Pan herbo mlm

The Soviet Reunion

2012.07.17 23:16 XxAmericanLedxX The Soviet Reunion

This is a group for the Soviet Reunion on the Civcraft server.
[link]

2024.05.28 22:48 Jondzilla I want a new Godzilla Final Wars in the monsterverse

I want a crazy and extravagant movie like Godzilla: Final Wars, I'm not talking about humans jumping everywhere like fleas in a frying pan, but a movie where they show how invincible and powerful Godzilla is.
this is my idea:
At the beginning we see a scientist, perhaps he is happy or ecstatic, while he raises a jar with something blue that shines, he shouts with excitement
Then the first act begins, we have Monarch checking his systems, maybe the MLM man comes out, suddenly alarms start ringing, everything seems like it's going to explode, without warning the Godzilla alert starts, everyone is running non-stop, someone shouts the classic "someone find out what's going on!"
Our bearded friend discovers something strange: it seems that everyone is being attacked simultaneously by Godzilla.
Cut to the hollow earth, maybe we see Kong sitting on his throne, Jia is looking at old paintings when suddenly the twin fairies appear announcing Mothra, Jia waits and receives Mothra's message: someone has created monsters using Godzilla's DNA .
Back to monarch, people are running everywhere, they have identified three main monsters: Biollante, half godzilla half plant, Destroyah, half godzilla half oxygen destroyer and space Godzilla, half godzilla half meteorite
Around them are dozens of smaller monsters, we see all the classic monsters
A plan is developed between Monarch and Mothra: they are going to super charge Godzilla through Rodan and mothra and give him an even stronger attack.
The rest of the movie would be Godzilla with red energy defeating everyone.
The grand finale is that Biollante, Destroyah and space Godzilla merge to create Kaiser Gidorah, the fight is one sided: supercharged Godzilla wins easilly, then the scientist appear and show his latest invention: Gigan!
Now is two against one, Godzilla kills gigan with a powerfull spiral Ray, but now is weakened, suddenly Kong and Shimo appear and distract Kaiser Gidorah enough for Godzilla to kill Gidorah with a final super heat spiral Ray
The end
submitted by Jondzilla to GODZILLA [link] [comments]

2024.05.27 14:13 MUSHROOMTIME1 me :3

me :3
red lizard creature (I would’ve added in a lizard gender but my gender doesn’t feel lizard, I just like this scalesona lmao)
Palun - a gender feeling like swamps and marshes. I was raised around those environments so I have a deep appreciation and relation to wading through waters filled with bugs, critters and plants, climbing mangroves, and kayaking/canoeing. Noxalistic - a gender relating to dark naturalism. It manifests for me in an appreciation for the “darker” parts of nature (everything needs to eat, everything dies eventually) and savoring every moment I have on this beautiful planet. Transmasc - a transmasculine person Masc enby - a non-binary gender closer to the masculine end of the spectrum (Would’ve put in the trans man flag too, I’m a man too, transmasculine and masc non-binary fit me too though) Mlm - men loving men Pan - attracted to anyone, regardless of gender
I identify as both mlm and pan because I love people regardless of their gender, and have found myself attracted to people of various genders, but I particularly like men lol.
submitted by MUSHROOMTIME1 to XenogendersAndMore [link] [comments]

2024.05.27 09:19 FieryPheonix474 Equal rep :(

Equal rep :( submitted by FieryPheonix474 to lgbt [link] [comments]

2024.05.20 04:41 FearandGay My dad is (maybe) homophobic

I'm not a frequent redditor but am seriously losing my mind so, here we go. Also this post includes small spoilers for Voltron, Dead End: Paranormal Park, and Heartbreak High.
I (17, trans man) have always had a very close relationship with my dad (45, cis man). He's seriously one of my favourite people on this planet. And even before I came out, he's been a very open supporter of the LGBTQ community.
We recently have been watching TV shows together, consider it a once-a-week ritual. Mostly it's been shows I've chosen, though I haven't ever suggested a show that I didn't think he would like. Most shows I enjoy have fairly prominent LGBTQ representation, which I think is pretty normal for someone young and queer, like me.
I think it started with Voltron, when I was very excited about the genderqueer implications about the character Pidge, he seemed to roll his eyes and sort of say I was reading too far into it.
Then we watched Dead End: Paranormal Park, wherein he called one of the main characters, Barney (who is an MLM trans man) the f-slur, even from episode one before we knew the character was queer. He also expressed how he feels "weird" about watching Barney and his boyfriend, Logs, kiss in the later episodes.
It recently came to a head with Heartbreak High, which, if you've seen, you're aware of the amount of legitimate sex scenes in that show. I, of course, have felt and am aware of the discomfort of watching a sex scene with your parent, but I liked the story surrounding it and the characters well enough to push through it, and it seemed to me he had also decided a similar thing. But he had, again, continuously called several characters the f-slur. And then there was another sex scene, but this time featuring the characters Darren (an AMAB non-binary character) and Ca$h (a asexual-adjacent, MLM-adjacent male character). Ever since the episode with this scene, he's refused to watch that show, or any others with me. Even when I ask him to choose. His reasoning has continuously been that he "keeps having dreams about that show." which I somewhat understand, as we's watched a lot of episodes in a row at one point, but it's been a month and he's still saying this.
I'm confused, frustrated, and completely lost on what to do. I'm yet to confront him about it and I don't know if I have the confidence to ever say anything. He's always been an ally, never even said the whole "as long as you keep it to yourself" thing. Is there such thing as, like, subconscious homophobia? Or is my dad just a less safe person than I thought? Thanks for reading, sorry for the long post.
Side note that I couldn't really fit anywhere else: My dad has discussed the possibility of being biromantic but heterosexual, along with the possibility that he might be pan. And it's always been a joke that he's "only 97% straight". I don't know how well this information "defends" the behaviour, but I think it's worth noting.
submitted by FearandGay to offmychest [link] [comments]

2024.05.15 08:09 SHSL_Waiter_RM2828 Is it weird of me to view Sasaki as a gay guy?

This might be a stupid question so sorry ahead of time. Anyway, for some context I watched the anime after being told how Sasaki and Miyano’s relationship was perfect if I wanted a show with a MLM couple. I haven’t interacted with the fandom much, but recently I found out that apparently Sasaki says how he doesn’t care about the gender of the person he likes. This would technically make him pansexual which I’m fine with, but I see myself in and relate to Sasaki a lot as a gay guy. I know people probably headcanon him as either or, but I’m not too sure if it’s okay for me to view him as just gay instead of pan.
submitted by SHSL_Waiter_RM2828 to SasakitoMiyano_ [link] [comments]

2024.05.14 08:47 Chidi_Cheetos Ang daming pinoy nauuto sa salad master

Sumali ako sa isang home group sa fb tapos ang daming nauuto sa pag bili ng salad master na sobrang mahal. Di ata sila aware na MLM scam siya. For the same price pwede na sila bumili ng Le Creuset. Mas mura pa yung magandang stainless steel pans ng chef’s classic. Even kami na nasa culinary industry hindi bumibili ng salad master. Kahit mga kasama Kong licensed nutritionists kinokontra yung claims ng salad master na mas icoconserve raw ng products nila yung nutrients ng food.
submitted by Chidi_Cheetos to OffMyChestPH [link] [comments]

2024.05.12 03:46 Slight_Citron_7064 "Just For Looks;" do your boomers keep random stuff around that no one is allowed to use?

My mom is a boomer and also a hoarder. But before she was a hoarder, she bought/had so many things in her house that were "just for looks." Toys that were "too nice" for the kids to play with, had to sit on the shelf just to be looked at. She got into a copper cookware MLM when I was a kid and as a result the house was full of copper cookware that was never used, it was "just for looks." Tons of highly expensive pots and pans, never used. Last time we were in contact she told me that my great-great-grandfather's rocking chair was too old to sit in, it's "just for looking at." In reality it is underneath the piles of her hoard.
I was just reminded of this when I was scrubbing up my copper skillet. She would probably have a heart attack if she knew I had a copper pot and I actually cook in it (she won't ever know because we're NC.) I don't believe in having things "just for looks," unless you count art, which I don't, because art is so much more than just the way it looks. Everything in my house is useful or meaningful.
Everything about her is just for looks, really. She cares enormously what people think of her but not about being an actual good person. Is this a boomer thing or just a my mom thing? Like, her own mom was a hoarder also, but didn't have things that were "just for looks."
submitted by Slight_Citron_7064 to BoomersBeingFools [link] [comments]

2024.05.10 02:38 erinm928 Identity theft with Royal Prestige MLM!

