Kadillac Kirk had been a good friend of mine for several years. I had met him through friends from The Spring Stage; and he never had anything to do with The Imp, which is why he didn’t appear in the Married Mary saga. Mary would have totally thrown herself at him, and Kirk would have definitely “thrown it in her.” He loved the ladies and often remarked that there was no such thing as an unappealing woman, nor was there anything sweeter than finding the pearl of passion in an outwardly plain dame. Fortunately for Kirk, he never met Mary. This was probably fortunate for Mary as well, seeing as Kirk was a confirmed bachelor and his rakish nature might have broken her fat heart.
Kirk was an older guy. Not MOE old, though. He was in his early forties, but he easily passed for a carefree dude in his 30s... not that he lied about his age. I only mention this trait to juxtapose Kirk’s genuine youthful air with Moe’s unconvincing youthful farce. Kirk dressed normally, avoided stupid jargon, and never busted out gimmicks like tarot cards or spells. He just existed, behaved affably, and people liked him for it.
He drove a classic 1962 Cadillac El Dorado convertible with red leather interior, and he lived in a charmingly quaint (and ridiculously expensive) neighborhood. How he made his fortune remained a mystery, but he never bloviated about his wealth. He just threw spectacular parties and people showed up. And, to my knowledge, he never tried to lure women into bed with his money (although I’m sure he got his fair share of boom-boom thanks to his digs and his wheels, even if the gold-diggers denied their monetary agendas).
Kirk was legitimately handsome. He was a drummer, he had a full head of black hair, he was clean-shaven, he worked out, and he knew all the hidden gems in Wellsprings. So why hadn’t I tried... or even desired to date him? I don’t know. I just didn’t feel drawn to him like that. He felt like a cool uncle and he had, thus far, never done anything to change my perception. Plus, the age difference weirded me out a little. Kirk didn’t look forty; but knowing that he had so much more life experience than I did created a power imbalance that would have creeped me out if we’d been dating. As buddies, I just felt supremely cool riding in his Cadillac, smoking Fantasia cigarettes, and hitting the speakeasies and jazz clubs I would have never known about if it weren’t for Kirk’s connections.
And he had been a good person to talk to about my romantic woes. He never lecherously suggested that I should date him, and he gave the type of tempered advice that only comes with lived experience. But he often lightly mocked me for my crush on Dennis and he did a hilarious impression of Smegal popping too soon over his “precious.” So when Mary “got me back” by doing whatever she did with to Dennis, I called Kadillac Kirk and told him the drinks were on me if he’d be my designated driver for the night.
Why hadn’t I called Whisky??? Well, A) Kirk was way more fun to hang out with, at least from my past experiences up to that point. And B) I needed to bitch about a boy, something I couldn’t do in good conscience in front of a guy I was dating. So I put on the sexiest plunging halter dress I owned, applied heavy eye makeup and spikey accessories, braved a pair of stilettos, and sashayed out to Kirk’s convertible. I felt like a badass rock star. I probably looked like a try-hard hooker.
Kirk: Daaaaay-um! Somebody really did do a number on you, huh? I know you said you were upset, but the gents are gonna be writing thank you notes to that fat girl and that butt-fucking hobbit.
Me: I just need to feel pretty and numb. And I trust you to keep me from making a fool of myself.
Kirk squeezed my shoulder. “I’ve got you. You do whatever you need to do to get rid of these demons.”
He sparked up a J and offered me the first puff. I gladly accepted. He took one puff of his own, but said that the rest was mine since he didn’t want to drive stoned. See? He was responsible! Weed wasn’t legal in California yet, so I got a little bit baked before I stashed the sativa in the glove box and wrapped a scarf around my hair like a starlet from the Golden Age of Hollywood. Kirk sped out of the parking lot and said he was taking me to a downtown hotel that was hosting a party that night in their lush lobby.
Kadillac Kirk pulled up to the main entrance, paid the valet, and then opened my door. I was wobbly from the weed. And I had stupidly decided to wear heels. You can get high or you can wear high (heels). You can’t have both. Not if you’ve repeatedly injured both ankles (as I have). I had to take Kirk’s arm to keep from keeling over. “Can people tell I’m stoned?” I whispered. Kirk replied, “Nobody’s paying any attention to anyone else’s intoxication. I promise you that much.” I nodded, steadied myself, and strutted alongside my very cool friend, feeling a little more confident.
A live jazz orchestra was playing Cole Porter as we entered the lobby. Everything sparkled. The music was even more intoxicating than the spliff had been. “Just One of Those Things” brought tears to my eyes since the lyrics hit every raw nerve regarding the Dennis debacle. But I smiled. It might sound mental, but being distraught over a trash fire of a one-sided romance was exhilarating. Immature, for sure. But also exhilarating. You see, that kind of sadness doesn’t hurt. Not really. It stings. It leaves little bruises, but it’s very safe to wallow in because you haven’t actually lost anything. Melancholia over that which you never had is as sweet as it is bitter; and that type of twisted splendor is rivaled only by Stendhal.
“Here's hoping we meet now and then. It was great fun, but it was just one of those things.” I sang along with the band, and a fat tear rolled down past my melancholic smile and onto my chin. Kirk brushed it aside. “Too close to home?” I wiped away the remnants of the tear’s journey from eye to chin and smiled a more genuine smile. “The perfect distance from home. Shall we get drinks? Remember, I’m buying.”
Kirk: No, no. This is your time to heal. And I’m here as your pal, not your chauffeur. What would the lady like?”
I pretended to barf. Kirk knew I hated it when he got overly formal and overly attentive. So he did it just to mess with me. “Shot of vodka,” I replied.
Kirk: How many?
I thought briefly. “FIVE.”
Kirk: Five to one, baby. One in five...
Me: No one here gets out alive.
Kirk: Are you able to hold yourself upright, or should you come with?
I took a seat on an ornate, damask-upholstered chaise lounge. “I’ll be okay. And I was kidding about the five shots.”
I sat there lost in the music for a while. I thought very little about Dennis. Even less about Mary. And not at all about Whisky (whom I had shagged less than a week ago). My mind danced through the ornate lighting in the hotel lobby, and I suddenly felt the need to join the hoity-toity guests on the dancefloor!
Kirk returned with four shots of vodka. Two for him, two for me. That was quite reasonable of him. He knew damn well that I couldn’t handle five shots, but he also knew that I was in a... state. One that called for more than a single shot. I raised a both miniature glasses to “No more ninnyhammers or hairy-footed lovers.” Kirk did his hilarious Smegal impression, we double-toasted, and downed the shots. The band launched into “Let’s Misbehave,” and I kicked off my stilettos and made a beeline for the dance floor.
“There’s something wild about you child that’s so contagious. Let’s be outrageous! Let’s misbehave.” Kadillac Kirk swept me up, twirled me around, and dipped me as we both sang along with the lyrics. I wasn’t swooning for him, but I was enthralled by the moment. The music, the dancing, the combination of booze and bud... so I kissed him as he pulled me back to my feet. And he kissed back. In a way that Dennis never had. In a way that Whisky’s beard wouldn’t permit. I didn’t feel the visceral sensations that I’d felt when Dennis had kissed me, but it felt nice to feel desired. And then I noticed that other guests were watching us and applauding. Now, that was a dopamine rush if ever there was one!
I gently broke away from the embrace, high-fived Kirk and returned to the chaise lounge to put my stupid shoes back on. He followed me and smashed his face back onto mine. I pulled away and laughed. “It was a moment,” I told him. “I appreciate the dance, and that kiss was the perfect finale. But it’s not happening again.”
Kirk: Not to worry, Valerie. I know you. I knew all along that we were performing, and I was more than happy to be your scene partner.
Me: And dance partner! Those were some excellent moves! I didn’t know you had ballroom training.
Kirk: You name it, I’ve mastered it. Another drink for the lady?
I pretended to barf again. “Not yet. I’m not sad right now. Do you mind if I just sit here and enjoy the music?”
Kirk: Ah. My kisses do have healing properties...
I flipped my hand up at him. “Knock that shit off, bro. I wanted to hang out with you because I trust you not to get weird. Even if I get weird, I know you have the maturity to balance me out.”
Kirk: Are you calling me old???
Me: No. I’m calling you rational, responsible, and respectful.
Kirk: Well, now. If you can articulate an alliterative statement that fluently, then you clearly aren’t drunk enough!
I dismissed this comment as a joke. And he did indeed knock off the flirtation. We had a perfectly pleasant time chatting and dancing (no more kissing, though). And then I noticed a girl I knew from Into the Woods entering the lobby. She’d played Florinda and I’d played Little Red. I called her name and waved enthusiastically. She waved back. And then her date entered. It was D.E.N.N.I.S. I sank into the chaise. Kirk caught on immediately. “The hobbit???” he asked. I nodded silently. “You wanna make out again?” he enthused. I shook my head. I had to go say hello to Flo. And I had an idea...
I crossed the lobby, smiled, squealed, and hugged her.
Florinda: Lil’ Red! It’s been forever! So glad to see you!!! This is my friend, Denny.
From the corner of my eye. I could see Dennis shifting uncomfortably. I refused to look directly at him, neglected to acknowledge Flo's introduction and continued to converse only with her. "So glad to see you, too! What have you been up to since we left the woods?"
Dennis: C’mon, Val...
Florinda (appearing oblivious to the iciness between me and Dennis): Oh, I had some drama after the show closed. I'll have to tell you about it some other time... Have you seen Prince Big Bad (Scumbanger) lately?
I laughed. “Last time I saw him, he was hitting on some nasty fat chick at The Imp.”
Flo and I both scoffed at the pervy pest. Into the Woods was where I’d initially met Scumbanger. He played The Wolf/Cinderella’s Prince. Again... typecasting. There’s a whole essay in my brain about my first encounter with the pest, during which he quoted the song that he sang to me in the show, “Hello, Little Girl.” But it gets into some pretty uncomfortable territory because he made me feel... excited. Well, excited and scared. Nothing of note happened during Into the Woods, but our odd interactions did kind of set the stage for some extremely regrettable events during that Cats cast party.
