Ysl cigarettes liquor stores

Feel free to roast me if you think these lyrics stink. I have no idea what to expect. Also possible trigger warning I have serve mental health issues.
I'm living the same way all the time
Everybody I had is gone
They left me on my own and I
Wonder for how long I'll go on
cause I can't continue like this
I have like zero friendships
Last one I had I just pretended
To get what I needed from him and left it
Out in the river where I drown
Every night I sit there and pout
Smoking cigarettes and throwing
things in it cuz polluting shit is cool listen to me
I just want to be the worst person
The worst person that's ever lived
I want the title I deserve it
I'm raising my hand in the air cuz I'm the champ
The champion of never doing what I can
I have no fucking potential
There's nothing that goes on in my head that's special
I didn't ask to be born
My mother did it and I don't know why
Everybody thinks that it was dumb
I agree she should have killed me and lied
I don't really know what to do
Everyday's a mystery to get food
I just steal Snickers from the store
I put em in my pants and eat em when I get bored
Last week I went to the thrift store
The one where I stole the book report
About that one fucking guy
You said he was never even alive
Now I'm sitting down by the river
looking at the stars wondering about her
what's the point why does anyone exist
just because we developed consciousness
doesn't mean we can answer it
Some questions need to be asked
But existence doesn't mean they can
ever really even be
a fucking point to anything
no karma no fucking hell
just a self-conscious clump of cells
1 million lives fucking lived
a billion thoughts turned nothingness
I don't know why I'm conscious
I don't want to be I'm faking it
I'd rather be in dark forever black
abyss is coming it makes me laugh
I smile right back at it
I smile with the motherfucking abyss

I wanted to take a few minutes to highlight a few things I think that don't get talked about a lot, things that I have picked up along the way making cocktails at home. Maybe it gives some others some good ideas, and maybe you'll chime in with your things that made cocktails easiecheapebetter.
Many of these are not original ideas per se. Not claiming credit for any, just advocating for them.

1. Fruit syrups: Whether its about using up excess fruit, making the most of some underripe/overripe/scraps, or just getting a new flavor profile - I am struck with how easy it is to just take most any fruit/berry, combine with equal weight of sugar in a mason jar, lightly muddle and leave in the fridge for 24-48 hours. Then simply strain and keep in fridge. Seems to keep without degradation for at least a week or two. Blackberries for me are always hit or miss on being delicious or bland and sour... but even the ones that don't hit the mark as fresh berries make an awesome berry syrup.
2. Orgeat: "Make and drink" 60-second orgeat from youtube is just an incredibly easy way to make top tier orgeat. It's great because it also allows you to make Macadamia or other nut orgeats with the same format. It costs about the same as 1-2 bottle from liber and co to get started, but you can make almost infinite orgeat.
3. Syrup/Superjuice storage: I love the idea of the "Crew" bottles... storing syrups and juice in Glass containers that are easily cleaned in dishwasher? Awesome. $20 a bottle? not awesome. My solution? "Mason Jar Pouring lids" or whatever they are called. Come in regular and wide: https://imgur.com/a/us7t7tb - I have and use lots of mason jars, but hate pouring from them as there are always drips and a mess on the rim. These things to me are basically everything I wanted from the Crew bottles at a fraction of the price and more versatility. Only thing I don't like is they use a silicone gasket you have to be careful not to lose - I wish they were self sealing like the plastic mason jar "Leakproof" lids. I also love that I can then choose jar size to the specific to the thing I want to store.
4. Prebatch/Portable cocktail/juice storage - Liquor bottles. I save my empties and reuse exactly once. I don't bother cleaning out the bottles - being alcohol they don't get moldy or anything, and then just fill them when needed. Once they've had the second use - I don't feel bad just tossing them in the recycling after.
5. Superjuice/Acid Adjusting - Super juice is great for lemon/limes and just getting more output, stability, etc... but maybe my favorite thing is using that format to make acid-adjusted super mandarin juice, or acid adjusting pineapple juice, etc... the fun that can be opened up by swapping in orange or pineapple for lemon/lime in cocktails is really great. Flavors can change but balance stays the same.
6. Make sugar syrups in jars: I don't like doing dishes. Coupled with the jar storage lids above, I find mason jars about the perfect vessel to make AND store the sugar syrups (I keep both turbinado and lightly processed white cane syrups on hand)... My method is simple: I put the mason jar on kitchen scale and fill about 2/3 with sugar. Then I tare scale and add 50% (2:1 Syrup) to 100% (1:1 syrup) of boiling water from the kettle. Stir with a spoon. For larger granular sugars, particularly in 2:1 ratio, I will often bump temp up again while stirring using microwave. Be careful not to boil or it makes a mess.
7. Infinity rum bottle - Great way to keep the cabinet with some room. I keep one bottle that i just dump the last 1-2oz into. The blend varies and changes over time but it has never been bad, and generally makes a great all purpose tiki/mai tai blend. If your primary spirit is something else besides rum, try it with that. I don't bother tracking or calculating what is in the bottle.
8. View recipes as templates, not specifics. This kind of combines the ideas in #5 and #1 - but have fun and experiment! Use recipes as a template but swap out ingredients to fill the roles, examples - I made an awesome "mai tai" format fall drink https://www.reddit.com/Tiki/comments/1746d9a/apple_of_my_tai/ I also have a lot of fun on a drink that is inspired by the Brazilian roasted-pineapple with cinnamon dessert: Use a daquiri as a template:

2 - Cachaca 1 - Lime-adjusted Pineapple juice .75 - Cinnamon Syrup (optionally add whipped egg white/pineapple foam)

Okay - now I hope to hear your inspiration!
Cheers.