My friends mom is in a situation where her identity was fraudulently used to open a line of credit with Royal Prestige. Basically, her mom got notified that two hard credit inquiries were done on her by HyCite Enterprises LLC. She didn’t know anything about that. She then starts getting notices saying she opened up a credit line and owes 3800 in monthly installments to HyCite with interest. Her mom was super confused, and trying to figure out how someone could get her personal information, she recalled how her mail would often go missing at her old house. When she lived there, she paid her landlord and only cash but important pieces of mail would go missing. Looking into this deeper, her old landlord was often posting on Facebook about Royal prestige and selling the pots and pans and other cookware. her old landlord was often posting on Facebook about Royal prestige and selling the pots and pans and other cookware. Royal prestige is owned by Hy Cite. my friend mom confronted her old landlord about this on Facebook, and the landlord admitted to it and said that the people at Royal prestige told her to put down someone else’s name. The landlord said This is because the landlord had an existing line of credit with Royal prestige, but was over the limit? so she says that she was told to put the line of credit and someone else’s name and that could easily be switched to her name. She is claiming she didnt know.
Does anyone know what to make of this? We have filed a police report and have since seen some of the evidence, namely documents from the company, and the landlord used my friends mom‘s name, but I don’t see anywhere that she used my friends mom’s Social Security number. What does opening a line of credit with an MLM entail? can they run a credit check on someone without their Social Security number? What should my friends mom do?
submitted by erinm928 to antiMLM [link] [comments]

2024.05.06 06:26 SuperZac64 do gay guys like trans men?

im a trans gay guy (mlm) and im just worried cause im afab, gay dudes wont like me. ive only dated bi/pan people before, so i just am genuinely worried.
submitted by SuperZac64 to ftm [link] [comments]

2024.04.26 08:14 redditduk [MEGALIST] SG Gigs Concerts Raves - May 2024: Labour Day Week (26 Apr - 9 May)

Editor’s Note 10 May: Visit the new list here - https://reddit.com/singaporemusicchat/comments/1co3y9megalist_sg_concerts_gigs_raves_till_vesak_day_10/

26 Apr, Fri

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27 Apr, Sat

 

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28 Apr, Sun

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29 Apr, Mon - Golden Week, International Dance Day

30 Apr, Tue - International Jazz Day, International Workers' Day Eve

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01 May, Wed - Labour Day, End of SIFAS Singapore Indian Fine Arts Society Festival

 

02 May, Thu

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03 May, Fri

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04 May, Sat - Star Wars Day

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05 May, Sun - Cinco de Mayo (Fifth of May)

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06 May, Mon

07 May, Tue

 

08 May , Wed - Music Matters Live & Creator Week

Other Arts / Musicals

09 May Thu - Esplanade's Pesta Raya (Malay Festival of Arts)

 
I am on telegram: search sg music chat or visit t.me/sgmusicchat
submitted by redditduk to singaporemusicchat [link] [comments]

2024.04.23 00:12 Spooky_Frog- Possible T4T relationship and I feel disappointed??? (need help and encouragement)

Hey I'm new to the sub and I really feel lost right now and thought maybe you guys could help. I genuinely could just use some advice or kind words. All pronouns/titles I use here are what I've been told to use up to this point. I (17ftm) have been dating my boyfriend (16m) for a few weeks now. We were always really close since we met. We love each other and this is the healthiest relationship I've ever been in. Just a couple days ago i came out to him as ftm, and it went super well, I was expecting anger or sadness but he honestly said that he didn't mind and that actually he would like to have a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend because he usually considers himself to be bi/pan but prefers men. I was super excited that he still loved me afterwards and didn't want to break up.
During my coming out to him I mentioned that if he ever felt like he wanted to experiment with appearance/clothes/pronouns/name I would be 100% for it. He mentioned "well how would you feel if I were to hypothetically come out as your girlfriend" I was at one point at this stage and of course I said I would obviously have no issue with it, I love my boyfriend for his personality, not gender. After he brought that up we agreed that due to my coming out we now consider ourselves to be boyfriends.
I was so very happy to be in a gay relationship with my boyfriend. I am bi but for a while I have wanted to be in a gay relationship for whatever reason. Today me and him were together and he mentioned that he does actually want to experiment and doesn't feel like a boy and would be a girl if he could. This is all a little bit sudden and I assume that he's thinking about this because of me coming out (he mentioned previously he hadn't thought about this stuff before). Ever since he said the hypothetical about him being my girlfriend and now that he doesn't feel like a boy, for some reason I've been bothered a little by it. I never expected this, I generally prefer girls, Gender doesn't matter to our relationship, right? I suppose that I was just happy that we considered ourselves in a gay mlm relationship, a relationship that I thought for a long time wasn't possible for me.
The other thing that is relevant is my ex. My last serious relationship was with a girl who was mtf. Her gender didn't have much to do with some aspects of our relationship, except that I was out to her and I always got the energy that she considered us a lesbian couple, atleast that's how she acted (including around friends that I was out to) I tried to ignore it at the time but now that I look back, I was miserable about that. Aside from that there was the body stuff, she would often disregard and seem uninterested when I ever discussed my dysphoria and possible future transition goals, ignoring my pain and often ignoring how I didn't feel comfy about my breasts and how she treated me like the "girl" of the relationship. Overall it wasn't a good relationship and it felt like she didn't understand why I don't want boobs, to which her response was "but I would like them though" or "can't relate". It felt horrible and i felt like her feelings about femininity were being projected unto me. I felt genuinely like she felt that since she couldn't feel feminine enough due to dysphoria, she wanted me to be feminine for her. (i got this feeling since she never complimented masculinity about me, only ever femininity). That was all a while ago though.
So now back to today, I can't figure out why I feel disappointed at the possibility of my bf being trans. I am trying to figure out if its feelings about my ex and how she treated me or if it's just that I really want a mlm relationship as stupid as that is, or maybe a third option. I feel shitty because I feel transphobic and unaccepting and selfish.I still love him, don't get me wrong, I don't want to break up, but i feel a little uncomfortable now, and I hate it. Another idea I had for why i feel this way is I liked both being men but I was the more masculine man overall, It lowkey made me feel euphoric, but it doesn't feel the same if i'm dating a girl. I just want some support and maybe some advice or ideas from people older than me right now. I also kinda want to know that I'm not being hypocritical or shitty about this.
​
submitted by Spooky_Frog- to ftm [link] [comments]

2024.04.21 00:53 Toedragonwet Pride flags on splash tags

Pride flags on splash tags
I need help finding black also for the white I am using the low hacks eight badge in order they are the MLM,intersex,bi/androgyny,polysexual,non-binary,gender queer,trans and pan.
submitted by Toedragonwet to splatoon [link] [comments]

2024.04.16 19:11 Short_Algo $MLM Awaiting Short Signal based off 10 signals $4,110 net profit 12.41 profit factor 90% win rate on a 15-min chart. Free trial at https://www.ultraalgo.com/?afmc=46 #trading #stocks #investing #money

$MLM Awaiting Short Signal based off 10 signals $4,110 net profit 12.41 profit factor 90% win rate on a 15-min chart. Free trial at https://www.ultraalgo.com/?afmc=46 #trading #stocks #investing #money submitted by Short_Algo to StockTradingIdeas [link] [comments]

2024.04.09 04:09 Total-Blacksmith-402 I am deeply afraid my partner’s sexuality will change and leave me