I excused myself, saying that I needed to get back to my friend. And then I leaned in and said in a hushed voice to Flo, “Watch your ass with that one. If he’s the Denny I’m thinking of...” I gave her a look that only another female would be able to read. Her eyebrows shot up and she nodded. Dennis continued to shift as though he were trying to hold in a massive dump. “BABE! Uh...”
Flo apparently answered to that moniker as well. “What is it, Denny? Don’t worry. That was just telepathic girl talk. You apparently have a reputation...”
Dennis: Different Denny. I assure you I’m a pious gentleman.
Me: Ah. My mistake. Well, then. You guys have a good time! They’re playing Cole Porter, and the band is delovely. Great to see you, Flo!
I hugged Flo again, gave Dennis a curt nod, ignored the scent of mandarins and mountain air, and returned to Kirk.
I collapsed on the chaise lounge, exhausted from holding back the rage. I had no right to be mad at Florinda. I hadn’t seen her in three years, so how was she supposed to know that I’d had a thing with Dennis? Hell, I couldn’t even be mad at Dennis because the last time he and I had spoken in any meaningful way, I’d told him that I was no longer entertaining my crush on him. So why was I surprised to see him dating??? And why had he never taken ME out on a date like this??? And why wasn’t I smitten with Kadillac Kirk who HAD taken me out on a date like this, was an objectively excellent kisser, and a bona fide BALLER? What was wrong with me???
Kirk suggested going down the street to a quaint little bar and then sobering up at a diner closer to my apartment. I numbly nodded and followed him in silence for a few blocks. He assured me that I had “turned several heads” on the way to the new location, but I neither cared nor believed him. This wasn't the type of numbness I'd been aiming for. Now I needed to get schnockered. “Five shots of vodka, please.” Yes, I was serious.
Kadillac Kirk, my reliable designated driver, ordered only a beer and watched in something across between astonishment, concern, and delight as I slammed all five shots in rapid succession. I half expected to immediately retch all over the bar. But I felt fine. I half expected to immediately lose consciousness and wake up in the hospital. But I remained coherent. How I’d managed to take in that much hard liquor and suffer no direct consequences, I’ll never know.
I think I wanted to suffer. I wanted to either feel nothing at all or to feel a sickness bad enough to distract me from the scorching sting that pulsed through my being when I realized that I had lost the abstract notion I’d been addicted to this entire time. Hope. It wasn’t Dennis himself I couldn’t quit. It was that drug called hope. The hope that maybe, just maybe Dennis would give our romance a fair chance. The hope that maybe, just maybe he would make peace with himself, get his mind out of his crotch, and enjoy some agenda-free togetherness. The hope that maybe, just maybe he would stop bloviating about his admittedly impressive accomplishments for five fucking minutes and ask about my life. I had my own reasonably impressive accomplishments, even if they paled in comparison to his. A proper suitor would have enjoyed hearing about them.
But seeing him out with another woman, a woman who had no reason to parade her Dennis escapades before me as some means of revenge, a woman he was clearly courting of his own volition... My hope had died. It died before I’d had time to wean myself off it. Now I had to mourn the loss of hope, which is a very tricky brand of grief to navigate. Vodka wasn’t the answer, but it was what I had to work with. So it would have to do.
After enough time had passed without vomiting or collapsing, I asked Kirk to bring his car around to the bar so that I didn’t have to walk two and a half blocks drunk and in heels. He nodded and dramatically leaned in for a kiss. I recoiled. “DUDE! I told you. The moment has passed.”
Kirk: I beg your pardon. I misread your eyes. Thought I saw a green light...
Me: It’s fine. I just want to go home while I’m still feeling okay.
Kirk: Of course. Your chariot will be here soon.
He skipped off to fetch his Cadillac and I noticed that the lights in the bar were beginning to dance a bit. This should have been concerning. But then I realized that I was giggling. Wait... What? Oh shit. Sure, I was drunk from those shots. But what I was feeling in that moment wasn’t drunkery. It was stonery. Kirk probably misread my face because my pupils were dilated. Not from desire, but from drug use.
Some of you might be thinking that I was a bad friend for not introducing Lucy, an old dude connoisseur, to Kirk. Well... I did. Several years before the events of this story. He adored her. She, on the other hand, thought he was immature. And she wasn’t wrong. Lucy was astute when it came to sussing out a person’s true nature. Far more astute than I. Her initial assessment that Kirk was immature is about to be vindicated. Stretch those cringe muscles! It’s almost time for pie...
I somehow managed to get to his car. I honestly don’t recall how I got there. Did one of the bartenders carry me? Did some kind patron allow me to lean on him? Had Kadillac Kirk carried me out? I’m not sure. But my memory ceases to be fuzzy about halfway to the 24-hour diner. It might have been the very same 24-hour diner where Mary pulled her... shenanigans. I’ll never know.
Kirk: Would you say that you’re more drunk or more stoned?
Me: STONED. Definitely stoned.
Kirk made some sort of grunty noise and reached for my thigh. I slapped his hand.
Kirk: Stoned but not amorous? That’s rare.
I started laughing rather unkindly. “You’re a fucking horndog! I thought you were my safe straight male friend, dammit.”
Kirk: I solemnly swear that your safety is my primary concern, my stoned beauty.
I pretended to throw up.
Kirk: So... You’re not horny. But are you hungry? The diner I’m heading to makes this Maple Walnut Pie with the most sumptuous... sensual cream and exquisite drizzling of...
Me: Ew! Stop trying to bang the pie. Bro. Are YOU stoned? (Then I remembered the question.) Yes, I’m hungry. But I don’t like nuts. I’ll have banana cream.
Kirk made that repulsive grunty noise again. “Uhhhhh... Mmmmmm. Cream. Yessssss. Yes, we’ll be there in just a minute.” He was squirming in the driver's seat.
Me: GROSS, DUDE! If you’re gonna be like that I’ll just order HASH brows. Get it? Hash??? (I giggled.) You can’t make that sound nasty.
Kirk: Forgive my jokes. I think my blood sugar’s a bit low.
As Kirk parked, I began to wonder how I might get away with walking shoeless into the diner. The stilettos had to get off my feet. At least while I was walking. And Kirk was kind enough to give me his socks and wear his loafers “island style” into the establishment. Okay, that was gallant of him. Maybe he was going to behave himself for the rest of the evening.
I wasn’t terribly talkative as we sat down, and he expressed a bit of concern for my emotional well-being. I wasn’t coherent enough to explain what was happening to my emotions and I wasn’t sure I trusted him with my deep, dark secrets at that point. So I shrugged like a sulky teenager, ran my hands over my messy, windblown hair, and mumbled that I was “just hungry.” And right on cue, a very kind, slightly older waitress with a sweet southern accent stopped by to take our order.
Kirk: Ah, yes. We’ll have two cups of black coffee. And we’ll share a slice of that delectable Maple Walnut Pie.
Waitress: Oh, honey. That pie is scrumptious! I take it you’ve been here before?
Kirk: I have. This will be her first time to taste the splendor.
I hated to be a killjoy, but I interrupted and said to the waitress, “Ma’am? I’m sure the Maple Walnut is excellent, but could I please get a slice of Banana Cream? And a big glass of ice water?
Waitress: Sure, hon! Banana Cream’s just as yummy! I’ll be right back with those coffees and that big water.
Kirk was sucking on the tip of his forefinger and shaking his head a bit. “You’re passing up so many sensational... sensual...”
I put my forehead on the table and growled. “You swore you’d stop being nasty!” I held this #headdesk pose for quite some time before I finally lifted my head... only to see that Kirk was still sucking his fingertip and staring at me like a wild animal. “Pleeeeeease be normal,” I whined. “It’s been a really weird night for me.”
Kirk: Indeed. Many surprises. You know... You’re like titanium. Your flame burns so fast and so bright, if a guy doesn’t get in there while the iron is hot, he’ll never get another chance. I was too slow.
What the...? I was pretty sure he was wrong about titanium burning quickly. I’m no chemistry wiz, but my dad and my oldest brother are both big-brains when it comes to physics and chemistry. So I picked up some things just listening to them talk. Accurate or inaccurate, Kirk was being creepy again. He’d never been creepy towards me before, although I’d seen him act like this with other women. Usually with staggering success. Why????? His money. It had to be his money. Kirk was a nice-looking man, but holy shit... No amount of good looks could save this creep show
And then, our sweet waitress sat down our coffees, my water, and the two slices of pie. After I gulped down a whole bunch of water, I grabbed a fork, prepared to quell my munchies... and then I froze. Kirk was quickly flicking his finger back and forth across the top of his pie. And moaning. He noticed my wide-eyed stare, smirked, sucked the tip of his thumb, picked up the plate with both hands, and began flicking his tongue across the tip of the triangular pie slice. And moaning some more. Well, there went my appetite.
Kirk took his middle finger and jabbed it into the crustless vertex of the pie slice, then he began pumping it in and out like a piston, and flicking his thumb across the increasingly demolished top layer of whipped cream. He gasped this time. People were starting to stare. His pointer finger joined his middle finger in the piston action, and he replaced his thumb with his tongue. Between flicks of the tongue, he groaned, “Oh yeah, baby... Let me taste you,” but it was kind of hard to understand him.
And I was either about to run to the back office, tell them that I was in danger and needed a police escort home... OR I was about to burst out laughing at the spectacle. Kirk continued... He removed his fingers and gregariously licked pie filling off of them. "Ohhhhh," he groaned, "I got you soooo sticky. So sweet. So moist." And then he started sucking his fingertips again, switching from middle to pointer, middle to pointer and emitting a delighted little, “Mmmmmm” with every suck.
Finally, he jabbed his fingers back into the utterly destroyed pie, lowered his face into the mess and lapped loudly and passionately, moaning, grunting, and mumbling “Come on, baby. Come on. Mmmmmm. Come on.” I could see the waitress and some dude in a suit heading over to the table, so I sank down in my seat, partially covered my face, but continued to watch the train wreck. At last, Kirk shuddered violently as he splatted his entire hand onto the plate and rubbed furiously. And then he locked eyes with me. He sucked the tip of his thumb one final time and said, “You...” There was a long pause during which Kirk lovingly stroked the mess he’d made. “You... are the pie.”
I don’t hang out with Kadillac Kirk anymore. But he’s still a bachelor, ladies!