So I’ve been sober going on 60 days. My wife just left on business for three days. I’ve been fantasizing about getting loaded while she is gone for weeks now. Like detailed ones. What store I am going to shop at, what I am going to pick. Cutting the limes. How I am going to time my drinks so she doesn’t get suspicious when we FaceTime. But it’s only been a daydream. I walked right past the liquor store and went grocery shopping. I put my drinking energy into making a homemade blackberry bbq sauce a new Stephen King short stories book and playing graveyard keeper.

This is for the guy trying to say not to give money to homeless people flying a sign. This my personal experience from being homeless in Wilmington. I can't say as I speak for everyone, just my experience. 

I'm still homeless, but I've moved out of Wilmington. I had to teach myself how to read and write all over again, and this is what I do now. I hope you enjoy.

 Six-thirty am, I woke up to my alarm. I had to be at work at nine, and I didn't want to be frazzled from being in panic mode on my first day, hurried, and hassled. No, sir. You don't get too many chances to make a first impression. 

 Rolled out of my sleeping bag with a smooth, well practiced motion, unzipped the flap, and made my way out into brisk spring morning air, taking a brief pause, taking in the natural beuaty of the forest. If it hadn't been for the sounds of the highway a few hundred yards away, this scene could have been from a camping trip or hike that I remembered from days gone by. I didn't pause to think about too long due to the urgency to find a suitable tree to relieve myself. Fifty feet, at least. Fifty feet. Otherwise, that smell could come back to haunt you. This wasn't a camping trip but rather where I lived. My homestead, abode, residence, shelter, and as far as I could tell, it would be for a long time to come. 

 I decided to drink my energy drink, which had come to replace my morning cup of brew, outside this fine morn, so I made my way back to the tent and pulled my Monster can and my half full box of handrolled cigarettes from their hiding places, turned around and walked the fifteen feet to my "visiting bench". Aptly named because that's where we all sat when someone came visiting, which wasn't very often, a few feet in front was the small firepit. A hundred or so yards beyond, down a respectable hill, sat Frankies tent, another fifty yards at the split in the trail was Chris's small pup tent, where a small pile of trash meant that Chris and I needed to talk. This was my site, and I had few rules, and trash was something I didn't want to see. 

 According to the rules out here, our social contract, the first person at a campsite was in charge and I had spent the last month of winter all alone here to earn the right to call the shots. After all, it was deemed The Allen Compound for the Criminally Insane by my friend who led a real boots on the ground street outreach in town, someone that I had insane respect for and not a small bit of love. We weren't. I won't speak to insane. 

 I took a seat on the bench, popped the top on the Monster, lit up a smoke, and took a big long pull of the drink. Spring was starting to show now, and the highway was slowly starting to hide behind the new growth of forest. My tent was already invisible from the road thanks to a large camouflaged tarp that I had strung to block the view once I recovered from the panic attack following the discovery of how visible it once was. That discovery came not long after I set up camp, as I was returning from town. Walking down the shoulder of the highway, I just happened to look up in the direction of my camp and saw that my tent sat in the middle of a big clearing of branches, making a perfect frame for my work of art. The realization that thousands of people could have seen that on a daily basis. I was live bait for any psychotic person or persons to visit on a full moon. Recalling the stories of people setting sleeping people on fire for the fun of watching a human cook, I instantly turned on my heels and headed back into town, a spy who just realized he'd been compromised. I didn't return until I had a tarp, but even then, it was some time before sleep came easy. 

 Seven am and the spring sun were now spreading its rays of love to its children in the forest undergrowth, letting everything know it was day shift now in the kingdom. Down below, I spied Frankie, who piled out of his tent and sprinted to a tree like his bladder had caught fire. At the sight of this, I barked three times in greeting. He threw his head back and made a rooster crow, knowing it would wake Chris up long enough to feel the urgency. And by the time I stood up finish the last bit of my morning nectar, sure enough, scrambled out of his tent and instantly let it go right beside where his head would lay when he slept. I shook my head and trudged to my place to change clothes. A light blue polo type short sleeve tucked neatly into my cleanest pair of jeans, then a long sleeve light flannel over that as a precaution, because a lesson learned early is that you dressed for all day. There was no going home to get a coat when the temps plummeted, so it was wise to have that coat ready at all times. I changed my socks, put on my shoes and out of the flap I went. I closed it up and placed a pine needle inside the zipper that would let me know when I got back if anyone had violated my space. 