This is going to be a bit long and this is my first ever post on Reddit. Please be kind. I’m very vulnerable and sensitive right now and would just like feedback from fellow trans men or trans woman alike. I am very much aware I have trauma and deep rooted insecurities I still seem to not have healed from.
To get to my explanation I do have to bring my past relationship despite me not wanting to but it does have quite some connections. When I was 17 I had gotten kicked out my aunts because I came out ( or more so I got discovered) and also my ex of that time was a trans man. To compress this long story as much as I can. We lasted for a year. He was my first love, first real relationship, first real anything. It was a good relationship for me at least but I did get to discover my jealous side and what not. It was, looking back, a bit of an odd relationship at least for who I am now with the things I was okay with back then. My ex disclosed he was bi and that’s perfectly okay because I am Pan myself. It was amazing being in a queer relationship. It felt safe and comfortable both of us truly being ourselves without needing to hide who we are.
Some things I want to sort of bring up was from that time my ex let me know he wanted to talk to older men for money ( sugardaddy situation) and I trusted him to not cheat on me ( till this day I’m not actually sure if he actually did because we were always so open with communication) and he would always let me use his phone and clear any overthinking I had so it didn’t matter much to me. He would also watch mlm porn next to me while I didn’t feel at the moment to engage in sex and again it didn’t really bother me because it was such a trusting relationship for me. However around Covid and I had to go back to my home (NC) and at the time I was in Miami with him. I didn’t think much of it since long distance isn’t new to me. Just like any other time out long distance during lockdown was okay up until two months during lockdown.
My ex had been on Testosterone for a year and I’ve seen him do his shots. I was there long distance when he got top surgery. I learned a lot of what being with trans partner was and being queer myself I wasn’t uncomfortable with anything as other people might place cis partners as. Being that first year in T I did see all of the side effects one mentions. Libido increasing, hair, voice, confidence in expressions, depression, appetite increase. Lots of the regular schmegular stuff. The libido one was the most common thing happening a lot and my ex made me feel very special and loved bc I am a plus sized girl and he never made me feel any less of my insecurities. I was comfortable. Time skip to may 2020 he had discussed shortly before the breakup ( like quite literally less than a week apart) he was having lots of thinking of having wanting to explore what being with a man is like. His previous relationship had all been girls and we met on tinder and I think there was a time he told me at first he was intentional of looking for a male partner but then we met and just hit it off from there. I was a bit nervous when he told me that but also I had done similar thinking but with wanting to try girls and I offered we can open our relationship and we needed lots of communication and what not and the idea was marinating. Things were okay for a couple days before the night he was very aloof and distant and I had a bad feeling he was going to end things and I didn’t sleep at all because that night for the first time in the whole relationship he never said “I love you” back. To my premonition, I was right. He broke it off during call bc we were states apart. It was such shitty timing too. I was in the car with my mom. She heard everything and heard me breakdown while driving and the whole call lasted about 20 minutes. Me begging why and how? What happened? And all I kept getting back was “I’m sorry”.
I was torn. Mom saw me and held me for two weeks I didn’t eat or sleep okay. I looked dead. Cried every couple of minutes of the day. The crying lasted for like four months. A week after the breakup I decided to erase all pictures and throw some stuff away. It was too painful. He never treated me harshly or disrespected me ever and the love was so genuine to me it seemed even painful because I never had horrible moments with him. I had blocked him and a week later he frantically texted my cousin to ask why did I block him. He then was able to text me on WhatsApp why did I do it and it hurt a lot because he ended things with me to explore his sexuality. It hurt a lot because he was confusing me. Did he want me back in his life? But that was so unfair to me. We did talk after that day a bit about basic things and I had begged him to take me back and it was very messy. He was always so polite why he couldn’t and wished me lots of love and happiness. It left me very confused a lot about feeling now less because he lost attraction to be with men. I then connected the dots how he was always centering guys more and I fell into a deep depression of my self worth. The last time I cried was on a bad day I even resorted to praying on my knees for this heartbreak to end and after that it worked. I was healing and my love naturally dissipated and I learned to smile and to laugh and to be myself again. Two years went by as naturally. A lot of amazing things happened and lots of bad things too.
A huge coping mechanism during my healing phase was getting to BL. For those who don’t know it’s essentially an Asian term but it’s been expanded nationally, referred to as “Boys Love” which is gay love. Man x Man. It helped me a lot and I loved it. Till this day I read it from time to time as well as GL and straight media. I felt so bad and hypocritical because as someone from the lgbt community when I got broken up with I felt that it left me a trauma if I was in a new relationship I’ll be left for a man. I won’t lie, i felt a lot of insecurity and threat from that and i had to stop myself from feeling that way because it’s simply just my feelings talking due to the break up and that’s it. Anyways time skip IM SO SORRY ITS LONG I REALLY HOPE YOU GUYS ARENT BORED AND JUST PLEASE say something. I’m sorry I talk a lot but I have no other way to talking to this about. My therapist doesn’t understand queer people and I’m aware I need a new therapist who works with us. But back to the story.
Year 2022, I met my now boyfriend, in a video game. We played for 6 hours until like 4 am and I had my first job orientation at 7 am. I was definitely having a good time. He told me he was from Mexico and I was excited because I’m Hispani-American and I speak both English and Spanish and we got even more along and then he told me he is trans. I got a wave of anxiety hit me that moment because I was really enjoying playing with him and it was the first time in a while I had flirted with someone and seem to develop a tiny little crush. I asked him that moment he shared with me what his orientation was and he did say he was gay but also that he was figuring it out because he has never been in a relationship and this was his first year coming out as a trans guy. I told myself to not even think about it and completely shut down whatever was bubbling up inside me, but I’m writing this now so clearly those thoughts did not win. I gave him my number and just strictly told myself at least let’s be video game friends because it was actually fun playing with him regardless. We became exactly that and would send each other memes and fanboy and fangirl over the characters and like play around flirting but I dismissed it a lot because when he would play flirt with me, it was friendly and jokingly and I tried so hard to not pay much to it but I couldn’t. My crush was growing for him. Somewhere along the lines he realized he was also curious and crushing on me but I was always in the back of my head going back to my past relationship.the similarities were: “he’s trans”, “also gay or figuring it out”, “long distance”. The coincidence was killing me and at that time I was very into spirituality and was asking the universe or god if I’m being punished or something because why is the same thing happening to me right now.
We became a couple a month later and I rushed it and was the one to ask him out. To disclose our dynamic is very unique and I do like it. I’m more of the dominant woman in the relationship and he’s more of the submissive boyfriend. I decided to travel to Mexico to meet him after lots of calls and texts and FaceTime and also he speaks fluent English. Not to mention an amazing artist and such a cute and nerdy introvert boy who loves old rock music and dinosaurs. He loves Pokémon and has a hyper fixation of how to train your dragon. I got him into kpop and Sanrio and it’s been such An amazing time. Since the day we met we have been together for two years now. I’ve been to Mexico for a total of four times including now as I am typing. We also went to a mitski concert three days ago. I apologize how long this is. I’ll be getting to the point now relating to the title.
During our relationship I’ll have similar patterns of dreams I had with my ex as well. It always consisted of my partner being evil and cheating on me to leave me with a girl or guy but then as the dreams kept occurring it would completely switch to men only. It happened with my ex and with my now partner too. Specifically this week it’s been happening back to back for a week. They would normally be once in a blue moon but now it’s been frequent. I always talk with my partner if he wouldnt like to maybe try exploring being with a guy and what not since I’m his first love and relationship ever and that the curiousity will get to him eventually and I say it out of trauma and insecurity because I’m so scared the same exact circumstance that happened with my ex will happen to me. He always gets upset when I bring it up because it makes me look like I don’t trust his love for me and I was fine and had gotten better after those moments and was working on healing but it’s like this week something got ripped.
Yesterday some memories of my breakup flashed by and the thought of my partner eventually starting HRT will come. I’m excited to see him grow comfortable into the loving man that he is but eventually the libido and attraction part with the hormones are going to come for me to face. And I dreading it. My partner eventually discovered he was bisexual but demiromantic. Meaning he only liked one person he was interested in and doesn’t feel attraction as easily as others do. This had calm me down now that he was sure. But still the lingering thoughts of him eventually losing interest and would want to explore keep resurfacing. He told me he never sees guys irl and feels attracted to them but with fictional characters he does. And the only sexual feelings he’s had in person was with me. I know that I’m trying to compare him to my past and it’s so unfair and selfish because he has proven me time and time and time again how much he loves me and shows otherwise to my overthinking and insecurities that they’re not real and he only has ever felt attraction to me and only sees me. He’s also mentioned he’s never really felt the need for sex and he considered himself ace before he met me and while we don’t do much of it because it’s also not something as important to me my insecurities tell me maybe he will enjoy it more if I was a guy.
I guess this is more of seeking advice and venting. I’m scared. I’m nervous and anxious and snicking because once he start HRT he will realize and solidify men are more his type since he’s always told me that despite being Demi he’s never really been as attracted to women or at least the typical girl but rather likes more dominant and confident women. TikTok also shows me a lot of trans guys becoming gay after HRT and see so many trans guys agreeing in the comments and it makes me much more anxious because the amount of trans guys I’ve seen with girls is so so little. We also talk about marriage a lot and his family adores me but I told him I rather wait after he starts T because what if his preferences change? and I don’t want to be married and then divorced. I don’t want to go through the same thing again. I barely recovered at the start of that breakup and going through the same thing for the same exact circumstance will completely tear me apart a new one. I had a dream this morning not too long and woke up with tears in my eyes and he hugged me and wiped my tears and reassured me everything’s okay and he loves me and he knows the type of dreams I’ve been having this week to and I feel bad because I don’t mean to burden and tire him out because of my problems which also feels pointless because I forgot to mention that my ex eventually did date a guy for not too long and has now been in a long term relationship with a girl.
I know I can’t control things and I can’t control what changes the hormones will bring to me but idk I’m just so scared and while I know life is just life I guess I just need some comfort. I’m sorry again for making this long. Please don’t judge me too hard.
submitted by Total-Blacksmith-402 to mypartneristrans [link] [comments]