I realize I may not be in the right subred for this, so I apologize if it’s a problem! I am looking for a replacement cap or entire bottle for my H‑E‑B hydroflask. I use this every day and I was super bummed when my cap broke! I’ve searched online and can’t seem to find even the non-branded version of the bottle, and as I now sadly live serval states away from the nearest H‑E‑B, getting a new one myself isn’t easy! I realize it would be much easier to simply buy a different one, but this one has quite a bit of sentimental value to me. If anyone has a cap or a whole bottle for sale please let like this for sale, please let me know!

I was speaking to brenda about one of ours who’d inexplicably died of heart failure during a PFT run one year, and that made me think of another in that same unit who was also very liked: Joseph Shannahan. But to those of us who knew and loved him, he was simply “Shaky.”
He had a neurological condition of some sort, I suppose, though in the field of medicine I am not versed beyond the wetting in the pond of knowledge the mere tip of one large toe and its attendant raptor claw of a discolored toenail that resists all efforts at trimming with anything less than a pair of tinsnips. If name it had, or I ever heard, that knowledge is now lost to the sands of time, and overindulgence in that time of certain things.
Shannahan, you see, his hands they did tremble, all of their own volition. They were not his to control. They shook, they shuddered, and they rarely ever stopped.
Sitting across from my friend at a table in the mess hall, I would watch in wonder as he would struggle in vain to raise a cup of coffee to his lips without splashing a good quarter or more of it over the rim of the cup and into the table. It really was that bad sometimes.
Fighting the urge to reach over with a steadying hand of mine in order to assist. This was not done. Word would surely spread that we had been seen holding hands in public, and, no disrespect at all to LCpl Trevanian, that simply would not do. We each and all must walk our own path through life.
I would, upon occasion, light his cigarette for him, if he was continuing to miss the mark. It was the botherly thing to do.
There were two instances, however, or set of circumstances, in which the magic happened. He shot a consistent high expert at the rifle range. It was preternatural. In that his element, the shaking of his hands would still, and he would become as cold as ice, and as deadly as potato salad left out in the sun too long on a hot summer’s day.
I’d seen an effect similar to that once before. A Platoon Sergeant was with us for a while at my chest posting had stuttered badly. Except when he became angry. Then it would magically drop away. He was angry quite often. We were who we were.
The other - the man could run the table in a game of pool. As steady as an experienced prevaricator perjuring his way seamlessly through a cross examination or running for President. He was a phenomenon.
We made folding money off of Shaky for a good while by betting on him in games with fellows from other units at the Enlisted Club on Base. As did he by betting on himself.
We also surrendered to him 10% of our gross earnings, and were happy to do so. A finder’s fee, so to speak. It was all found money to us, and he was, after all, the founder of the feast.
They were always easy marks, at first, delightfully observing the turbulence of his tremblers, and weren’t hesitant at all when prompted to increase an original bet. Which they would inevitably shortly regret.
It became more difficult, of course, as time weren’t by and were got around: “Do Not play that spastic bastard! He’s a ringer! It’s all a fake!”
The beauty of it, of course, was that it wasn’t.
The answer to the mystery was a simple one, of course. Anything that required intense concentration and focus would calm and still his mind, and his hands would follow suit.
But why did Shaky shake in the first place? We were simple and direct young men, and the answer to us was obvious: he surely had been an EOD tech in a previous lifetime, and had carried the accumulated stress of his former vocation into this his new reincarnation. It all made perfect sense.
He was Catholic (I’d seen his dog tags), but a small detail, and unimportant. I was Buddhist that year myself, for a change of pace. I think I might still have those dog tags forgotten in a box in the garage somewhere. If I’d been killed, wouldn’t a certain bald, laughing fat man have been surprised to see who’d come to dinner?
So here’s to you, Shaky. I hope you trembled your way to greatness.