Seven ten am, and I was on my way. I had fourty minutes to be at the bus stop a little over a mile from the camp and I didn't want to be late, so off I went down the trail, just past Frankies tent I took a left, pausing just long enough to notice that Chris had gone back to bed and left his flap door open, then another fifty yard and over the fence to what I referred to as the 'exposed zone'. There, I was out of the woods walking down a small trail hidden only from the waist down by overgrown weeds and grass. The exposed zone went about a hundred and fifty yards to the shoulder of the highway, where I would merge left, facing the oncoming traffic. At that point, it wouldn't be so obvious to passing cars that I had just emerged from the woods, and the exact spot would no doubt be a mystery. There, my pace stepped up to an average of four miles an hour, something that I had clocked many times, and these days, it was a knowledge that came in handy. I could deal with being homeless, but not tardy. Every minute I walked along the shoulder of the highway, I was fraught with danger, at least in my overactive brain. I could envision cars swerving to miss the car ahead and turning me into a hood ornament, or blowing a tire and taking me out when the driver loses control for that half a second. Maybe something would fall out of the many dump trucks that passed frequently at seventy miles an hour and cleanly decapitate me before I even saw it coming. Why not? It's not like I was having a good luck streak, let's be honest. 

Seven fifty am and I managed to make it to the bus stop with all my organs just where they should be and my head still attached to my body. I lit up a smoke and fished three quarters out of my pocket, ready to pay my way and go to work. The bus pulled up on time, and I climbed aboard, nodding to the driver in solidarity, one working man to the other, dropped my coins of passage into the box, turned and found an empty seat by the window. I watched as the scenery went from historical homes with their gates and carefully tended lawns to the brown crabgrass and dirt yards where the children played in poverty, then to the blocks of businesses where hopes and dreams were born and died, with their big banners proclaiming another last chance at big savings, or let you know that for the twentieth time this furniture store was going out of business and these prices wouldn't last. Nothing but a higher class of a carnival barker. Free financing, limited time only, no interest for ninety days, credit same as cash, act now, last chance to save, overstocked and marked down, employee pricing, never before savings, trade ins welcome, don't miss out, and my all time favorite, below wholesale. Imagine that a business surviving by losing money. The saddest part of it all is that these tactics worked on people. For the second time that morning, I shook my head. 

Eight thirty eight am and the doors open at my destination, my job site, half the bus stood up to depart. Standing up and slipping No. 7 onto my shoulders, I let the line shuffle past me with the knowledge that I had time to spare 

 Eight forty, I stepped off the bus, gravitating to have a smoke with a small group of like-minded people who nodded their approval as I approached. The signal that I was accepted in the circle of debauchery. I made it clear, though, that I had no time to make small talk because I had to go to work and I was a responsible person. On time, it was late, and ten minutes early was on time. That was my motto, starting now, at least. Eight fourty five am I started to the job site, feeling the anxiety butterflies come to life in the pit of my stomach. I had never done this sort of work before, and I hoped I would catch on quick. 

 Eight fifty am, and I was standing beside the exit lane of the Walmart Superstore on a patch of grass where the stopsign was planted, dropping No. 7 to the earth. I bent over and unzipped the section that contained the piece of cardboard. As I put my fingers on it, I felt emotions pour over me, a mixture of shame, embarrassment, and determination. This was my third try at this, but I was determined not to chicken out this time, so, choking everything back down I pulled the sign from my bag and turned to face the cars coming up to the stop sign so I could show them the story of my life, condensed down to some scribbles from a Sharpie which read, 'Traumatic Brain Injury' in large lettering, with a smaller, 'Please Help' below. I'd never felt so alone as I did in that spot light that day at Walmart, that my life had led me to this point, here with a sign begging for money from strangers to get things I needed. It seemed like I couldn't even breathe with my phone service cut off, as I still felt sure that my son would call me at any minute to see how I was, and knowing that life line was severed was unbearable. 

 A grey van with a logo pulled up to the stop sign and I heard one of the doors open, then close, so I turned around to see someone jogging up to me, holding out his hand with a twenty dollar bill pinched in his fingers, "Here you go, brother. Take care of yourself, my man, "then back to the van and was gone. 

I broke. Just like that. I broke.

The owner asked "can you please put down my store?"
Later his store got a negative yelp review

Federal prosecutors on Friday announced charges against five people in connection with a Chicago-based scheme that staged armed robberies so the purported victims could apply for U.S. immigration visas reserved for legitimate crime victims…
Officials believe hundreds of people, including some who traveled from out of town, posed as customers in dozens of businesses across Chicago and elsewhere, all hoping to win favorable immigration status by becoming “victims” of pre-arranged “armed robberies.”
During a staged hold-up in Bucktown last year, one of the “robbers” accidentally fired their gun, severely injuring a liquor store clerk, according to one source. During that caper alone, five “customers” were “robbed.”
Here is the full story, via Ian.
The post Cross-border gunshot arbitrage markets in everything, Jean Baudrillard gone wrong edition appeared first on Marginal REVOLUTION.

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I got informed by his neighbour that at 6 AM, he was at liquor store, buying vodka.
He died about 3-4 hours later.
I thought he died during the night.
Now I sit in my car, its boiling hot in here. I sit and think what was the cause of his death. Did he choke? Was it seizure? What was the reason?
I can't take this anymore.