2024.03.15 01:59 thehotmcpoyle A Collection of Big M Dangerous Driving Posts (Mar 14, 2024)

For years, MS has been documenting herself filming while driving, even after being called out on it multiple times and agreeing that it's not safe for her to do. The purpose of this post is to document many of the times she's filmed, taken photos or was otherwise unsafe while driving.

NOTABLE MOMENTS

In August 2020, MS was on the Babe AF podcast and said the following:
”Um… you know, I’m always gonna cuss too much, I’m always gonna smoke and drink and be a little wild, but it definitely took me down a notch of, like, “Alright, not everything has to be public.” laughs. Um, y’know, and also opened my eyes to, like, the recording while driving thing, y’know, things that I just thought I was above because I was… an influencer, I’m like, “I can record and drive, it’s part of my job!” And, like, no it isn’t, it’s not safe, right? So it kind of opened my eyes to these other things of like, just because… you know, don’t forget where you came from, and like, don’t forget what you would think if you were watching someone else doing this, like you would not be okay with it.”
In December 2020, MS was featured in a Buzzfeed list of 15 People Who Are Trash Humans, Plain And Simple for posting a photo of her nails that she'd taken while driving 60mph (Dec 6, 2020)
Around December 8, 2020, MS was reported to the Asheville Police Department with multiple examples of repeated traffic infractions. It is unclear whether anything resulted from that report.
On June 6, 2020, MS posted on Facebook several things she'd been called out on, including "Filming and driving is ridiculously unnecessary and puts others at major risk." However, it appears her behavior did not change as this lore post documents many of the times since then that she has chosen to film and drive.
In June 2021, MS admitted her license had been expired for two months, yet posted evidence that she was driving several times during that period.

ACCIDENTS

In June 2020, she claimed to be in a rental car while her car was being repaired from an accident. In July 2020, she claimed to have paid off her car.
Then in November, she posted a video explaining she'd been in an accident in mid-October 2020 after having paid that car off in July 2020. It has been suggested that she hit an electrical box and totaled her car.
In a September 2022 post, MS claims to have been in a bad accident in 2015, stating the car flipped, the airbag deployed and she had broken ribs. But in a post that same month, she claims to have never broken any bones.

CHRONOLOGICAL COLLECTION OF POSTS

The following is a collection of posts documenting Big M's dangerous driving behaviors over recent years. Dates are formatted as MM/DD/YY.
2020 Posts
2021 Posts
2022 Posts
2023 Posts
2024 Posts

DRUNK DRIVING

Below are two posts from the same night where MS and friends appeared to be drunk at a hotel, then drove around the parking lot to pick up their friend who had gone into the store.

SUSPECTED DRUNK DRIVING

Below are posts that don't directly prove drinking and driving had occurred, however, based on the timeline of events on these days, it's possible that may have occurred.
Please feel free to add any relevant links or information in the comments below.
submitted by thehotmcpoyle to YouniquePresenterMS [link] [comments]

