my ribs.
A baby’s cry.
Had I imagined it? My wife just kept praying. Maybe I was hallucinating. I touched my wife’s elbow and told her I needed some water.
As I was heading down the attic steps, I swear I heard it again! Just softly. And my wife let out a shriek. I dashed back into the room, where I found her—cradling a small swaddled bundle, her face beaming with joy. “Here he is!” she cooed. “Our son!”
She passed me the bundle. He was so long dead that his skin was discolored and putrid in his swaddling. But then his dead little baby mouth opened, and he softly warbled. I nearly dropped him. But my wife caught him, barely noticing my clumsiness as she lifted her shirt to let him latch. As soon as he did, she gave a cry of pain. But she wouldn’t let me take him, insisting he had to eat. Only afterward did she give him to me, his face bloody.
“Hold him while I go prepare bottles,” she said.
I looked down at our baby, his small blue lips wet with blood and milk.
Our miracle.
While my wife was preparing more food for him (blood? Or milk?), I laid him down in his crib. This strange and horrifying miracle. He seemed alert. His dead eyes, watching mine, never blinked. I knelt by the altar, intending to beg God to… undo whatever this was and take him back—but as I looked at the altar closely for the first time, what I saw chilled me to my very bones. It was decorated with words and symbols in a language that was definitely not Latin and that I could not read, and all the crosses hung upside down.
My wife is the most devout person I know… But I never asked which denomination she followed.
Only now do I realize that it’s some other God she’s been praying to… and apparently He granted her miracle…

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?

Hi Jeff! I really hope my message makes its way to you 🥺 I’ll be at your show in Oxnard tonight and I have a little gift for you! I didn’t have the opportunity to get any type of VIP spot to meet you/take a picture with you… so I plan to be sitting outside the doors of the venue pretty early before they open in order to get a seat close up. Please look for me! I’ll be wearing the T-shirt that says “I ❤️ JEFF”! 😁