I woke up to seagulls this morning, I really like the sound of them. I mean they don’t make pretty sounds, nor is it relaxing, but it feels like a comforting noise I guess? I think because I like being by the sea. I’m not sure. It was nice though. I love living by the sea, like I hear ship horns and seagulls and all of that. It makes me forever paranoid of tsunamis though. I think I’d like to live in a little seaside town with my honey, but I also don’t because then I couldn’t have the garden of my dreams nor would I have the countryside lifestyle I want. I don’t really know what I want. I don’t think I have enough money to be all that picky anyway.
I kind of woke up with that pit in my stomach feeling today. I don’t like how our calls were last night, either one of them. The first I felt like he didn’t want to talk to me and the second it was me being like that to him. I didn’t mean to make it come across that way, but I think he just caught me out when I was mid-deep sleep? I couldn’t wake up or focus and idk. Normally I’m fine to wake up though? And I love his night time calls, to know he’s thinking about me makes me feel so warm inside. It feels weird to think I ever cross his mind when we aren’t in an active conversation, I guess that comes back to the self esteem thing and feeling unworthy of being a thought in his mind, not feeling important enough, or something. But in that second call, I guess I didn’t like that he got me off the phone earlier because he was so sleepy, but then it turned out he was still up and about two hours later? It made me feel like he lied about being tired to get rid of me. I don’t think that was the case, but it’s how it made me feel in the moment. Anyway I woke up feeling uneasy, I felt okay but a little uneasy so I made sure to apologise. I think as well because I fell asleep feeling a little uneasy, it felt like he rushed me off the phone or like I was boring him to death or something. But it made me think about how it’s only 9pm where he is, and that he could quite easily have someone come over around that time. I don’t believe he would do that, but it scares me all the same. The way in which he could crush me into nothing is a little frightening sometimes, it really feels like I’ve just laid out my sad little heart out there for him to stomp all over if he so wishes to do so. I know if he did end things I would be okay, I think, but I can’t say I don’t worry about how it would affect my mental health and “recovery” - how far would it set me back? But also that’s not on him at all, and I’m never ever going to imply as such to him. He ought to make decisions based on what he wants and is best for him. Anyway it’s fine and we talked this morning and nothing has changed for him either, we both still want each other and this so it doesn’t even matter. I still feel bad about how I made him feel. I’m really glad, even though I made him feel bad which I wish I hadn’t, but sometimes it really helps to have him say he still wants this. I know his actions speak louder than words, but sometimes I need the words too. And so him saying “I’m still the same” was really reassuring and made me feel so lovey.
I’ve made a hair appointment, for end of June. I kind of wanted it early June as my hair is annoying the f out of me now, but her first available slot is end of June sooo I guess it still works out well. It gives me five weeks to continue growing out my layers so that we can start afresh. I’m going to get my face framies cut shorter this time as they grow out so quickly. I think otherwise I’ll get very subtle layering, enough to add some movement and help it air dry nicely, but I want the ends as thick as possible too. I’ll get a general root touch up to darken them up a little, and then a tonegloss for the lengths to cool down the warmth a little and darken it up ever so slightly. And then I’ve booked in for a full on olaplex treatment, so that will be nice. I am all about my hair health this year. I always have been but now even more so.
It’s so autumnal today. I really want to watch my favourite cosy romcoms, their autumn scenes are always my most absolute favourite. And winter I suppose. Basically Meg Ryan in autumn is my favourite thing and comforts me to no end.
I think I assume that if I know something then everyone else must know it too, so when they don’t I find it baffling that they don’t know. I guess because I consider myself thicker than a brick and everyone else smarter than I am, so I’d say in the team quiz no one knows the answer I start thinking how do you not know this, but that’s unfair of me and I’m making an assumption based on my low self esteem. But also I am as dumb as a rock so I mean there’s low self esteem and then there’s self awareness. But I just assume that if I know something, then it therefore must be as widely known as 2+2=4.
I’m wearing my Mon Guerlain perfume today, I quite like it, I guess I liked it a fair but considering I seem to have both a bottle of the edp and edt? I think this was during lockdown. Anyway I never wear it but I am today as it’s quite a warm scent, it’s like a warm vanilla but with a touch of lavender? Barely any lavender though, just a teeny tiny little bit. I just googled and that’s exactly what it is so yay me! Except it’s blatantly obvious so perhaps I’ll calm down on the self celebrations. Anyway it’s not one I’d replace but I do like it I suppose. It feels a little mature, not in an older woman way but in a mid-40s way. I read a comment and it said that it gives wife-and-adoring-mother with a wealthy husband, who’s just kissed her children goodnight before sweeping off in her furs to dinner and the opera. It’s classy and elegant, but with something warm and motherly to it and I get that too. Like the mama in Peter Pan! Anyway I’m a little ways off that stage of my life. But it’s a nice wfh scent I suppose. Most of my perfumes are just wfh/chill at home ones now. I wear perfume everyday, I’d say that’s silly but a) Andy tends to too and anything he does that I do makes me feel more assured it’s okay, b) I have a lottttt to get through and c) even if I didn’t have a lottttt to get through I still would because I just like to feel pretty. I may be as ugly as a troll but I will still be presentable enough. Not nicely, but perfume, groomed brows, glowy skin/skincare, my cutie lil diamond studs, brushed hair etc. Except I like a lived in look, I don’t like to look super prim and proper I prefer more bedheady hair and to look like I don’t care an awful lot, but in a nonchalant Kate Moss way not a get wrecked Adam Sandler way. Except I think Adam Sandler is the better of the two - I read he still has a regular-ish house? Then again it was the internet and I’m as gullible as… idk something gullible. That’s what I adore about Andy, he will do his own research and not believe anything outright, he’ll question it and all of that. Whereas I can just be like woowwwww crazy and then move on. There are many ways I’d like to be more like him, I don’t want to be like him but I just want to be better and he’s better so idk. He seems a little paranoid I’ll be like his ex who basically tried to become the tweedle dum to his tweedle dee, but I mean that’s never going to happen? I like to try things he likes, for example snacks and drinks and things. And if he says he enjoys using something and recommends it, ie his mouse, then I take his recommendations seriously. But I’m never going to dress or act like him, I mean I adore him but I don’t want to be a man…? I like being girly and different from him! But I just mean I like how he approaches things, I like how he handles disagreements or thinks about new information - they’re things I want to kind of learn from him. Not in a way where I’d ask because that makes it weirder. Idk. This whole thing is weird. I just admire him. Now I sound like some kinda single white female… which I am… oh god.
Todays been fine overall. I did something new workwise, getting into LOEs for H&S speeding stuff, I had a call with a manager about one of his direct reports this morning and he was like I mean is it that bad and I had to tell a 40 something grown man that it is indeed bad to speed 28km over the speed limit. For any reason. And in a branded vehicle at that. Anyway so then I had to do the letter which was fine but it’s such a confusing template so I suggested some alterations to the Head of and she said they were excellent and she would change the template letter to include my suggestions, so that made me feel good. I enjoy that part of my work, I think I like processes and policies and all of that stuff. Idk why someone with social anxiety thought it would be smart to get into PEOPLE advisory. But like I said, as thick as a brick.
I had such a fun chat with him this evening, he makes me all giggly and silly and I hate myself for saying that. The word giggle is so bleh. I mean it’s a cute word but it feels wrong to say for whatever reason. It’s like when people say “hehe” in texts or whatever, it makes me feel gross even though I don’t even mind it. I think in the right context from the right person it’s fine, but I’ve never experienced that so idk. Now I’m thinking of… something. Something we watched. And the subtitles had it as “heh heh” and I’m thinking sopranos. Anyway newsflash to no one: I love him a hellllllll of a lot.
I wish I didn’t have to go to the office tomorrow. It’s so annoying. I know it’s good for me and also my manager has outright asked me to, so I kind of have to regardless, but also I’ll just focus on the fact it’s good for me to be properly out of the house and stuff. And it has perks I guess, I can have sushi for lunch, peruse the bookshop nearby and I also don’t snack when I’m at the office, I take nuts with me but I don’t eat them because I get all anxy about if people can hear me chewing or if they think I’m some kind of insatiable ogre who can’t wait til lunch or dinner. But so I just have a few bits of sushi for lunch. Although I really want to try this Vietnamese place, they have a salad that looks so bloody good, but I’ve never been and it looks like the kind you line up for like subway and that sends a barrage of anxiety through me so maybe sometime in the future. But I also tend to get more done and idk. It’s good for me. I’ll just keep telling myself that while I hate life two days a week for the foreseeable. It’s not even that bad, it is bad anxiety wise - like yesterday I didn’t go to the bathroom for over an hour from when I needed to pee because of my anxiety, I also didn’t fill up my drink bottle or get another coffee at all for the whole day. So my anxiety is bad, but maybe over time it’ll get better, I’m sure it will, I just have to suck it up in the interim.
I think I’ll stop now because I have 10 mins exactly til 8 and I need to get entirely ready for bed and post this. I needed to blowdry my hair but I spent too long in the shower and now I don’t have time so oh well. Tbh I look like utter shite anyway lately so what’s a bad hair day to go with it? I’ll just put it up. I feel disgustingly ugly lately, I always do but especially lately. Okay now I have 8 minutes night night