2024.03.09 08:41 Pretensioner80 The date (pt.2): The party

“Please??? Come on, you have to come out. You literally never go out. Where’s your human interaction?”
I briefly considered telling her about the plethora of in-person meetings I attended each day, but I knew that was intentionally obtuse, and she’d cut right through it.
Cynthia was an inclusion in the perfect order of my life, but a welcome and exciting one. Her text interrupted my day, or rather, what had begun as a day, but had been secretly swapped to an evening scene as angelic stagehands lowered the angle of the lamps; adding pink and amber gels, filled the air with a cacophony of cooking fragrances, and directed the home-time traffic to fill the streets – the pit’s conductor pointing and raising his wand to the chorus of smoke detectors wailing in panic at the quarter dozen unintentional flambés held around the block; right on time. Rather than my usual irritation at distraction, however – my intense focus was simply torn like a magician's tablecloth from my consciousness when she texted, or rang, or knocked on my door leaving my mood as still as it started. I was my work’s, and then I was hers and I didn’t mind at all.
I remember the first time. Grinding on some dense problem back at work, waiting for the easy-bake of my rumination to ding DONE on a solution – I saw a woman weeping as she transferred broken bits of purple ceramic, strewn like wreckage, into a box. The box was previously taped, it seemed, but now its bottom flaps were folded into the familiar tenuous origami closure. I urged her to stop picking up the shards with her bare fingers. In my apartment lobby where this scene was unfolding, there was a long-abandoned doorman’s desk. Predictably, there was a dustpan and garbage can liners amidst the boxes of Christmas decorations, spillage signs, and lockout ropes. The pan was stamped steel, painted an implausible chartreuse “MADE IN Louisville, KY” was driven into it. I tucked my tie into my shirt, rolled up my sleeves, and gently asked her aside. I lined the box with two liners, and used the hand-broom and dustpan. While I cleaned and diffused the massacre, I asked her if she would be okay getting new plates. “I have plates, to be honest, I don’t even use these. It’s Fiestaware... not the, like, x-ray stuff, it’s newer, but it’s a color they made for maybe a year? I don’t know. It was my grandmother's, and she had it, and then when she passed away my mom had it, and then I got it as a graduation present, and now it’s all over a fucking lobby." She drew her hand to her face, and I grabbed her wrist a little too firmly... "what are you..." "oh... okay yeah, I guess I should wash my hand off, thanks.” We exchanged names and unit numbers. I was thanked for my help, and the winter continued.
Pinching pennies on maintenance, as they had with the doorman's departure, our dumpster was always nearly full. Later that week, I noticed the mess of shattered ceramic still floating on the upper left of the trash, and the large, lilac (not purple) Art Deco pitcher sitting broken in a surprisingly intact three pieces. Looking around the room, I spied a Pabst-branded cardboard flat in the corner. I collected the pieces of the pitcher and found my way back to my unit. It glued together well. All that was missing was a small triangle of ceramic where the three shards had terminated, and in my hasty and barehanded recovery, I had decided against digging through the razor blade rubble to find the small flake of broken pitcher. For reasons that escape me, the office supply room had a very complete set of high-quality paint pens. I sealed the missing patch with more glue; let it dry, masked off the surrounding area, then layered it in a few coats of gold paint pen in a sort of ersatz kintsugi. “Not too wabi-shabby,” I thought to myself.
While my day-to-day often required far more high-stakes and consequential exchanges, knocking on her door eclipsed them all. I first ensured that her visitor's parking stall was empty and came around dinner time to allow a convenient exit excuse so that the obligation to stay, or offer that I stay, did not spoil the mood. I presented the pitcher in a black shoe box, tied with a silver, holographic ribbon also inexplicably in the office’s inventory. I always saw live flowers as more of a chore than a gift, so the pitcher was filled with a selection of silk lilacs in a violet palette.
My work requires something like a precognition about the course of events primed by an action. In some ways, this has muted the joy of spontaneous moments, or at least transformed them into a satisfaction not unlike watching the first ticks of a paper clock built from a kit. Much of the actual joy of life seems to be birthed from an equally terrifying unknown, which I too infrequently visit or that, perhaps, does not impose itself on me as much now. My gift was taken well and exactly as one would expect.
Oddly, my memory of the moment is afflicted or corrupted with a frustrating, selective amnesia. I remember the smell of a breeze coming through her 5th-story window, the flashing red anti-collision beacon of a far-off radio tower. Her hand touching mine as though through a veil shrouding that other place. A single tear rolling down and painting the lightly foundation-dusted arroyo of her perfect cheek, when one equally perfect eye closed its lash. I’ve always wondered if dreams, despite their allegedly understood origin, aren't just some unfiltered projection of that other place. Cynthia is a dream, I know that much.
There was nothing wrong with Steven.
Cynthia “did” art. Photography. It was certainly a hobby like model building or silk kites, but it requires a culminating pageant of some sort, a gallery. It was unnecessary, strictly, but what is life without “something to do” on Friday night? While I fell into my work like a warm pool on spring break, and loved how I and time and the drudgery of it all dissolved into task and thought, for her, I could tell how much she needed this, how she needed anything but her work. She needed this Friday night, and she needed me to attend no matter what book lay breathing on my table, eager for my eyes.
I didn’t know precisely what it is to love someone, not really, not in a way I could quantify or qualify if asked, strictly.
The blazing sun is but a trillion trillion motes of dust, maybe pebbles? Rocks you hardly notice, some you surely would – but all that would drift away to nothingness in relatively no time in the dearth, along with all the gas that could fill a void unnoticed. In time, these tiny trickles of substance crawl their way toward a center, congregating aimlessly until the next moment when they, to human eyes at least, fuse to become a thing of infinite scale, awe, and time. Something mistaken for god for eons, the thing that without which, there is nothing. Love is like that, I’d gather.
I had her to my apartment a few times to enjoy my increasingly complex espresso setup. She teased me that my home looked like a Scandi asylum, I felt a little joy - some dust- at that. I took a trip to a home store and found the gaudiest giclée texture wall “painting” I could find. The Eiffel Tower, and as if we forgot, “Paris” painted in a ridiculous script above it. Her laugh, a pebble. Her apoplexy at seeing the purple 70% off sticker, half torn off the “painting” still on the side – well, it could fill a room. We spoke of Steven little. She would mention a day trip or two; he came by semi-frequently. When she spoke of him, her eyes were slightly downcast, to the right. She had a habit of turning her bracelet around on her wrist as she spoke of him.
When I walked into the gallery, I was lamenting silently about how the sleet caused my heel stacks to squeak. She was the first thing I saw when I closed the rickety casein-painted door and met the creaky, hollow floors of the gallery. Her dress was precise, garish, agonized upon. She wore tall black heels, black tights, and a black sweater. A lavish, likely antique, pearl necklace braced her neck. Her lips were painted bright red. She had perfect "cat eye" on and her ordinarily shoulder-length flaxen hair was sleeked and piled upward. She had on a powder blue mesh tulle skirt. Peppered within its layers were small iridescent stars and moons. Her perfect, bright, eyes met mine – and that was it. We gazed in mutual hypnosis for a moment, and in that gaze, I was informed of that sudden fusion. That she was indeed what determined when I rose, when I slept, to where I grew, and what her absence meant.
The hypnosis was broken first by her, as her eyes darted in an almost shamed panic toward her party, and she went to them, to him.
Her little display was well put together. Reasonably priced and well-framed photos. Among the centered shots between the downtown buildings, a calico looking up suspiciously from a bowl of cream, there was a black and white photo of the pitcher. The silk lilacs replaced by a single, living, white rose. At the end of the night, arms extended from the dream, hugged me, and thanked me for coming.
My phone chimed again. She emoji-reacted to my “maybe” message about tonight’s party with the pregnant man emoji (which she used to indicate I was “full of it”). I certainly would’ve done anything to see her, but it being a massive house party that she would be attending, with or without a plus one, for an indeterminate amount of time, left me indecisive. I looked at my computer (come on in, the water’s fine), I looked at my coffee setup, now only missing its emerald curtain. I supposed I needed some sun, if even just on the walk over.
It was an impressive high rise. The doorman, albeit nonplussed and mildly resentful of the evening interrupts, was present and well-dressed. Upon entering the suite, humid with breath and Juul vapor and finding my bearings, I met eyes with Cynthia, and she made her way toward me. She was happy that I’d come.
She called over and introduced me to an extremely nearsighted, unsettlingly tall man in galaxy-themed harem pants named Kristoff, who was allegedly her work’s IT director. He produced a professional-looking preroll and offered it to me. I asked him what it was, and he said “hyperborean gangweed.” I thought fondly of my first experience for a moment.
Bret was a down-to-earth type often dressed in western tack, somewhat unusual to the city we occupied. He lived and travelled from a dusty and distant hinterland in an ancient Ford farm truck to attend classes between long stretches of absences, which he would only describe as “taking some time to figure things out” and did not elaborate on the “things” or the “figuring.”
When you called him, it was always his grandmother who answered. He was always “out.” When he called back, his voice echoed down a long wire landline of pops and hiss as if he were on a party line with the wind and sun of the country itself.
We sat together in the periphery of a party at a larger estate in the older, richer part of the city, off on a disused oak pew converted to lawn furniture, some distance from the nucleating bonfire. “Want some? It’s mostly shake, some tobacco.” We passed it back and forth. “Take it easy, though, you can’t unsmoke it once you’ve drew it.” “Is Jackie out there? Did you see her come?” Jackie was indeed out there; she came right ahead of me, wearing her usual oversized Carhartt coat, which I believe was her older brother's at some point. “There’s music, but everyone is standing around. Not much of a party without dancing, I guess. Somebody ought to start,” he quickly finished his drink. “You know what? I’m going to go right up to her and ask.” And he did, and they danced. And everyone danced. And the dream concluded as I collected my shoes from the lawn in the powder-blue light of dawn, contemplated the coals of the fire, then floated, tranquil, to my home. The clockwork of the year was for a time thereafter replaced by the shadow of a sundial.