The longest I've gone in many years. Here's to many more.
As an aside, I live in NJ USA. If you want NA beer or a CBD seltzer, you have to get them at a liquor store. Yes, a grocery store will sell O'Douls, but that's about it. So to get NA beer, you have to walk all the way through a liquor store, past all the tempting displays, to get to the farthest corner where they have the NA beer. But I did it.

Outside the core business of second-hand electronic products, the multi-category business including luggage, watches, gold, and famous liquors has experienced rapid growth. In the first quarter, the recovery transaction amount of multi-category recycling business reached 600 million yuan, which is 4 times that of the same period in 2023. Under the stimulation of the trade-in policy, in the first quarter, the trade-in recovery amount from JD.com sources of ATRENEW has increased by 43% year-on-year. The self-operated business has seen an annual growth of over 80% in retail revenue through channels such as the JD.com selection of Paise, live broadcast new media channels, stores, and the official website of AiHuiShou. The income from compliant refurbishment business is 280 million yuan, and the income ratio has been further improved. Currently, the total of cash and cash equivalents, short-term investments and others has reached 2.6 billion yuan, and the company's market value is 621 million US dollars. The cash market value ratio is close to 60%, indicating that ATRENEW still has a sufficient cash reserve

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!

im 20 years old, prime of my physical life perfect health and decently experienced. i cant even get hired at a fuckin mcdonalds. ive handed resumes out in person applied to places online but i might as well burn the resumes i hand out, cuz no one reaches out. lost my old job in August and its been almost a year and nothing. should i start begging in the street would that be more profitable? like all these places in town post these ads on indeed but like whats even the point of posting them if you ignore them all? I cant exactly leave this town cuz yk im fucking poor. can barely feed myself some weeks. its the same with my friends. all my age, peak health willing to work but we might as well be nothing but ants, us young people are ignored and, dont even get me started on the case of grandin, ive lived there my whole life and its still more or less a ghetto 20 whole years of avoiding potholes but never fixing them? tempted to fill them myself OH WAIT I CANT CUZ NO ONE'S HIRING!!!! the mall is dingy, small and the bathrooms are so foul. they constantly raise the rent for stores like game city and the st.albert kitchen to the point where they have to be shut down. theres also NOTHING to do here in this forsaken city. you can walk around and that's about 70% of the fun here. "just go to the bowling alley?" oh the one that hasnt been cleaned since 1995? I'm actually struggling to think of anything to do in this town that isnt walk around and get drunk at terrible bars. but yk there's plenty of condos for old people only so at least we're keeping the city filled with rich white folk cuz lord forbid there's any diversity here. lord forbid there's less than 20 liquor stores. speaking of the 20 liquor stores, if the only fun thing to do in town is get drunk maybe thats a concern. OH AND ANOTHER THING WHY DOES CONSTRUCTION TAKE SO FUCKING LONG HERE? THE OLD GRANDIN MALL HAS BEEN A PILE OF RUBBLE FOR LIKE 7 YEARS NOW? BUT AT LEAST THERES A FUCKING STATUE OF DUCKS IN A ROUNDABOUT YIPPPIIEEEE!!!!! i swear things only happen here when it makes that bitch mayor look good. I hate this stagnant rotten town.
TLDR: this town is boring, no ones actually hiring even though they say they are. the only fun thing to do here is get drunk.

A few days ago, I woke up only a little shaky after only having 14 drinks in 36 hours, then I got to work at the liquor store I’ve been working at for 3 1/2 years.
I was out of liquor, (I only buy liquor in single shots these days because I don’t trust myself with a bottle), but I didn’t even drink my usual beer before work because I was actually feeling okay. Then I got there and noticed the shakes were making it hard to dole out change so I bought three shots, hoping they’d take the shakes away if I rationed them out for eight hours.
The first one didn’t do enough, immediately took the second, an hour later I took the third, bought three more, they didn’t last two hours, bought a sleeve of ten shots and two 24oz beers.
My shithead coworkers kept going outside to smoke (both of them, together, when their only job was to run register while I did every single other thing there was to do, while they fuck off on tik tok between customers) so every time I went to stock the cooler or grab something in the back I came out to a line of pissed off customers with no one at the register.
That booze I bought was all gone, except for 1 shot I was saving for when I woke up before work. Luckily I have a stockpile of beer at home. I just started looking at this Reddit a few days ago and it made me hopeful, then I found that hope sapped from me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop drinking in this environment. I’ve had a set-in-stone schedule for two years where I never get two days off in a row, so even when I put up with the withdrawals on my day off it’s never quite long enough to last.
I don’t have any questions or anything for you Reddit, maybe you won't be mad at me for wasting a post
Edit: Didn't read rule one until after I posted so I changed the language to make this sound like a few days ago, can't edit the title though.
Edit Edit: it also kind of sucks that I'm supposed to be sober to post on a subreddit about alcoholism when I'm drunk every hour I'm awake, would someone let me know where I should go to talk about my problem while inebriated?