I'm a typical, unemployed, middle-aged Pakistani. (34 years old) I was a banker for sometime but during the first wave of corona in 2020, I lost my job. Since then I'm mostly unemployed for almost 3.5 years now.
It's not like I don't wanna work but it is that I can't find work. My Spouse has left me. Father passed away 10 years ago. Mother's Pension and younger brother's salary is keeping the kitchen and circle alive which is getting harder day by day. May daily routine is to get up, I don't get any breakfast because there's none left for me. get suited in a couple of office pants and shirts that I still own, go to different offices and drop my CVs, some sympethize, some flat out refuse and even redicule that you're now a 34 year old male. You should of been a tycoon by now.
No one respects me. No one remembers me in gatherings. No one bothers to call or invite me during family functions.
My own mother hates and despises me because I'm a constant source of shame for her ever since I was born. Things I hear on daily basis are, kaash mein marr jati to tu na hota aj mjhe zaleel krny keliye, ya phir hazaron khawateen zachgi k doran marr jati hain, kaash mein bhi un me se 1 hoti, tery paas job nai to to aisa kr k kisi flyover ya high voltage electricity pole pr charh ja or ehtjaj kr, koi na koi politician aye ga, apni publicity k bahany hi sahi, tujhe nechy utarwaey ga, photo wagera banwaye ga or nokri deny k wada kr k chala jye ga. Khakrob ya sweeper ki nokri bhi dy to kr le bas meri jaan chor dy.
I've been struggling with anxiety and depression ever since I was 18, (so for almost half of my life, I've been stressed, depressed and battling with anxiety). I tried to h**g myself on a couple of occasions due to severe anxiety but my mother and wife were always able to intervene at the right time. But Level of despise has gained such heights that my mother says kaash hum tujhe us time jhoolny dety. When I say k jab me la-ilm hoon to mery khany me poison daal dena. to mother boli k beta dil to boht chahta ha but police ayegi to pehla shak ham per hi jye ga. for the record she's my biological, sagi mother. Kehti hain, nokri nahi milti to bheek hi maang ly but kisi trah meri jaan chor dy.
My spouse had remain faithful for a couple of years after I lost my job but she left when she saw that he's getting over aged and not gonna get a decent job. We have no kids so it was easier for her to leave. Her family as well as mine, supported her decision.
I haven't received much milestones in Educational or Career wise.
I have a lot of gaps in my education and career, which every one notinces in an instant while scruitining or perusing my C.V.
I've been rejected from many places for being OVER AGED or not having too much experience.
For some time I felt shame, that I don't want to be a Food panda rider or courier guy, INdrive, careem, bykea captain but now I'm considering everything.
Can't get a license due to weak eyesigt and licence is must to get registered on any app. Bought a bike on installments and half of them are still remaining so I can't use those documents to get registered on apps either.
Little savings I had, I tried rickshaw driving but couldn't because of frequent challans by Traffic Wardens and degrading behaviorude remarks of pessengers and passersby because ricksshaw walas are considered subhumans.
I've also tried selling sabzi, corn soup, gol gappas, dahi ballas, ice cream cycle (according to the season) but got always cheated. either because of my inexperience or me being too SIMPLE and Bahir Ki dunia being bahir ki dunia, dog eating dog world.
I've also tried freelancing, but aaj ki dunia mein ya lafz mjhe gaali lagta ha, jab koi pochy kia kr rhy ho, or koi agy se boly online work krta hoon to agla yahi samajhta ha k VELA ha.
Tried my hands in Private schooling but couldn't get a job due to social anxiety, low confidence and self esteem.
Tried Day Trading as well as options trading, thinking that I can atleast make the amount equal to my monthly salary to keep my kitchen and circle flowing but after losing almost 35 k in it, I said to myself, k people are right k ye juwa ha.
I'm 34. mjhe agy kch nahi nazar arha. Freelancing se nafrat si ho gai or wo is wajah se k 20 years ki age se ye freelancing kr rha hoon or job keliye bhi try krta raha hoon. Freelancing k sath rishta on and off raha ha. yani jab job mil gai to freelancing chor di or jab job chali gai to dobara freelancing shuru kr di.
Freelancing keliye grinding se mjhe both khouf ata ha. proposals likhty howy lafz mery samny nachny lagty hain. apny room me akela betha hoa hoon to mjhe ajeeb ajeeb mayoosi waly khayal aty hain
My kai baar apny sagy behn bhai se request kr chuka hoon k choti moti job dila do, woh kehty hain k bhai tera masla ha. Mera chota bhai mjh per haath bhi utha chuka ha.
due to lack of funds, I don't groom myself much so I look like a jawari, nashai, jahaaz most of the time. when I go to an office, guards won't even let me in k bhikari andar allowed ni.
Pichly 5 saal se sleeping pills le kr so rha hoon. Pehly bhai la deta tha but ab nahi kyun k wo bolta ha mehngai boht hai, me afford ni kr skta.
day before yesterday, I made a fake prescription and bought some 6 or 7 brands of sl**ping pills.
I'm planning on taking them all at once and ending it once and for all.
I remember reading the story of a writer who was overwhelmed by despair and decided to end his own life. Feeling utterly hopeless, he left his home and went for a long walk, contemplating his decision. As he walked, he made a solemn vow to himself: if he encountered even one person who was genuinely smiling, he would reconsider his decision to end his life.
The writer walked for what felt like hours, passing countless people along the way. But despite his search, he couldn't find a single person who appeared genuinely happy or content. Disheartened, he concluded that there was no joy left in the world, no reason to continue living.
With a heavy heart, the writer returned home, his resolve to end his life firm. He took the final steps to carry out his decision, feeling utterly alone and abandoned by the world.
This, in no way, is plea for bheek or charity or attiyat or donations or KHUDA keliye mjhe kaam per rakh lo ya job dila do. Kyun k ye ghar ghar ki kahani ha but Mjhe samajh hi nahi arha k kia kron. to ye kaam asaan lag rha ha.

KARACHI
I'm a typical, unemployed, middle-aged Pakistani. (34 years old) I was a banker for sometime but during the first wave of corona in 2020, I lost my job. Since then I'm mostly unemployed for almost 3.5 years now.
It's not like I don't wanna work but it is that I can't find work. My Spouse has left me. Father passed away 10 years ago. Mother's Pension and younger brother's salary is keeping the kitchen and circle alive which is getting harder day by day. May daily routine is to get up, I don't get any breakfast because there's none left for me. get suited in a couple of office pants and shirts that I still own, go to different offices and drop my CVs, some sympethize, some flat out refuse and even redicule that you're now a 34 year old male. You should of been a tycoon by now.
No one respects me. No one remembers me in gatherings. No one bothers to call or invite me during family functions.
My own mother hates and despises me because I'm a constant source of shame for her ever since I was born. Things I hear on daily basis are, kaash mein marr jati to tu na hota aj mjhe zaleel krny keliye, ya phir hazaron khawateen zachgi k doran marr jati hain, kaash mein bhi un me se 1 hoti, teri paas job nai to to aisa kr k kisi flyover ya high voltage electricity pole pr charh ja or ehtjaj kr, koi na koi politician aye ga, apni publicity k bahany hi sahi, tujhe nechy utarwaey ga, photo wagera banwaye ga or nokri deny k wada kr k chala jye ga. Khakrob ya sweeper ki nokri bhi dy to kr le bas meri jaan chor dy.
I've been struggling with anxiety and depression ever since I was 18, (so for almost half of my life, I've been stressed, depressed and battling with anxiety). I tried to h**g myself on a couple of occasions due to severe anxiety but my mother and wife were always able to intervene at the right time. But Level of despise has gained such heights that my mother says kaash hum tujhe us time jhoolny dety. When I say k jab me la-ilm hoon to mery khany me poison daal dena. to mother boli k beta dil to boht chahta ha but police ayegi to pehla shak ham per hi jye ga. for the record she's my biological, sagi mother. Kehti hain, nokri nahi milti to bheek hi maang ly but kisi trah meri jaan chor dy.
My spouse had remain faithful for a couple of years after I lost my job but she left when she saw that he's getting over aged and not gonna get a decent job. We have no kids so it was easier for her to leave. Her family as well as mine, supported her decision.
I haven't received much milestones in Educational or Career wise.
I have a lot of gaps in my education and career, which every one notinces in an instant while scruitining or perusing my C.V.
I've been rejected from many places for being OVER AGED or not having too much experience.
For some time I felt shame, that I don't want to be a Food panda rider or courier guy, INdrive, careem, bykea captain but now I'm considering everything.
Can't get a license due to weak eyesigt and licence is must to get registered on any app. Bought a bike on installments and half of them are still remaining so I can't use those documents to get registered on apps either.
Little savings I had, I tried rickshaw driving but couldn't because of frequent challans by Traffic Wardens and degrading behaviorude remarks of pessengers and passersby because ricksshaw walas are considered subhumans.
I've also tried selling sabzi, corn soup, gol gappas, dahi ballas, ice cream cycle (according to the season) but got always cheated. either because of my inexperience or me being too SIMPLE and Bahir Ki dunia being bahir ki dunia, dog eating dog world.
I've also tried freelancing, but aaj ki dunia mein ya lafz mjhe gaali lagta ha, jab koi pochy kia kr rhy ho, or koi agy se boly online work krta hoon to agla yahi samajhta ha k VELA ha.
Tried my hands in Private schooling but couldn't get a job due to social anxiety, low confidence and self esteem.
Tried Day Trading as well as options trading, thinking that I can atleast make the amount equal to my monthly salary to keep my kitchen and circle flowing but after losing almost 35 k in it, I said to myself, k people are right k ye juwa ha.
I'm 34. mjhe agy kch nahi nazar arha. Freelancing se nafrat si ho gai or wo is wajah se k 20 years ki age se ye freelancing kr rha hoon or job keliye bhi try krta raha hoon. Freelancing k sath rishta on and off raha ha. yani jab job mil gai to freelancing chor di or jab job chali gai to dobara freelancing shuru kr di.
Freelancing keliye grinding se mjhe both khouf ata ha. proposals likhty howy lafz mery samny nachny lagty hain. apny room me akela betha hota hoon to mjhe ajeeb ajeeb mayoosi waly khayal aty hain
My kai baar apny sagy behn bhai se request kr chuka hoon k choti moti job dila do, woh kehty hain k bhai tera masla ha. Mera chota bhai mjh per haath bhi utha chuka ha.
due to lack of funds, I don't groom myself much so I look like a jawari, nashai, jahaaz most of the time. when I go to an office, guards won't even let me in k bhikari andar allowed ni.
Pichly 5 saal se sleeping pills le kr so rha hoon. Pehly bhai la deta tha but ab nahi kyun k wo bolta ha mehngai boht hai, me afford ni kr skta.
day before yesterday, I made a fake prescription and bought some 6 or 7 brands of sl**ping pills.
I'm planning on taking them all at once and ending it once and for all.
I remember reading the story of a writer who was overwhelmed by despair and decided to end his own life. Feeling utterly hopeless, he left his home and went for a long walk, contemplating his decision. As he walked, he made a solemn vow to himself: if he encountered even one person who was genuinely smiling, he would reconsider his decision to end his life.
The writer walked for what felt like hours, passing countless people along the way. But despite his search, he couldn't find a single person who appeared genuinely happy or content. Disheartened, he concluded that there was no joy left in the world, no reason to continue living.
With a heavy heart, the writer returned home, his resolve to end his life firm. He took the final steps to carry out his decision, feeling utterly alone and abandoned by the world.
This, in no way, is plea for bheek or charity or attiyat or donations or KHUDA keliye mjhe kaam per rakh lo ya job dila do. Kyun k ye ghar ghar ki kahani ha but Mjhe samajh hi nahi arha k kia kron. to ye kaam asaan lag rha ha.