From the towering European, I took the pre-roll. Lit it, took a few deep inhales, coughed in the manner that one is never accustomed to, and passed it back to him. I told him to find her a good home; he winked at me, I think, and began to drag it himself as he disappeared into the forest of people pulsing in rainbow tones in the RGB strip lights adorning the corners of the room for the occasion.
Immediately, I was awash with a tinny, metallic numbness. I had the sensation of an anaesthetic twilight. Rather than oneness with the world, I felt as though I could slip through it, into a black hell beneath, I felt the room, the people, crushing in on me, as though it would collapse to suffocate me. I’d move in one direction and arrive at my destination forgetting the journey, my heart racing.
I tried to remember Bret’s advice on another unpleasant occasion. “Oh yeah, it’ll hit you like that sometimes,” I remember him saying over that windy line. “Your mood will be wide open to the vibe you allow. Just sit on the ground, or something hard, and try to feel the whole earth beneath you, and know it’s not going anywhere, and probably never will. If you have some music, doesn’t matter what, just listen to it and try to focus your ear on something. You’ll forget you were upset. Just keep telling yourself it’ll wear off; you may as well enjoy it.”
I slunk to the hi-rise patio and sat on its concrete and began to calm. From inside, a top-40 song, ordinarily only heard involuntarily in fluorescent-bleached commercial spaces, blared something about being strong enough. I thought of some proto-Celt in the Doggerland beating a rival clansman’s head with a rock in a mass, armed dispute over a small knoll of grazing land; what was his anthem? Who told him he was strong enough? The bass hook was hypnotic.
A young woman joined me outside to smoke the one item not tolerated within. She looked over the ledge for a bit before lighting up, contemplating. I joked about l'appel du vide. “People really kill themselves like that,” and then she stared at me, with crossed arms. I excused myself and walked inside.
A girl with Uno-card hair sat, legs crossed on the couch. She had on a pair of Doc Martens. I mused about how they were developed for imperial war in the European theatre, and wasn’t it funny how they were now a counterculture icon. She responded, “Yeah, they’re comfy. Hey, are you holding?”
I spoke to an enthusiastic man in a three-piece suit, sans jacket. I had to pretend to get a call from my very depressed brother 15 seconds into his MLM pitch. I recalled the Doc Marten apocrypha was actually misremembered, not that she’d care.
I found Cynthia again, asking if Steve had joined her.
“Well, we... yeah... well, you know how he was in the fourth round of interviews? Well, so he got it, but I guess I should’ve mentioned it’s out of state, like really out of state. So, we’re going to have to do a long-distance thing” Without the bracelet to turn incessantly, she made a pestle of her thumb in the mortar of her hand. “I mean, it’s whatever, it’s just like my job is here and my family and just, well, we were spending a little time apart anyway since he was going back and forth...” she looked down, then off in the distance. “Hey, I saw you talking to Stacey (Ms. Uno… septum, maybe). Do you like her? She’s pretty alt; she does background checks for us.” Cynthia waved when Stacey noticed we were looking.
The night wore on. Karaoke. Conversations about stocks and apps and NFTs, sports, Mexico.
Cynthia tapped me on the shoulder. She grinned, the pigment of supermarket Italian vino clung to the biofilm in the margins of her refreshingly non-whitened, ivory teeth, a mild purple hue painted her mouth.
“Hey, I actually have to work tomorrow, ughhh. Like a $90 brunch is worth it. There will be more crepe building than team building,” she flashed an unhinged look. “Hey, pick me up!” “Can you?” “Oh my god, you can’t.” I started away slightly, then took her by surprise. She let out a little yelp as I thrust her head towards the slightly-too-low hanging hallway light fixture, threatening to dust the cobwebs with her hair. I put her down, first mocking that I was losing my grip, another yelp. She hugged me for just a little longer than she needed to, then laid the softest peck on my right cheek, then backed up slightly… her eyes began to dart across my face, looking for something. Against my burning will to do, to show, something, anything - my standard negotiation face met her inquisition, floating on the formless adulterated fog of my mind's current state. I said goodnight just as her ride notification chimed in the void.
Bret threw another dry pile of brush in the fire, now on his own acreage.
“I don’t know, I just knew she was it and I went for it. My great-granddad once tapped me on the stomach, I forget what the reason was, and said, “Sometimes this will be smarter than you, so listen.” I took it to heart. He came back alive from the war after all. Whatever wasn’t luck… I don’t think he sat on the ground and ran the numbers with a stick in the dirt. I don’t know why it’s so complicated for everyone, maybe they want it that way? Maybe someone wants it that way, but I can’t reckon who’s paid out in misery.
Now, on the other hand, Jackie caught the youngest eating dirt in the garden last week, so one puzzles on the age the gut finds its wisdom.” He threw in another pile.
My own phone now chimed. It was a text from a number permitted to pierce “do not disturb” on weekends. I was informed I had a 5 am flight and to dress well.
I called my own car and made my way to the bathroom. Not much time now.
I came upon the commode and saw it was occluded with a turbid à jus. I searched for a plunger, my good deed for the night, and found none.
I had an odd pang of nostalgia for my time, long ago in “facility maintenance.” A memory rose involuntarily.
“If you do it too hard, you just get it everywhere. You’re not trying to bang it out of there, you’re creating a focused rhythmic motion and just working it back and forth. A little movement means a lot with water, it doesn’t… you know… uh… compress and it carries all your force” he paused and put his hand on the back of his neck and smiled. “I’ll tell you a story… back home, I had to move and graze the herd and all that, even just as a kid because my brothers were in the city working a lot. But in the desert, there’s these low spots, in the valleys, I don’t know what you call them. But you’ll walk along, and if it rains, even miles away... well, you see this little trickle at first, but then in no time, it’s this raging river. First, carrying all the dead sticks or whatever, clacking dry like...bones, then mud and then a bunch of water. But if you get caught in it, even if it’s just like to your knees, it’ll sweep you out and drown you just like that!” he snapped his fingers.
One time, I had a whole herd crossing, just me and my dog and horse. The horse knew fast, and he wouldn’t go near that trickle, and he was thirsty that day, too. The dog was spooked, but he just kept running around the herd, and he would jump over the stream, wouldn’t touch it, like he knew it was death, I don’t know. I got them all away, but there was one left back there when the "bones" came out of the desert on the mud, and he just froze there like he was hypnotized, and he just got pushed over and that was it. I don’t think he even tried to swim. No time. Didn't even see him. We just had to go on and leave him.
So, we got home, and I told my dad about it, and he looked pissed as hell, asked how many, he nodded. I saw him tense up, and he walked toward me a little... and he asked me, intense, ‘Did you go after it? Tell the truth.’ I said, ‘No! I let it go, I didn’t go near it,’ and his hand relaxed, he smiled and rolled his eyes, tussled my hair, and said, ‘Well, the coyotes sure got one hell of a lunch on us then.’”
I looked at the tub, and noticed the other guests had made do with it. I decided not to participate. I had to grab my overnight bag and suit from the house anyway. I turned on the shower and orbited the cheap, fixed, and oddly austere and unifunctional choice of showerhead considering the apartment's well-off bachelorette resident, cleaning out the tub. I then walked to the kitchen, where the host's cards and gifts were organized. I tore off a sheet from the realtor-branded notepad affixed magnetically to the fridge, folding it into a card. I pulled out a 50, but thought better of it, and opted for a 100. Sorting through the Le Creuset food pick holder filling in for a pencil cup, brushing aside a little orange highlighter, a dry uncapped sharpie, and a couple of little Ikea pencils, I found a powder blue metal pen. I wrote, “Happy Birthday, great party, treat yourself to a plunger. Best wishes XOXO – The Jumper.” I folded the 100 in the card, gathered my things, and left.
The “private plane” was a conspicuously dingy and dilapidated charter jet with threadbare upholstery, worn carpets and loose, rattling compartments.
The C-suite trickled in, fumigating the cabin with the vapors of partially processed wine, rum coolers, and peated scotch. Bloated censers of fetid allium burned their 300-dollar plates of fusion cuisine.
Still quite buzzed, upon opening my ThinkPad, I did not address my urgent work, but instead poured over information about the model of plane I was on. Its operating ceiling, engine thrust, top speed – I marvelled unblinking at the dozens of different paint jobs the aircraft was offered in and painted by their owners. I looked at the specification and seating configurations. Kitchenette upgrades, finishing options. The works.
I closed the laptop and looked out the window to my left. Looking to the black void below, I thought of Bret and Jackie, the little ones, sleeping below.
Jackie would be waking soon to light a stove. A cauldron of some peasant's pabulum would soon be bubbling, homemade sausage would crackle in cast iron. A terrible but functional course of moka pot coffee would be brewed, its unnecessary bitterness cut with unhomogenized cream. Eggs would be broken on the sausage grease, the shells inspected briefly should the hens be manifesting a nutrient deficiency of some kind.
While I steamed my jacket, Bret would be somewhere, puttering on his back 40 with his dog in the fresh air.
I closed my laptop, and my eyes, and put on my noise-cancelling headphones. I set music to shuffle.
A bluegrass song, a typically macabre ballad despite its angelic timbre, began to play:
“I’ve been gathering flowers from the hillside
To wreathe around your brow
But you kept me waiting so long, dear
That those flowers have all withered now.”
Through the small, half-shaded window, the sun peeked over the distant horizon while rain slid helplessly, horizontal on the pane.
I tapped out a short message.
“I’m back on Friday. I’ll take you out to lunch. I’ll pick you up (promise I won’t drop you).”
submitted by Pretensioner80 to rspod [link] [comments]