Ihave been with my husband for just shy of 14 years. This is going to be a long one so strap in. There’s some nuance.
He is an alcoholic and struggles with other addictions like porn, marijuana, caffeine, nicotine, etc. if it can raise the dopamine level he is hooked onto it.
Going into our relationship I had a 4 year old with a previous abusive partner who had abandoned her when I finally broke off he relationship. My husband and my daughter bonded and I felt led to pursue a relationship with him. Before we got married I found out he was sneaking around and drinking so about 4 months prior to the wedding I gave him an ultimatum that he had to stop drinking and under the agreement that he would never return to it or it would be the end of our marriage. (This was a boundary I set for myself and I gave him an out of the relationship if he could not adhere to my boundary. I come from a family with a lot of alcoholism issues and my husband watched me mourn my uncle who died from complications of alcoholism). He agreed and he was sober from alcohol for 12 years.
Throughout our marriage other issues bubbled up. He never complimented me, he rarely initiated any physical intimacy. He would sit on the opposite side of the couch and he wouldn’t cuddle me or hold my hand. There was little to no affection unless I initiated it. I told him many times that that’s what I need to feel loved, and literally for a decade+ I would cry every few months and beg for that attention and he would get better for a week or two and then fall back to old habits.
I stayed because overall he is a good man, he is kind and he is a great father. Having come from a severely abusive relationship not getting the affection I craved felt like it wasn’t a deal breaker. Since my world was skewed by violence. My husband was never violent and didn’t yell at me or verbally abuse me. So I thought it was worth trying to stay.
Nearly 3 years ago we had a son. And my husband suffered a back injury that ended his career - so we decided he would be a stay at home dad until he healed or until our son got into school. I made enough money to support us so it was fine. Except he fell into a depression - I got him into therapy and on meds but he just wasn’t the same. I could tell he hated being a stay at home dad and I encouraged him during the last 3 years he’s been home to pursue hobbies, interests and potential new careers. He hasn’t. I encouraged him to spend time with friends and get out of the house - he hasn’t.
Things got a bit better when he got medicated - but he was struggling still with hiding and sneaking around with different addictions. He would start one quit another… t got to the point that between his depressive state, inability and unwillingness to find anything to make him feel more fulfilled and his lack of attention to me and our marital bond, I asked for a co-parenting marriage.
I told him I wanted to end our romantic relationship so I could pursue outside relationships to get my intimacy needs met (and he was free to do the same) and we would stay together cohabitating for the sake of the kids especially our daughter who we had planned to move across country for so she can attend her dream college. He took a few days to think about it and came back to me with only concerns about what it meant for him financially speaking. I assured him I’d still take care of him while he figured out what he wanted to be doing with his life. Since he was primary caretaker of our son I told him I’d do whatever it took to ensure he was set. He agreed to have the co-parenting marriage, he told me he really hopes I find what I need and that he’s been unable to provide me and gave me his blessing to date. and we informed our families together as a united front. I thought things would be ok from there. This was in March.
I will preface this next bit by saying we have always had an open phone rule because of my trust issues from the many times over the years he’s broken my trust by hiding another addiction. And also because he has a hard time expressing himself and doesn’t talk to me. I couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking about this new arrangement and he (as usual) was not talking to me / expressing his feelings. So I peeked at his texts hoping to get a look into his mindset. This was absolutely wrong and I own this (I owned it to him too). I hoped to find that he was telling someone that he loved me and didn’t any the open marriage cause he just wasn’t expressing that to me with his actions. Instead I found him vilifying me to his siblings claiming basically he had no money and wasn’t allowed to do anything and I was dating already. None of this was true - he even had an allowance for his personal spending in his own account.
That kind of brought our relationship to a head and I confronted him about it. He claims he was venting I told him venting is one thing but these were lies that effectively made his siblings dislike me. I told him after that I could no longer agree to live together long term and that once we moved out of state he had to find a job and get his own place.
This was a couple weeks ago. Fast forward to last week he came to me basically concerned that we should stay together cause we are going to need each others and he has fears about becoming homeless. I told him he just wants to continue to benefit from my salary and the life it has afforded him. So I told him it’s not going to happen.
Now, Saturday morning he was out with a friend and I took my son on a morning walk. He does this same walk with my husband often. They go to the store across the street and my son gets an apple. So we go into the store and my toddler makes a beeline for the apples and it was cute - but then he takes me to the liquor department and hands me a fifth of vodka and looks at me all proud of himself for it. At first I was laughing but then realized oh no… there has to be a reason for this. I noted the vodka was $6.99, and the apple was $1, so I checked the bank account and there were 8 transactions for $8 and some change from the last month.
So my son and I walked home and when my husband got home I told him the story of what our son did and asked if he had something to confess. He started sharing and told me that yes he had returned to drinking. I calmly told him he needs to leave and waited for a few hours while he got his stuff together and arranged for his parents to pick him up. I told him he is not welcome on the move and he has to find his own way to the new state if he wants to be with the kids.
It’s been 2 days and I’ve been crying non stop because my family has completely been destroyed and now I’m a work from home mom of 2 with a toddler who requires a lot of attention. I’m on my own and I’m so angry with him. My heart is broken for my children. My daughter is devastated, my son is confused.
Did I do the right thing? I have an emergency appt with my therapist tomorrow - but I’m struggling with guilt because of my role in this since I couldn’t be happy with his lack of ambition and lack of intimacy had I just sucked it up maybe my family would still be ok. But then I know it’s bs because he involved our son in his addictions which I almost kicked him out for taking him to a headshop when he was 1 - he knew that was a boundary.
How would you handle this situation? Did I do the right thing?