Timestamp: https://imgur.com/a/6PLt5ph
Oakley speed jacket with clear ballistic lens, not fake lenses from amazon. Oakley still sells replacement lenses if you want tinted/polarized. Frame has a few tiny dings on right arm that don’t show up on camera. Also comes with replacement rubber nose pads…$70
Spiritus Sack Pouch Mk 3 (coyote brown)…$50
Tyr Tactical Happy Mag pouch (multicam)…$40
Tyr Tactical 152 Radio Pouch (multicam)…$40
Two pistol magazine/multitool pouches, don’t know brand, bought at PX (coyote brown)…$10 each
Will ship for free if you spend more than $50, if less I’ll ask for an extra $5 to help cover shipping cost.

Daily Dose of Integrity
Podcast, from the archives…
What does confidence look like? How can we tell if someone else is truly confident and worth modelling after? How do we know when we ourselves are becoming confident?
In this session we look at the traits of truly confident vs those who are just pretending and other false flags.
We'll investigate real public figures like Russell Brand, Donald Trump, Jim Carrey, Kim Kardashian and more to see who's got it... and who's just faking.
Watch here:
https://theinspirationallifestyle.com/endgame-confidence-role-models/
Listen here:
https://theinspirationallifestyle.com/podcast/endgame-confidence-role-models/

Hey guys, I’m visiting my family for a month here in Al khuwair , Muscat . I’m aware of the shops I can buy the whole packet of cigarettes from. But I wanted to know if I can get a loose single cigarette and where to get it from and what brands should I expect. I’m Indian by the way, I’m used to Indian cigarettes.

Thought it would be easy to find, but I can only find tutorials for fake cigarettes. need to recreate a bunch of ash, any tips?

This girl in her class complains that she doesn’t wear nike, lululemon, coach, or any else name brand. she complains about my cousin’s fashion choices like not wearing leggings, accessorizing with earrings, and carrying a stanley/hydroflask around.
This bully of hers is 6 years old. They are both 6 years old.
Like where are the rug burns on both your knees? why are your nails perfectly clean? why do you know where every store is at the mall? why do you own fake, long press on nails and not the $2 ones you get at claire’s? why do you have an obsession with coffee?
I’m so fucking torn apart that they can’t be kids cause they’re forcing each other to grow up. I feel like it’s teenagers fault too cause I see a lot of 13-16 year olds dressing and acting a lot older than they should. why can’t you just cosplay your favorite cartoon characters with your friends? why does everyone’s personality have to be based around weed, partying, and other drugs? They’re forcing the lifestyle onto others their age and it’s so sad. Kids are so easily influenced and their parents aren’t protecting them from the bad ones.
Their school didn’t do a single thing about the bullying either. Just wtf…

Cawthon, Scott. The Bobbiedots Conclusion: An AFK Book (Five Nights at Freddy’s: Tales from the Pizzaplex #5). Scholastic Inc, 2023. 

Just wanted to say hi. This account is little fake. I bought a business that silk screens and embroidery. I currently own my own. Brand and had been a customer for about 10 years.

I grew up in a small town in south Mississippi. My mom and dad were only married for nine months, two years after I (27f) was born. I have an older sister (29f). My mom and dad split up and both of them always had mixed answers when I would always ask. My mom would tell me that my dad was a drug addict and she came home to him nodded out while he was supposed to be watching my sister and I. My dad would tell me that my mom cheated on him with my childhood stepdad. Before my step dad was my step dad, he was my grandmother's long term boyfriend. My mother slept with him and he ended up marrying her. Problem was, he was a registered sex offender. He served seven years in prison for sexual assault of a child under thirteen, ten years before he met my grandmother. My mom and dad then made a custody arrangement, my dad would have full custody of my sister, and my mom would have full custody of me. We got alternating weekends once we got a little older, but my sister and I were raised very differently. My step dad was a very evil man. He abused my mother, and he abused me in every way possible, for many years until i stood up to him. My grandmother on my mom's side had three daughters, my mom, and my two aunts. My grandmother on my fathers side had three sons. At one point, my aunt was staying with my uncle and my grandmother after she left an abusive marriage. They hooked up a few times, but ultimately she went back to her abusive husband. She ended up pregnant, and still says that he is her now ex husband's son. However, I cannot help but see the uncanny resemblance of my uncle every time I look at him. None of my aunts or uncles, neither of my parents, none of my cousins, not even my sister graduated high school. So it was a HUGE deal when I graduated high school and community college. Every adult in my life was in some sort of abusive relationship, or toxic. They would cheat on one another, do heavy drugs,etc. but none of them ever had and held a job of any type, other than one uncle who has been working in the same grocery store for thirty years. I had no role models growing up, I was abused and my mother allowed it. She married a sex offender, knowing she had a young daughter. The older that i get, the more I resent my mother for that. How could she? Every family member stayed in Mississippi, got married young and had several children. They are all very conservative, yee-haw, southern baptist, rebel flag flying rednecks.
College truly changed my life. It changed my mindset on so many things and made me realize that there is a whole world out there. I got into a "serious" relationship when I was eighteen. He was a raging drug addict with a list of mental disorders, seventh grade dropout. But that was what I knew. He was abusive. He isolated me, financially abused me by making me get fired from every job i had, mentally and emotionally abused me, etc. I lived with him and his parents for two and a half years. During that time, he had been arrested on Christmas morning, 5150'd twice, diagnosed with Antisocial Personality disorder (sociapathy), and dropped out of college. I stayed so that i could complete college, then I planned on leaving. None of my family has a stable home. The ones that do have stable homes are covered in filth such as mouse droppings, roaches, animal feces, etc. so i feared i had nowhere to go and i felt stuck. But I finally left. I slept on my sister's sofa or in my mom's spare room, but i was deeply depressed more than ever. I finally took a huge risk and moved to New Orleans on a whim. I packed up everything i owned into a suitcase and a backpack, I bought a one way train ticket and told myself I have nothing to lose but everything to gain. I've grown and evolved so much since,and I am truly happy I left Mississippi and got my life together.
Since moving to New Orleans and evolving into a better person, most of my family no longer liked who I was. Cutting off most of my family members and no longer caring what they think has made me so much happier and stronger. I do still talk with my mom and sister, my grandmother, two aunts and 3 cousins. My mom ignores me most of the time and never calls or reaches out to me, ever. She lives in an old trailer that is literally falling apart, infested with roaches and mice, mold and mildew growing everywhere, and cigarette smoke that sticks in the air with no circulation. She goes out of town (a few hours away to the delta) with her fiance and stays in a camper during the week most of the time. She has MS and a shopping list full of other illnesses and ailments, but keeps taking herself off of all her medications except her pain and heart medications. My mom used to be so clean and would never allow our house to be less than clean, and actually went out to town on her own for shopping or parks or zoos. She never goes anywhere now. She stays in her trailer or the camper constantly, except around christmas time, then she will go shopping. She is also a compulsive liar and loves to get attention from the family by faking illnesses and injuries. My sister lives in a double wide trailer in the middle of nowhere, on her farm. She is completely happy being a stay at home mom with her son, but I can tell she resents our baby cousin that she adopted from our older cousin, who lost custody of all three of her children because she is a drug addict and would let them go days without eating, or would leave her young, autistic children at home alone for extended periods of times. My sister ended up with the oldest child, who never saw a day of actual schooling until she ended up with my sister. She is eleven, and she is finally getting to first grade education levels. My sister and her husband scream at her for every little thing she does wrong or forgets to do. They send her to her room and won't let her out to play most of the time. My sister also has a TON of dogs and cats. She has some of her dogs in a fence behind her trailer, that never get interacted with and never leave the fenced area. She has some dogs that live in kennels covered in feces, only let out once or twice a day to use the bathroom. She has a few small dogs that she favors who are inside dogs and don't live in a crate, but she never takes them to a vet, they are covered in fleas and infested with worms. She says she only has cats to keep the rats away from her farm, so she has several fertile cats at all times, who constantly reproduce, run away, get run over, or eaten by a wild animal. I recently took a Snowshoe Siamese kitten from her, she found five kittens inside her walls. She gave one away, I took one and quickly worked to get rid of fleas and worms and got all her vaccines, two passed away young, and she planned on keeping one. When she would send me pictures of her kitten, it was so dirty and you could see the fleas from the photos. I felt so sad for her. Yesterday, my sister told me that kitten died and it hit me so hard. She would have been a beautiful cat, but she was neglected to death. No one in my family graduated high school or had any kind of fulfilling career. All of my aunts and my mother were all in abusive relationships, but they were completely dependent on their husband bc they are all stay at home wives. even now.
I had no positive role models. I never saw what a healthy relationship looked like, I was never pushed and encouraged to make something of myself and evolve. I was ridiculed for leaving Mississippi and told "you'll be back in less than a year."
Somehow I managed to make it. Now I have a fancy corporate job, making good money, with my own apartment, car, etc. I've never had a relationship that wasn't abusive, toxic, and terrible. I'm constantly terrified that i'm still toxic and bad. I'm afraid to allow my boyfriend to get too close or move in with me because i'm afraid that i will become dependent on him.
Anyways, my family sucks and I could have ended up like all of them, but something inside of me wanted more and a better life. This is the rant. Thanks for reading if you make it this far.