2024.03.02 12:22 DogsAndPickles SCAMMER JEN

The postmortem is a practice my grandmother started. We did it after holiday meals mostly; the cooks all gathered in the kitchen informally discussing what went well and what did not; whether anyone touched the cranberries, how would we do things next year? WHY was the turkey late AGAINNNN?
Mary Anna Rushia was shrewd, curious, tenacious, blunt, outspoken, and most notably, honest and transparent. She showed up in medical school in the 40’s as one of the first women to successfully earn a medical doctorate, but that was just the beginning of a life of curiosity. She never stopped seeking information, truth, and greater perspective. MA was the quintessential lifelong learner, and after raising her kids, she did a second residency in psychiatry and opened her own practice. After retirement, she enjoyed many hobbies in the garden as well as the kitchen, and she even ran the computer lab at the senior center and taught old farts how to use a Macintosh. She never had any agenda but to learn and grow herself and to love her family.
She was revered for her mind, her perspective, her experience, her story; at our family events I remember family friends sidling up beside her to talk; to ask her what she thought, to get her perspective. She didn’t dress nice – ever; she tried, but the façade just wasn’t her thing. She was too busy on the inside to worry about her exterior, and when she did, the family might have said she didn’t have great taste. I never noticed her appearance while she was teaching me how to root a sprig of rosemary, making jelly, or teaching me why we wash our lettuce. She had a glass eye that would often go off looking the wrong way, and she could NOT tell a joke. For all she lacked on the surface, she more than made up for in who she was: a mom, a wife, a twin, a grandmother, a friend, a doctor, a cook, a gardener, a bona fide student of the world; our matriarch. A woman of SUBSTANCE.
But when asked, she always said she was “just a girl from Oil Hill”, because her title was as superficial as her dress; it didn’t ever matter. She didn’t showboat. It never occurred to her.
When she died, I found peace with an aunt that wasn’t kind when I was growing up and felt that Mary Anna had taken up residence on a team I didn’t know I had. She lived on inside of me, passed me her batons, and before taking over as the holiday chef, I cooked for her memorial in her kitchen, at her stove, and from then on we were united in a new way; I had power I never knew before. I had her.
My family had never seen a holiday meal perfected to the degree I did it. The food wasn’t just exquisite, or on time, but it was fancy and took me days to prepare. Fingerling confit; homemade rolls, candied pecans on the salads, hand-churned honey butter I piped onto little dishes and set out at each place to come to room temp before we sat down. Ham cooked perfectly via sous vide and then glazed; the most perfectly smoked locally sourced turkey with gravy I made from the pan drippings. Roasted sprouts with a balsamic redux; crème brulee torched at the table.
I wore her old aprons; I cooked with her old things just to be near her. The wooden spatula she used, for YEARS after she died, gave off the smell of her home when it touched a hot pan, and I was comforted there at the stove, intoxicated by the remnants of the one and only person in the world who believed in me and who could see though my behaviors.
The family quite literally ate it up too; I successfully won them over, but still I was empty. It was not warm like Grandma’s holidays; it didn’t feeeeel the same. I didn’t feel the same. Maybe all the magic was sold with her house and I’d never know that feeling again.
But maybe…. Just maybe the magic was in the turkey that did not finish on time. Maybe the magic was in her shortcomings.
I ruined everything she started by perfecting it.
But my food was legendary, and there was ample praise and fanfare during the meal as well as the postmortem, and I ATE IT UP. Finally, the family was seeing my value. They wanted me to cater every event. Finally, I got it right. Finally, they approved of me. Finally, I made myself into someone they could be proud of. Finally I’d outgrown all my childhood labels. Finally I proved them wrong. Finally.
Mary Anna revolted from the crypt.
It would be 5 more years of analysis, self-examination, and excruciating work for me to understand that approval comes from within. You can’t get it from anywhere external.
You showed up at THE most vulnerable part of my dream and said all the right things, presented with a big smile and all the credentials that could help me reach my goals. A business owner, pro dog trainer, health coach, public speaker, educator, writer, and a specialty in building curriculums. What a gift! That you’d be so instantly devoted to my cause! That you’d just ditch your own plan in one meeting and dive headfirst into my dream. Wow, I thought, the universe really is magical.
Sometime after your arrival, though, the alarm bells began to sound in my gut, and as they grew louder and louder, I turned the focus inward, as I always do, to get back into balance. Was this a normal part of “becoming”? Would the feeling go away after some of the tasks were done? Did I just have to stay the course and keep stumbling along? Did I JUST need to conquer the ‘jester of doubt?’
While completely losing myself in trying to reconcile, grow into, and find comfort in this new role, I assumed we were all more or less in the same boat.
I was also working my ass off to make the changes you recommended and to put to practice some of your ideas, while ignoring every red flag that dangled in front of my face.
And then you quit.
The alarms silenced; I observed. I wondered. I analyzed.
How had I failed you and what could I have done to be a better president, a better mom, a better friend, I thought. How would I ensure that next time I didn’t come up as short? You know – have the postmortem.
But there were a couple things that didn’t sit just right, so I had to understand them first.
How could you be so sure about everything? Without an iota of experience, how could it be so black and white? How could you always have the better and only answer? How did you feel qualified to refute anything? Why did your words not match your actions? Why did I feel pressured, beneath you and all your business, coaching, and dog training experience? Why?
Initially, I assumed flippant ignorance, but it was the perfectionism that gave you away.
You were wearing a costume I wore when I was insecure and needed approval. But why? What were you hiding? What didn’t I know? How might I have contributed to your need to put it on? Did you need more coaching? How could I have helped you grow out of ignorance? How could I help you into a “growth mindset,” if you will.
But Mary Anna would not shut up. The question was really: WHY DO I FEEL VIOLATED BY JEN DUFF? Why all the relief when you left?
So we started there – at why did your perfectionism make me feel judged, small, confused, inadequate, ill-equipped to live my own dream. Why did I feel worse and worse about myself? Why the underhanded jabs? Why the pressure? Why the silent treatment when you didn’t agree? Why the manipulative tactics? Why did you feel you had any authority to judge or criticize my dream or the experience of any of my people?
Mary Anna and I launched our most thorough, interesting and convoluted investigation to date, and it is only because she and Rio both reside inside of me that you are receiving an email so kind.
I started by looking into your businesses – maybe they failed and you were embarrassed, and that’s why you didn’t’ understand / couldn’t contribute to the building of AO Inc., why you bought the book on grant writing but never read it, why you called us a rescue before we were one, why you wanted to put a mission statement on a shirt before we had a mission statement, how you thought asking our audience to buy us 2 brand new Dysons was no big deal, that you didn’t take any interest in the business plan, or in the role of Vice President, why you shut down when I disagreed, why you didn’t have the skills to back up what you told me at the outset. Maybe the armor was hiding inadequacy, shame, failure.
Though still plausible, it didn’t answer the question. Couldn’t even FIND any record of your businesses ever being legitimate.
So then… were they phony?
Maybe you weren’t a failed businessperson, but a shyster hiding something even worse than a lack of honest defeat.
Your criminal record, though interesting, was merely a clue that catalyzed getting to the bottom of it, and down here – literally at the very bottom – it all makes sense. It wasn’t your driving record that raised an eyebrow, Jen; it was all those identity changes, the pages and pages of phony addresses. You flag as a serial scammer.
You are a professional shyster. You’ve been doing shady shit a long time; you know how to play the game. That scares me.
It was your unrelenting push for those sachets of probiotics that led me down the rabbit hole of affiliate programs – also known as conflicts of interest -- and THAT’s where I realized you had an agenda the entire time. It was all a ruse. I had no idea that since I joined the ANTIMLM movement at its inception that the scams had spilled over into the dubious and shady industry of “life/nutrition/career coaching” where there are no prerequisites, and anyone can buy a certificate if they pay enough money and follow the script. Absolute Dogs follows the same recipe. I’m not surprised you bought into it, but I think you figured out it won’t work here. I’m too creative, too experienced for one size fits all MLM dog training.
Lauren isn’t the only founder dabbling in the shade. IIN’s founder has a disgusting history, and the court records are available publicly for anyone willing to seek out the truth.
The business model for these schemes is sketchy, but even worse, they’re leveraging and weaponizing Dunning Kreuger’s research, giving their ‘students’ the façade of academia, heroism, and having a real career. The truth is that they bought you and your freedom of thought, inducted you into the cult, and taught you how to manipulate others so you can get rich, and YOU paid them for it!
The shit you’re doing is dishonest, dangerous, insidious, and detrimental to your victims’ mental health and wellbeing beyond all of the data that show it’s a fruitless effort. Less than 1% make any money. You’ve made a career out of eroding and undermining relationships for personal gain – the antithesis of my mission and my values and EVERYTHING I STAND FOR – and your tenure here is one that I have to try not to regret.
Man it feels like SHIT to be scammed and misled! It’s embarrassing and completely uncomfortable.
But, hey, a win is a win, and you got me. Congratulations, Jen, the psychological tactics were effective, but the sale was a hard no. Was it worth it?
Without any honest sales, without even 1 recruit, you effectively broke me down. To my knees. I almost gave up. I almost lost myself. I almost believed I wasn’t worthy of my own dream because you couldn’t force me into the mindset.
I now understand feeling so helpless, confused, violated, and absolutely lost that I regretted ever getting an opportunity to grow. I regrettably understand why people give up and end it all. Did they open their hearts to people like you who came into their story to rob it of all its authenticity, its heart, it’s morals, it’s IDENTITY? Did they feel trapped and unable to escape, but equally unable to proceed ethically? Is that why they gave up? Because of someone like you?
I almost believed you knew better. I almost believed you were unbiased and WORST – I invited your critique. I almost believed in you.
But I was not EVER even remotely close to buying your bullshit supplements, cookie-cutter programs, nor entertaining your desire to breach the conflict-of-interest policy you signed and obviously did not respect. I’m a creative – I don’t follow recipes or any other convention that takes a black-and-white approach. Those are for people who need someone else to define who they are – not for ANI CANNON.
The dogs suffered because of you. I suffered because of you. I was a worse mom because of you. I hope the profit you made off us was worth the cost we paid.
I would have given you all my money if I’d known that’s what you wanted at the outset. It would have been so much cheaper than what I endured.
But it’s not all bad, I suppose. There amidst the confusion and defeat, Mary Anna encouraged me to go waaaay back, to 1991, and call on my sport.
Grandma and Pop were both at Finals that year; there to cheer for me in every event that didn’t matter. They had to hit the road before my defining swim – the event that earned me my reputation on my team and of which I was really proud. I was the one my coach used to demonstrate the breaststroke to new kids learning proper form as well as to the older swimmers who sucked at it.
I showed up at Finals that year intending to keep a title I already knew I owned despite the odds not being with my opponent. I was expected to take second place overall that season… by everyone but myself. On paper, the data showed that one swimmer stood in the way of my title. Her times were a little better than mine, she took her sport a little more seriously than I did; practiced harder, went to swim clinics, and was not as much into telling jokes.
I stood at the blocks and sized her up, donned my cap and goggles and resolved:
“her butt’s gonna drag on the bottom of the pool”.
I didn’t just earn the gold medal that season against the odds; my time set a new record for the 25m breaststroke, thus beating my opponent as well as my own personal best.
I beat her out because of the competition within my own lane. I had the advantage of a real coach who punished us if we uttered the words, “I can’t.” And until my heart stops beating, I will always have Mary Anna’s genetic code to save me.
I might have believed you were qualified to critique my sport until I saw that you’ve never actually dipped into the pool and didn’t ever intend to get wet. What you are is dishonest, ignorant, inexperienced, and most unfortunately part of a statistic; a population of women who outsourced their freedom of thought to a tribe of boss babes who promised the world.
I’m going to follow the NICU nurses who had to clean up after the quacks came for Vitamin K and provide you with some resources about cults, mind control, and pyramid schemes at the end of this document.
But I don’t expect you to do what I would do and take this information under serious consideration and make some shifts in your life ‘plan’. I think you’ll do anything for personal gain, for outward approval; to look the part. To “see the results in your bank account.”
So I’ll be watching. Closely.
And if I see you sniffing around any other charities, I’ll be sure they’re aware of your motives since we can’t count on you to disclose that part of your business model up front. You will not harm anyone else the way you harmed me, and you have no right to come into our world, our dreams, our love and manipulate it for personal gain.
We aren’t perfect here in the rescue world, but we own our track record – the good and the bad— it’s open for the world to see. None of us – not even people I USED TO THINK were bullies – deserve to be played like I was just so you can sanctimoniously cast judgment from behind your computer while the rest of us are getting dirty and doing the work.
There’s a bigger bully on the scene – a real one-- it seems, and my job is to protect us all from the local Snake Oil Saleswoman.
Maybe the doubt wasn’t a jester after all there, Jen – maybe it was your friend, your guardian angel, your integrity that you banished.
Before closing, I’d like to invite you to take your first step toward living an honest life by issuing an apology to the group you deceived, lied to, cheated and manipulated. Please let me know if you refuse and I’ll be glad to make one in your stead.
On behalf of myself, my organization, and any of your other former, current, and future victims, I hope the journey from here leads you to find your scruples.
Good luck on the blocks, Cupcake.
Ani
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2024.02.21 01:28 Competitive-Scar-626 Unhinged friendgroups