Ihave been with my husband for just shy of 14 years. This is going to be a long one so strap in. There’s some nuance.
He is an alcoholic and struggles with other addictions like porn, marijuana, caffeine, nicotine, etc. if it can raise the dopamine level he is hooked onto it.
Going into our relationship I had a 4 year old with a previous abusive partner who had abandoned her when I finally broke off he relationship. My husband and my daughter bonded and I felt led to pursue a relationship with him. Before we got married I found out he was sneaking around and drinking so about 4 months prior to the wedding I gave him an ultimatum that he had to stop drinking and under the agreement that he would never return to it or it would be the end of our marriage. (This was a boundary I set for myself and I gave him an out of the relationship if he could not adhere to my boundary. I come from a family with a lot of alcoholism issues and my husband watched me mourn my uncle who died from complications of alcoholism). He agreed and he was sober from alcohol for 12 years.
Throughout our marriage other issues bubbled up. He never complimented me, he rarely initiated any physical intimacy. He would sit on the opposite side of the couch and he wouldn’t cuddle me or hold my hand. There was little to no affection unless I initiated it. I told him many times that that’s what I need to feel loved, and literally for a decade+ I would cry every few months and beg for that attention and he would get better for a week or two and then fall back to old habits.
I stayed because overall he is a good man, he is kind and he is a great father. Having come from a severely abusive relationship not getting the affection I craved felt like it wasn’t a deal breaker. Since my world was skewed by violence. My husband was never violent and didn’t yell at me or verbally abuse me. So I thought it was worth trying to stay.
Nearly 3 years ago we had a son. And my husband suffered a back injury that ended his career - so we decided he would be a stay at home dad until he healed or until our son got into school. I made enough money to support us so it was fine. Except he fell into a depression - I got him into therapy and on meds but he just wasn’t the same. I could tell he hated being a stay at home dad and I encouraged him during the last 3 years he’s been home to pursue hobbies, interests and potential new careers. He hasn’t. I encouraged him to spend time with friends and get out of the house - he hasn’t.
Things got a bit better when he got medicated - but he was struggling still with hiding and sneaking around with different addictions. He would start one quit another… t got to the point that between his depressive state, inability and unwillingness to find anything to make him feel more fulfilled and his lack of attention to me and our marital bond, I asked for a co-parenting marriage.
I told him I wanted to end our romantic relationship so I could pursue outside relationships to get my intimacy needs met (and he was free to do the same) and we would stay together cohabitating for the sake of the kids especially our daughter who we had planned to move across country for so she can attend her dream college. He took a few days to think about it and came back to me with only concerns about what it meant for him financially speaking. I assured him I’d still take care of him while he figured out what he wanted to be doing with his life. Since he was primary caretaker of our son I told him I’d do whatever it took to ensure he was set. He agreed to have the co-parenting marriage, he told me he really hopes I find what I need and that he’s been unable to provide me and gave me his blessing to date. and we informed our families together as a united front. I thought things would be ok from there. This was in March.
I will preface this next bit by saying we have always had an open phone rule because of my trust issues from the many times over the years he’s broken my trust by hiding another addiction. And also because he has a hard time expressing himself and doesn’t talk to me. I couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking about this new arrangement and he (as usual) was not talking to me / expressing his feelings. So I peeked at his texts hoping to get a look into his mindset. This was absolutely wrong and I own this (I owned it to him too). I hoped to find that he was telling someone that he loved me and didn’t any the open marriage cause he just wasn’t expressing that to me with his actions. Instead I found him vilifying me to his siblings claiming basically he had no money and wasn’t allowed to do anything and I was dating already. None of this was true - he even had an allowance for his personal spending in his own account.
That kind of brought our relationship to a head and I confronted him about it. He claims he was venting I told him venting is one thing but these were lies that effectively made his siblings dislike me. I told him after that I could no longer agree to live together long term and that once we moved out of state he had to find a job and get his own place.
This was a couple weeks ago. Fast forward to last week he came to me basically concerned that we should stay together cause we are going to need each others and he has fears about becoming homeless. I told him he just wants to continue to benefit from my salary and the life it has afforded him. So I told him it’s not going to happen.
Now, Saturday morning he was out with a friend and I took my son on a morning walk. He does this same walk with my husband often. They go to the store across the street and my son gets an apple. So we go into the store and my toddler makes a beeline for the apples and it was cute - but then he takes me to the liquor department and hands me a fifth of vodka and looks at me all proud of himself for it. At first I was laughing but then realized oh no… there has to be a reason for this. I noted the vodka was $6.99, and the apple was $1, so I checked the bank account and there were 8 transactions for $8 and some change from the last month.
So my son and I walked home and when my husband got home I told him the story of what our son did and asked if he had something to confess. He started sharing and told me that yes he had returned to drinking. I calmly told him he needs to leave and waited for a few hours while he got his stuff together and arranged for his parents to pick him up. I told him he is not welcome on the move and he has to find his own way to the new state if he wants to be with the kids.
It’s been 2 days and I’ve been crying non stop because my family has completely been destroyed and now I’m a work from home mom of 2 with a toddler who requires a lot of attention. I’m on my own and I’m so angry with him. My heart is broken for my children. My daughter is devastated, my son is confused.
Did I do the right thing? I have an emergency appt with my therapist tomorrow - but I’m struggling with guilt because of my role in this since I couldn’t be happy with his lack of ambition and lack of intimacy had I just sucked it up maybe my family would still be ok. But then I know it’s bs because he involved our son in his addictions which I almost kicked him out for taking him to a headshop when he was 1 - he knew that was a boundary.
How would you handle this situation? Did I do the right thing?