The beginning of my daughters 6th grade year (2021), a new girl moved to town. We will call her Ruth. Her parents had recently divorced and she moved here with her mother. My daughter quickly became friends with her and I noticed my daughter coming out of her shell more. Being less shy, more outgoing. I was happy for her to have made a new friend that she was close so quickly with. The friendship quickly turned into best friends. The girl began coming over to our house for sleepovers on the weekends as kids do. They would hang out at the park together in town. She eventually asked to go over to her house to hang out and I said yes. She knew it would just be hanging out during the day as I really didn't know her mother well. My daughter got in the car and told me how much she liked hanging out over there and then proceeded to tell me there roaches crawling on the floor in the girls bedroom, THEN asked if she could stay the night sometime. I told her no and explained to her why and said that her friend is always welcome to come stay at our home. BFF's continue. No harm, no foul.
Fast forward to 7th grade year. Still BFF's. This is great. Especially since girls are so awful to each other ALL THE TIME IN JUNIOR HIGH. Her mom has a work trip and has to travel out of state for a few days during the school week. She asked if her daughter could stay with us. My husband and I agreed that it would be fine and she stayed with us for a few days while her mom was out of state. Still BFF's.
Now it's the middle of 7th grade year, around January (2023). Her mom (46 y/o)started dating a new guy(50 y/o). This guys fiancé had recently left him for another guy. We will call him John. I live in a dominantly republican area if this gives you any idea of the people I'm dealing with/talking about. Anyways, they fall in love and she moves in with John within 6 months of dating each other. (Approx May 2023). Her son decides to move back with his dad. Her other daughter moved in with a boyfriend (she is over 18). So, just the mom and daughter move in with him and his son(irrelevant).
Summer 2023 it is suddenly unfair that Ruth is always coming over to our house, but my daughter never goes over there. My husband(37 y/o) and I(35 y/p) agree that it is ok for her to go over there. John had just recently putting up an above ground pool. We don't have a pool. It's summer. I get it. She goes over there plenty of times, I let her stay late as we just live about a mile or two down the road. John starts building a "cabin" as a "great outlook over the pool". This is basically a cabin/pool house thing up 12 feet above the pool, but kind of to the side. My husband and I think its super weird...but whatever, they continue hanging out back and forth at one another's houses. Ruth continues to stay over a lot. In the midst of all of this and my daughter meeting John she informs me that....John thinks my daughter is a liar. Of course I asked why. John thinks that because my daughter will not look him in the eye when she speaks to him. My daughter is shy and has a lot of anxiety. I told her that she is not required to look him in the eye if she doesn't want to her. Its HER choice. John now has a say in what Ruth wears. He is not allowing her to wear short shorts anymore because it will give off the wrong impression to men dressing that way. Same with tops as far as her chest and stomach. I don't mean extreme stuff either. I mean if she has a shirt that touches her pants, but when she lifts up her arms it shows her stomach it is not allowed. I also really don't care how people choose to allow/not allow their children to dress, it is just that she was previously allowed to wear these things. She is also no longer allowed to hang out in her room alone, she has to hang out with her family in the living room.
Fast forward to a couple of months ago. Still BFF's. My daughter asked for Ruth to stay over. Of course, its fine with my husband and I. However, Ruth cannot stay over because it is now unfair that Ruth always stays at our house and my daughter never stays there. My daughter asked me if she could spend the night over there. She informed me that if she was not able to spend the night over there, then they wouldn't be able to hang out anymore. I figured it was just two teenagers making stuff up to be able to stay somewhere. I always used to do it when I was a kid...all kids do it. I asked my daughter if she wanted to stay there. She was upset, and said yes because if she doesn't then they won't be able to be friends. She said so if she has to do it to be friends with Ruth, then she will. My daughter does not even use public restrooms/school restrooms. The only place she will go to the restroom is at home. My husband and I talked it over and did not allow her to stay because of how he openly talks shit about our daughter, and if you've read above...its giving narcissist. We explained all of this to our daughter.
Later that night there is a knock on our door. Its Ruth mom and John. They asked if they could talk to us. John asked if we called him a pedophile. We didn't. We explain this. Convo continues. Not a heated convo just a normal convo. They continue to talk to let us know that they don't drink or anything but they are facing misdemeanor charges for fighting ANOTHER GIRLS PARENTS in the 8th grade class at a Poker Run for a fundraiser a few months ago but it wasn't their fault. Then John asks if I bought Ruth a tanktop recently. It was a spaghetti strap. John tells my husband and I "Ruth isn't allowed to wear those because soon they will be freshman in highschool and ALL of the seniors have a bet to see how many freshman they can fuck and the ones dressed like that will be the easiest targets" Blood boils . I informed John politely but sternly that girls should not have to worry about how they are dressed, parents should be teaching the BOYS how to behave properly and obtain consent. John also defended a sex offender that was charged for molesting a girlfriends daughter who is disabled and cannot speak or talk for herself. John defended him and said technically she WASNT a minor and he is a good guy. Idc about sex offenders and I do believe in rehabilitation but a crime is a crime. Long convo. Basically chit chatting about our kids. It ended with them telling us that our daughter is always welcome to stay and we said thanks and they left.
Now, Ruth is no longer allowed to hang out with my daughter. Ruth has to ride the bus and cannot get rides home with us because its US. They are not allowed at the park together. She's not allowed here. This is per John and Ruth's mom. They had graduation and Ruth had to make sure John didn't catch her talking to me.
I obviously want my daughter to be happy. She has not given me an attitude about any of this. She has gotten upset and cried and just told me that she would do it if she had to because she doesn't want to lose her friend. She wants to have a good summer but John gives me the CREEPS and narcissist vibes. I also feel like its a control thing for him?
Plz be nice. I'll cry if I'm TA. lol

I've been working at this job for almost 3 months now, and for the first time I actually want to get close with a co worker. I use the term co worker very lightly here bec this is a store and I work at the deli section while this person works for grocery. I think they look kinda cute and I want to try to get closer without making them feel weird or uncomfortable. The first time I interacted wih this person was when I needed help with something. The whole time they seemed confused, but still tried to help me whatever way they can. I didn't realize they were deaf until I saw the tag on their shirt that says "I'm deaf."
So yeah, I've been sort of awkward and avoid eye contact with this person everytime I run into them cuz I still feel kind of bad for the misunderstanding. I just wanna know how to talk to them without giving them the same kind of confusion like the first time.

Hi all, I'm currently a rising senior double majoring in Psych & CS. I'm @ a T2 university that has a relatively tiny CS department, small enough that I'll be getting my B.S as a "coordinate" to my primary major. I switched in during my Sophomore year and I genuinely, really enjoy CS, so I'm considering continuing my education and applying to Masters programs in the upcoming fall.
That being said, I've seen a lot of conflicting information about CS Masters programs and whether or not they'r worth it. I've seen a lot of information essentially claiming that specializations outside of AI/ML are of relatively little worth because of the inflated market right now (e.g., Data Science/HCI). My biggest problem is that I don't really think I want to go into AI - it's just not for me.
Given that information, would you say something like doing a MS in CS on top of my BS would be worth it? Or would it be more worth it to land on a specialization instead? I worry that repetitive coursework etc. would maybe hinder the value of my Master's.
Thanks everybody!