I want a book with an unhinged/dysfunctional, really fun friendgroup. It can be rh where the friendgroup shares her, it could be interconnected stand alones or whatever else you've got.
Thing I like- dark romance, fantasy romance, hate to love, hocey romance, cowboys, aliens/monsters, paranormal, morally gray characters, jealousy and possessiveness, Peter Pan retellings
Things I don’t read often but am willing to try- rom coms (if it's spicy enough), college romances, historic romances
Things I don’t like- mlm (just not for me, wlw is fine though), books written by men, high school anything and clean romances
Bonus points if there's plenty of spice and if they break the law together
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2024.02.15 04:23 BiEnby08 LGBTQ+ Graphic Designs I made!

LGBTQ+ Graphic Designs I made!
I am taking a graphic design course in my schooling, and these are some of the designs I made for projects using colors from the different flags. The first 3 are intentional, and the last 3 just fit some of the flags.
Order: • Nonbinary • Bisexual • Gay/mlm • Pride • Trans(ish) • Pride/Pan(ish)
What do you think about my designs? Also, what other flags should I do?
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2024.02.14 02:51 amazingcaspian LGBT+ Vocaloid Songs

Hi there,
I'm hosting a panel at my local convention about LGBT+ vocaloid songs. I have all of the obvious ones out of the way (so please don't suggest Magnet, Villain, or Erase or Zero), but I'm struggling to find more than that.
The ones I need help with the most are songs about mlm, asexuality, and bi/pan (must be explicitly bi/pan). I don't really need help on the wlw songs since I've had luck finding a handful of some. Also since this a general audience panel, please do avoid giving suggestions about hypersexual songs.
​
Thanks!
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2024.02.12 12:56 edwardart1237 Does a straight relationship between a trans person and a cis person count as a queer relationship? Genuine question, because my aroace ass doesn’t know

Hi! So! A little bit of context behind this question. I am not currently in a relationship nor interested in relationships as I am aromantic and asexual (as mentioned in the title). And before that, I identified as gay. And before that, Pansexual but only ended up dating nonbinary or transmasc people. And even before coming out as trans, I identified as a lesbian. I am also a trans man! So I have always been in queer relationships prior to realising I am aroace.
As far as I am aware, I believe it does still count as a queer relationship as it is not a relationship between two cishet people. But I am also not very well-versed in relationships outside of explicitly queer mlm/wlw/wlnb/mlnb relationships, and what they would be classed as. Idk how a bi/pan/omni person and a straight person in a straight relationship would be labelled. Nor do I even know how a relationship between two cishet people but they’re asexual, or one of them is asexual would be labelled. But that’s not what my question is about.
All that this question really is is just a random ass question that came to my head while trying to have a nap, and I was left alone with my ADHD thoughts without any background sound like music or a YouTube video. Just me. And my own thoughts, left to their own devices.
submitted by edwardart1237 to asktransgender [link] [comments]

2024.01.25 01:40 Evening_Emergency_58 I need help

Ok so I have an issue. I'm gonna start by saying that I'm a trans guy, and I have a girlfriend. I dont even know how to explain this but I'll try. My girlfriend is the only girl I genuinely love. I mean, like, I'm Polyamorous and I'm just not attracted to any other girls than her. And labelling myself as Bi, Pan or Omni doesn't feel right. I've been drawn to labeling as mlm but it doesn't feel right either because I'm in love with and dating a girl. Any advice or suggestions?
submitted by Evening_Emergency_58 to lgbt [link] [comments]

http://rodzice.org/