This post is part of a series of reviews. To see them all, click here.
Historical information found on Shannon O'Sullivan's Doctor Who website (relevant page here and the TARDIS Wiki (relevant page here). Primary/secondary source material can be found in the source sections of O'Sullivan's website, and rarely as inline citations on the TARDIS Wiki.

Serial Information

• Episodes: Season 19, Episodes 1-4
• Airdates: 4th - 12th January 1982
• Doctor: 5th
• Companions: Adric, Nyssa, Tegan
• Other Notable Characters: The Tremas Master
• Writer: Christopher H. Bidmead
• Director: Fiona Cumming
• Producer: John Nathan-Turner
• Script Editor: Eric Seward

Review

Welcome aboard. I'm the Doctor. Or will be if this regeneration works out. - The Doctor
This might not sound plausible at first blush, but Castrovalva might just be the strangest Doctor Who story ever.
Not in terms of content, the actual plot of Castrovalva while a bit mind bending, isn't that strange. But the actual way it's laid out, the pacing, the way it's constructed, it looks so different from anything else this show has done.
I mean, is Castrovalva even one story? Should I split the first half and the second half into different sections of this review? Into different reviews? Maybe it's best to start with how we got here.
Tom Baker was always going to be a challenge to replace. I think it's difficult to properly conceive of, in modern terms, how long Tom Baker was the Doctor. I mean, he held the role for seven seasons. He was The Doctor (the definite article, you might say), in popular consciousness. If you were a twelve year old kid who first started watching the show when he took over, you would have been an adult when he left. So, how do you replace that?
Well, what Producer John Nathan-Turner did next made a lot of sense. Tom Baker had been an unknown when he was cast. But now, having to replace him, JNT decided to take someone who was fairly well known. Nathan-Turner had worked as a production assistant on All Creatures Great and Small before becoming Doctor Who's producer. And one of its stars, Peter Davison, had achieved something of a following working on that show. The shorter, light-haired younger man was also a physical contrast to Tom Baker's imposingly large, dark-haired man. As a start for a new era, Davison was, it seemed, the ideal candidate.
So, naturally, Castrovalva does a lot of work trying to simultaneously convince us that this is both a brand new Doctor, but also very much still the same Doctor. Which is probably the reason for the very strange story structure. Castrovalva is pretty cleanly divided into halves. The trouble in the TARDIS section covering the first two episodes, and the portion actually set in the castle of Castrovalva, covering episodes three and four.
The first two episodes feel like they're trying to connect the Doctor back to previous incarnations. Peter Davison actually decided in rehearsal to perform several sections like he was previous iterations, and dialogue got rewritten to emphasize this (I'm especially pleased that he got in an impish giggle when he was channeling the 1st Doctor, as that's an oft overlooked element of William Hartnell's performance). There's also a pretty heavy emphasis placed on the relationship between the Doctor and the TARDIS in these two episodes. The TARDIS opens up a roundel to provide medicine, and offers the Doctor a wheelchair. We haven't really seen much evidence of the TARDIS having a mind of its own since, and this is going way back, The Edge of Destruction, but it still helps emphasize the idea of the Doctor still being the Doctor. After all, if the TARDIS is trying to take care of the Doctor, then clearly it's still the Doctor.
Though, as the Doctor admits, things are a lot rougher this time than in the past. Before this the Doctor has always regenerated in a relatively stable situation as an adventure was ending. Here, he's essentially dropped in mid-struggle with the Master and he just needs some rest in a calm place. A lot of stuff is thrown at us. Apparently the cure for post-regeneration trauma is simplicity – the more complex the environment the worse the symptoms. The TARDIS has a room for just such purposes, called a "Zero Room". In a worst case scenario (say, after you accidentally jettisoned the Zero Room to create thrust to escape the explosion of the Big Bang) the doors and walls of the Zero Room can be used to create a smaller "Zero Cabinet" which looks like a TARDIS interior-themed casket.
While that's going on, we get some of the most inane conversations you can imagine between Nyssa and Tegan. I like these bits in theory. Tegan and Nyssa are trying to work out a lot here after all. It's, for each of them, their first proper trip in the TARDIS, and what with the Doctor suffering the after-effects of regeneration and Adric off being weird (he's actually mental projection being controlled by the Master), the two of them have to figure out how to keep the Doctor healthy, stop the TARDIS from traveling directly into the creation of the universe (called the galaxy here because science fiction writers aren't scientists) and just generally hold things together. The problem is the actual dialogue is sheer nonsense. There's a lot talk about the power of the word "if". There's also a lot of talk about recursion which, while it's a theme of the overarching story had no place being introduced when it was.
This is all doubly frustrating because, if you remove Nyssa and Tegan's more vapid conversations from the equation, they have a pretty good story together. The basic idea of the front half of the story is that the two are left to work things out without the Doctor and Adric. It's a really effective way to put emphasis on the two newest members of the TARDIS team, who essentially just joined the TARDIS last story. Tegan working out the TARDIS controls (even though she doesn't really, it turns out the Master-controlled Adric projection did that for her), and Nyssa providing scientific explanations and useful context – they genuinely make a good team. There's a bit where the Doctor sets up how his new companions can thrive on their own. Adric of course has a mathematical genius, and as of the events of Logopolis you might as well say he's got magic. Nyssa has "technical skill and understanding" and Tegan is the "coordinator". And it actually plays out over the course of the story. It's just a shame that some of these conversation are so mindless.
That takes us into the second half of the story, where the Doctor gets to be a bit more active and we actually visit the planet/city/castle of Castrovalva. Throughout episode 3 Castrovalva is presented to us as a kind of ideal medieval-inspired society (lot of those lately). From the beginning though, something feels off. Something constantly feels artificial about Castrovalva, like it's setting is a little too idyllic and uncomplicated. And then there the seemingly sinister presence of Shardovan, the librarian who always seems to be skulking around. And then there's The Portreeve, a wise old man who always seems to know a little bit more than he should.
And that's all for good reason. Castrovalva is fake. The Master made it up, disguised himself as the Portreeve as a trap for the Doctor, using Adric's ability with block transfer calculations – he'd captured Adric at the beginning of the story. As always, the Master's greatest weakness is that he likes things to be grand and complicated, and so over the course of the two episodes the facade is slowly dismantled. And in a genuinely clever moment, the fake people that the Master has created aren't entirely happy about being used by him. "You made us, man of evil. But we are free," says Shardovan before he destroys the web that is holding Castrovalva together in a genuinely effective and cathartic moment.
And I do like how Shardovan, clearly set up to make us think he's the villain, and possibly even the Master, with his dark outfit, sinister stares, and heavy contrast to the more friendly attitudes of the rest of the Castrovalvans, turns out to be the person who's worked out that something is wrong with Castrovalva. It might not seem all that innovative, but at this point in Doctor Who's history it's genuinely hard to think of someone who was presented with so many of the superficial signifiers of being a villain but turned out not to be. It even makes sense internally. Castrovalva has intentionally been created to lull the Doctor into a false sense of security. So the one character who's not doing that turning out to be good is just a natural progression.
These episodes are also where we get a better sense of the Doctor. I'll admit that on past viewings, I never really cared much for Peter Davison's take on the Doctor, but on my current run through his era (as I've mentioned before, I'm always watching ahead while I'm watching for review) I've found him more compelling than I have in the past. Here he approaches Castrovalva with a kind of mad panic. Something is wrong here, but he can't quite place it. He's trying to solve the puzzle of what's wrong and it doesn't help that he's still recovering from his regeneration, something that doesn't really resolve itself until the end of the story. It's a solid contrast from Tom Baker's austere and eccentric Doctor, to Davison who brings a more manic energy. Today we're used to the Doctor being wild and high energy, but this is really the first time we get that kind of NuWhoish energy.
I'm still not gelling with Ainley's Master though. I enjoy him as the Portreeve here, playing the kind of wise old man who normally would be one of the Doctor's allies. Except the Portreeve always seems to know a little too much. Watching it back, there's definitely plenty to hint at the Portreeve's true nature. As the Master though…I don't know, it still just doesn't work for me. I like the Master's plan in this story, it's overcomplicated, but that's kind of the Master's MO. But Ainley just always seems to go a bit overboard in his portrayal.
I haven't really talked much about Adric this story, but that's because he doesn't really do much in this one. One of the challenges the show is going to have with three companions is finding something for each of them to do. In this story Adric is mostly sidelined. We get the, by now, well worn trope of Adric pretending to side with the villain of the story but it barely even lasts long enough to note. Mostly, Adric is used as a tool by the Master, very little more.
Castrovalva is, on the whole, a solid enough start to the 5th Doctor era, but I do have some pretty major reservations. The first half in particular is just full of these completely empty-minded conversations between Nyssa and Tegan that should have been good, but are just so poorly written. Things get better in the back half, but there's still some iffy bits. Still, I do like Castrovalva in spite of its flaws.
Score: 6/10