Sals was also the corner store he worked in in season one—insane transformation from the first to the last episode. I love the way the director included this.
(sorry if this has been talked about before, Im new to this comm and just finished the show)

I just finished writing out my race report for myself, so I figured I would do one here with some of my dumb mistakes mixed in for raffs. And the internet is forever, so I will be able to find this 20 years from now.
Swim - The swim at Chattanooga is easily as hilarious as NC. Beyond the fact that it is point to point, it seems the current is almost always there. Seems like we had a decent current. I am not a strong swimmer compared to bike and run. I stayed mostly within the buoys and pooped out a 34 at an RPE of almost -5. My strategy for this portion of the race is always to use the least amount of energy possible - as I progress here, I am starting to revisit this.
T1 - This is where the LOLs start. I was so focused on not being stressed out in the morning, I forgot to memorize the bike rack situation. Or bike in or run out, and any of that. I could not find my bike. So that took me like 3 minutes. Hilarious mental error there. Noting of course I have my number on my wrist. But the racks were long AF. Anyhow, two engineering degrees and a law degree later I found my whip. Tits jacked.
Bike - As others have posted, this was some thunder dome level shit. I knew going in it was going to be wild, but man it was more than I expected. Took some measured risks as the source of revenue for my family, passed a few cars, did not kill self, and hit my numbers right in the middle. Also took in all my nutrition and fluids. Tits firmly jacked and at attention now. Was seriously concerned for the people that went down, but I couldn't do anything about that at this point.
T2 - Lost again somehow. Seriously, WTF? ROFLCOPTERING my way through that I finally find my bike rack spot. Transition slow AF again, and I leave with what I expected is a huge MASSIVE cushion of time to go under 5.
Run - This is where I start completely shitting the bed. Like some trainspotting stuff here for those my age. I came into this race with a little bit of a run injury, so my form was also not perfect, but that wasn't all of it. I hit the first porta potty on the run up over the hill near-ish the aid station for mile 1, which I needed. Like garden hose level stuff - time well spent, and normal for me at this distance.
I just managed the whole run so poorly - all of it. And the whole time I was convincing myself I had so much head room. I also convinced myself I needed to hit that porta potty again on lap two, so I didn't have a pissing distraction, which turned out to be fake news costing me probably 40-50 seconds. I also did not take in anywhere near enough fluid from the aid stations on the run. Overall heat management would have been better with more water on board. I totally failed my level of fitness overall here.
At some point I realized I was not going to go under 5, but instead was going to miss it by like 1-3 minutes. By then, there were not enough Hondas to sell to make my numbers and I was totally fooked, and I then started cracking. Walked a lot more than I should have.
100% missed sub 5 by exactly 1-3 minutes and was not at all toasted. Hilarious. Walked back to the hotel, took a shower. Did not take a dump, so I managed that morning of pretty well. So at least I had that.
Post Race: I am originally from Florida, so wife and I went to Publix and I tried to get a chicken finger sub. Even that didn't work out, and I ended up tossing the second half. It was just not my day. Then got my shit and drove wife to a Dollywood resort hotel, which turned out to be kinda rad (true story). Wife went to Dollywood for 2 hours. I then proceeded to drink some high test Tennessee Cider and shitty wine I found at a liquor store near the hotel without my ID because my wife had my wallet. Realized after I should have gotten some shine - those that know, know. Drove back to DC today.
Conclusion: They really do need to cut the number of bibs down by probably 1000, and close the bike course to car traffic if the community is willing do that. I would come back with fewer bibs out there and no closing of the bike course to car traffic, but I am also willing to accept a lot more risk than most. The bike course was not safe yesterday IMHO as somebody that has a motorsport background. I am surprised we did not have more serious incidents.