Stray Observations

• This was Eric Seward's first story as Script Editor. Previous Script Editor Christopher H. Bidmead wrote this story, effectively resolving the plot of prior story, also written by Bidmead, Logopolis.
• Starting with this story, Doctor Who began airing twice weekly, on Mondays and Tuesdays, as opposed to the once a week schedule it had been on since its debut.
• Peter Davison is credited as "The Doctor" for this story, rather than "Doctor Who" as was the case previously. The general belief seems to be that Peter Davison requested the change, and this certainly tracks with him being a big Doctor Who fan, but I wasn't able to find anything confirming this.
• The Portreeve is credited separately from the Master, even though Anthony Ainley plays both. He is credited as "Neil Toynay", an anagram of "Ton Ainley".
• Director Fiona Cumming had actually been involved with Doctor Who for a long time, her first job on the show being as an Assistant Floor Manager on The Massacre (1966). She was a production assistant on several shows, including Doctor Who during the 70s, and started directing in 1974 with an episode of Z-Cars. However the BBC didn't let her direct full-time and she became a freelance director in 1979.
• This story was actually filmed fourth in the season. While Davison has claimed this was done to give him more time to get familiar with the role, in reality it was simply a case of the first story idea to open the season, Project Zeta-Sigma proving unusable. This did have the unintended consequence that the series regulars were a bit to friendly with each other before Director Fiona Cuming had to remind them that, in story, they had all just met very recently.
• The plot was inspired by two MC Escher posters in the office of BBC Head of Drama Graeme MacDonald, which stuck with Bidmead. Producer John Nathan-Turner apparently hated the things, saying "art should be there to soothe, not distract" which is…certainly a take. The posters were of MC Escher painting "Ascending and Descending". Bidmead connected this to the mathematical and computer science concept of recursion (as noted when I covered Logopolis, Bidmead had an interest in computers).
• Apparently Peter Davison liked Castrovalva, but never quite understood what it was about.
• Episode 1 starts with a precredits sequence recapitulating the cliffhanger from Logopolis. It's the first time an episode has placed a scene before the credits. Notably the music is changed ever so slightly to be more optimistic, as Logopolis was the end of an era, but Castrovalva is the beginning of another one.
• The title sequence has been updated. It's the same one as the one used for Season 18, but the awkward picture of Tom Baker's face has been replaced with a perfectly reasonable picture of Peter Davison's. I'm still not fond of the starfield openings, but this is at least an improvement, however minor.
• In the first scene of the story proper, The Doctor and companions are running away from the Pharos Project guards. Tegan and Adric are supporting the Doctor's weight, and when Adric lets go, the Doctor collapses directly onto Tegan and it's actually fairly funny.
• So a second after claiming the only thing she knows about the TARDIS controls is the door mechanism, Nyssa activates the scanner via the TARDIS controls.
• In episode 1 we see the Doctor unravelling the 4th Doctor's iconic scarf to track his way through the TARDIS. I have seen people get so mad about this, but I actually think it's brilliant. It's a new era after all, and what a better visual metaphor for that is there than the Doctor unravelling his prior incarnations' most iconic item of clothing.
• When Nyssa mentions that the Zero Room that the Doctor asked to go to is probably a "neutral environment, cut off from the rest of the universe", Tegan suggests Brisbane.
• And of course the Doctor gets a new outfit. It's…fine. While the Season 18 version of the 4th Doctor outfit was too much of one color it was still built on the bones of a good look for the Doctor. But now we're very much in the JNT "uniform" style clothing. I'll admit, being an American, I wouldn't necessarily recognize a crickiter's outfit, much less an Edwardian one, if not for Doctor Who, but knowing that that's what it was based on really makes the whole outfit feel a bit gimmicky. As for the celery lapel…I don't get it. It's such a random and weird element, and I'm not sure what it's doing there (out of universe at least). I do like that the Doctor still has a hat. I like it when the Doctor has a hat. Not enough Doctors wore hats (Both Two and Eleven liked to pick up hats from time to time but they never held onto the things. The Doctors who held onto their hats were the Fourth Doctor's fedora, the 5th Doctor's Panama hat, and the 7th Doctor's straw hat.).
• The cricket outfit wasn't the first idea proposed for the Doctor's outfit. Initially he would have worn a polo outfit. Davison liked the sporting motif, but preferred cricket gear instead.
• Peter Davison was not a fan of the question mark lapels.
• The Doctor calling a wheelchair in episode 2 "transport of delight" is both a great line delivery by Davison, and a really early look into how the 5th Doctor sees things.
• Nyssa's outfit changes slightly throughout episode two. Her skirt is replaced with trousers, and she loses the velvet jacket and her ornamental comb on Castrovalva. The original costume was considered impractical, so the simplified version was designed.
• In episode 3 the Doctor eats a stick of celery. Notably for the man that would spend the rest of his time on the show wearing celery, Peter Davison actually hated the stuff, and immediately spit the celery out the moment they stopped filming.

Next Time: It's been three whole serials since we've had a story without the Master. So let's get some killer androids in here instead. Much better.

Megan is the queen of making haters mad. That is her forte. That’s her brand. She eats hate, that’s why she ain’t got a waist. Etc.
I want to know from thee hotties: how do you find your confidence in spite of haters. I’m not talking about faking self esteem and ignoring people who have genuine criticisms, I’m talking about how do you overcome people who always have something nasty to say about you (but never to your face) even when you have done nothing to them and you are just working on yourself and minding your own business.
And for that matter, does anyone know what causes a hater to be a hater? Like what makes people hate? Why do certain people take time out of their day to wish harm upon other people who have done nothing to them?
I know thee hotties will have an answer to this because I’ve never seen a hottie wish harm on anyone. I’m betting if you listen to Megan it’s either because you have confidence in yourself or you are striving for confidence.
TIA!

Cawthon, Scott. The Bobbiedots Conclusion: An AFK Book (Five Nights at Freddy’s: Tales from the Pizzaplex #5). Scholastic Inc, 2023.