I am a 28M, and I have a brother, 30M. My brother has had a very hard time with life up to this point, he has scars on his arms that remind him of his mistakes every single day. He's never been able to hold down a job due to anger issues, and we've been too broke to take him anywhere to be mentally evaluated. I fear he is on the brink of committing suicide and I really need some advice.
Here is our current situation, in my early 20's, I moved to a new city, lived above my means, and racked up roughly 15 grand in credit card debt. Mostly due to depression drinking at bars. My brother at this time, was living with my Mom and working in a bar that he absolutely hated, every day was misery for him. But he felt trapped, no car, and that was the only thing in walking distance that he felt he could actually do. He's always worked in the food industry and doesn't have the self confidence to learn something new at this point. He feels his life is over already. He was making a little over 10 dollars an hour, and spent pretty much all of his money on alcohol, weed, cigarettes, and games just to cope with the state of his life. Fast forward a bit, I noticed after talking with him over the phone that his mental state had taken a massive decline, so I had him move in with me. I grabbed a two bedroom apartment for us, and got him a job. It was unfortunately another pretty soulless bottom of the barrel job, and my brother wasn't cut out for it, quit and found another job in food. After some time, that job ended in disaster as well, he found his manager was totally incompetent and blew up and quit. So this whole time, I'm not making enough money, but completely covering all of our living expenses, so rent, food, and entertainment. At this time, I'm really depressed as well just because of our situation, so I rack up some more debt. I don't even think about it, just put it on the card. Our extremely manipulative mom convinced us both that she was doing better in life and making enough money that she could help him get a car so he could find a better job, and simultaneously give me a chance to catch up on my debt. In reality, nothing had changed, she was still doing the same thing as before, and now my brother moved back in with her to do the SAME THING he was doing before. Because again, no car, bar was in walking distance because my mom moved closer to the bar because she goes there every single day.
After about half a year goes by, and I keep up with my brother, things start going way downhill again. I land a new remote job that paid almost 30K more than my previous job, so I thought it would be a good idea to move in with my Dad with my brother for awhile to try and start over and save some money(My dad lives in the middle of nowhere, closest grocery store is a 10 minute drive). Looking back, it was the worst mistake I've ever made, because now, he's spent the better half of a year sitting in his room, watching rage bait shit on youtube and has become extremely nihilistic and has absolutely no motivation to live. He tells me he hates himself constantly. I have to get us out of here, so here's where I need advice. I had originally planned to stay here for about 6-12 more months and just pay down my debt primarily, which I have put a good dent in it, but I don't have any savings. I've taken a aggressive approach to my debt, so I haven't prioritized putting money away. So right now, I have about 2-3k floating in my account between my auto payments on my two credit cards and one debt consolidation loan.
Realistically, that's not enough to move out, but I feel my brother is at a tipping point and I cant risk keeping him in this situation. I want to move to a city that brings both of us happiness and gives us a new outlook on life outside of sitting on the internet all day.
I've already picked the location, but here are the options I've considered.

1. I can sell my truck and get a cheaper car, if I sell my truck right now, I'll get roughly 5-6k to my pocket, then I plan to just buy a cheap car to get by and use the extra pocket cash as a buffer for unexpected expenses when we move as well as helping with a deposit on an apartment or something.
   
2. I have considered just taking out a personal loan for 15-17k on top of option 1. The difference in car payments will cover the monthly cost of the loan, and give me some financial comfort. Right now, I'm preapproved for 17k loans with an apr around the low 17%'s. I have a 720 credit score at the moment.
   

If you have made it this far, I appreciate the hell out of you and I apologize for making you read that wall of text. I welcome any feedback that does not involve abandoning my brother.
Edit: Please read my replies to comments for additional context, I missed a little bit here.. Apologies in advance.

Hi, everyone.
I've been a binge drinker on and off since I was in my mid 20's. Now I'm in my mid 30's. There have been times where I drink a lot, other times where I drink little to none. I wouldn't say I've ever been chemically addicted to alcohol, and my cravings for alcohol are next to non existent.
Ten days ago, I had a fight with my gf, and I thought she was breaking up with me. That and other things in my life just resulted in me driving to the liquor store and getting a bunch of alcohol. For five days I stayed at home and drank. The first three quite heavily. I had a few blackouts.
I can honestly say that the anxiety and sense of guilt and shame over drinking to such a degree has really rattled my sense of self. I used to drink heavily like that quite often, but I hadn't drank to excess for about 8 months, only getting mildly drunk a couple of times this year and not at all from August of last year to the start of this year.
I find myself feeling a sense of depersonalization, as though I am looking at someone else's life through the eyes of a stranger. My mother and gf know about this bender, and they are supporting me, so I am not alone, which is good, but I can't help but feeling horrible about how I let myself down. I was doing so well in life, and I allowed my emotions to control me, once again set myself back with alcohol.
I don't know what to say other than that, despite hitting the wall several times before, and despite the fact that during those times I said I wouldn't drink like this ever again, yet again, I drank like this again, and I feel shame for my lack of willpower. I guess by writing this, I am making a statement of my intent to stay sober for good now. Why I didn't do this before, I don't know. I guess it's because for many years, my drinking was fun, and did seem to lessen my anxiety many times. Now, it doesn't work like that anymore. The sad thing is that if I could just keep it to a few drinks, it wouldn't be a problem, but I clearly can't do that, so cold turkey it will be.
Has anyone else had this feeling of just being done with it? The moment you knew you had to change? I'm curious to hear about your stories of getting sober, because this is honestly the first time I have ever felt powerless over my drinking and I don't want to ever be like that again.
Thankfully I have no cravings for alcohol. I just needed to speak to people who understand. No one in my life is currently struggling with alcohol or any other addictions, and I feel incredibly weak for being like this. Any stories and support would be much appreciated.
Thank you for reading this.

Anyone know what's going in at the old Harvard Liquor Store at 11th and Harvard?
There are qr code signs up but last I checked didn't link anywhere.