Hi
How are you?
You know how you want to be bowled over and think, whoa, I think I've found my exact match who just fits me so well, it's like we're made for each other?
Yeah, let's find out.
We're not talking perfection or anything, just a really great match that makes our lives seem like our own little Heaven on earth. At least we try and make it that way every day.
With that in mind, here's who I am and what I'm looking for.

• I'm attractive and keep in shape. I'm not everyone's cup of tea, but most women have described me as attractive, some have said handsome, more than a few have said hot. I'll take it. And some not so much. They probably needed glasses ;)
  
• I'm confident and assertive without being an a-hole or a d-bag.
  
• I work hard and smart. I don't like to waste time. Unless it's intentional in a sit on the porch and enjoy the evening air kinda "wasting" time.
  
• I believe a man should provide. Am I going to shower you with gifts and you be my little sugar baby? NO. Will I work and provide while you stay home if that's your dream (as long as staying home involves you working and doing your part)? Yes. If you want a career, will I work with that and we split household duties? Yes. Will I surprise you on occasion with a thoughtful gift or something I think you'll cherish? I will. But if you're looking for a life of luxury and a meal ticket, I'm not your man.
  
• I'm funny and witty and have a great sense of humor. I should do stand up. I have my moments and I'm fairly certain you and I will share many belly laughs and tears streaming down our faces moments. Or seeing that cute little smile cross your face because I blurted out something you found funny, witty, endearing or even a little crazy in a good way. I'm cool like that.
  
• I'm a Christian and my faith is important to me.
  
• I'm a good blend of thoughtful and considerate but won't put up with your crap and will put you in your place.
  
• I'm on the dominant side and will lead you well. Not the overbearing, you be my doormat and I'll degrade you as I wipe my feet on you. I mean, I could be, but I'm not sure how well you'll keep my feet clean. We seem to have names and titles for everything. Hard dom, soft dom, this or that. I'm just dominant. In the best way.
  
• I'm right wing. Conservative. A little populist. Traditional. Old school. However you want to say it.
  

Here's what I want in you:

• You're fit and attractive. Not in a if I squint my eyes and the sun hits you just right you look kinda ok, but cute! Attractive. Hot. I find your face and body appealing. I mean, give me something to work with. I do like a woman with a flat or toned stomach. I could love you to no end and be committed like no other, but I can't get it up for a chubby or fat girl. Sorry. We all have our things. Please be committed to keeping the best body you can and staying in shape. Whether that's healthy(ier) eating, working out, whatever it takes. Just don't let yourself go and be a woman who loves looking good for her man!
  
• You're naturally obedient. Or submissive if you prefer that term. You're a woman who when your man makes a decision, you support and obey it. You treat your man's word as law.
  

Now, a quick note: I like a woman who shares her ideas and opinions and sees if something holds water when I say what I want done. Not in a sarcastic tone or questioning way, but tactfully and politely. If there's something you wrestle with, let me know. Ask if I've considered this or that, or give me a different perspective to consider. Or just as good, offer an alternative. Say I want to obey you and I will, but would be ok if I... (fill in the blank with your alternative idea) to try and get that same result for you?
Something like that. And if you're the quiet type and just want to obey without much input, I can work with that.

• You're a Christian and/or very open to learning and following what God says in the Bible. It'll be our guide, our road map for living our lives.
  
• You are very, very pro-sex. You can be a virgin or very experienced. If the former, you have no hang ups about sex because I won't be in a dead bedroom. Hopefully you have a very high sexual drive. That's relative, as what's "high" to one person may not be to another, but you're committed to meeting your man's needs.
  

Note: Be willing to talk about sex and answer any number of questions. Ask any you have. Sex is essential in a great marriage, and we need to know if we're compatible with our desires and preferences and what we expect or are looking for. If you're less experienced or a virgin, no worries. There are still things to talk about.

• You're looking for a serious and long term relationship. Marriage, eventually. Because I am.
  
• You're on the conservative side politically. Great relationships can be had with each other on opposite sides, but it does make it harder and more work.
  
• You love to please and cater to your man. It makes you feel good to serve and help and find ways to do things that makes your man's life better in every way.
  

This is getting long and you're not reading fast enough.
You should already be thinking of what you're going to say to me and stand out from the other women.
Hints: I love honesty. It's essential to me. I love longer replies (not just the first ones, but any). Not every one has to be some mini-novel but you get what I'm saying. I love details. I mean, I don't need the "I had this sandwich at 12:32 and it didn't sit well with me, and my boss has this habit where he walks the hall and I keep my door partially open so..."
More like you just fill me in who you are, what you believe, what you like or love, what you want in relationships, anything. "I love swimming, I try to go 2-3 times a week and mountain biking is almost my thing. I went on this trail the other day and it was..."
Or "OMG you described me to a T. You mentioned being obedient and loving to serve my man and I'm like, hey, if he only knew! I'm throwing up a hand here and making my way to the front of the line so you notice me because (fill in the blank with things you love to do)
OR the super honest route:
"You know what, there are prettier girls (I'm doing ok in that area, though ;) and I don't have all of what you're looking for but I do have (list the things you have) and most would probably win if you compared us in some of the things you listed, but I can say that no one will outwork me, no other woman will be as committed to you, or do her best to make your life better in whatever way I can, or love you like crazy (we'll get there) or not let myself go and try and look good. Those things I can control. So if you're looking for an "average" girl but who can offer extraordinary in some ways, and treat you like a king, you may want to write me back. We could have the best relationship!"
You get the idea.
I work odd hours sometimes.
So if you write me (and you should), don't disappear if you don't hear from me right away, or even in a few hours. I will find you. I will write and we'll begin our first chapter in what is hopefully, a wonderful romance that fills us with joy, love, happiness and a peace because we've found that right match for us.
Message or chat. Hit that button and tell me about you. Age and location and anything you want to share. Be willing to trade pics very soon.

If I’d only followed my instincts, I’d never have boarded that doomed ship. When the Azure Seastar left port, its passengers were all alive, each with smart phones and watches and tablets, as well as the cruise ship’s own communications… yet not a single message was sent before it went missing! No distress call.
The fates of over a thousand passengers and crew remain unknown, with only a handful recovered from a lifeboat, days after the Seastar herself vanished. But the coast guard’s only statement on the lifeboat’s recovery was that “the passengers did not survive.” Rumors circulated about a “thermos full of eyeballs” and a “passenger whose mouth was stuffed full of severed fingers”—but these details have been denounced as lies, sensationalizing and capitalizing on a tragedy.
The official cause of the Seastar’s disappearance is a rogue wave. No survivors. No witnesses.
Well… one witness…
… but perhaps I shouldn’t tell. Better for the world if that ship stay lost forever!
The families of the missing, however, deserve the truth… which is why I am posting.
But first, a warning—the gruesome snippets I recounted above barely scratch the surface of the horror I am about to share, some of which I took part in. I wake screaming every night. I sleep with the lights on. I never enter darkened hallways or stairwells. And I do not ever shake hands. Although I’ve always had some quirks (the handshake one is an old habit), most of these are fresh, a consequence of my time aboard that doomed cruise ship. I do not intend to gloss over any details, but rather to give a complete accounting, including of my own involvement… so be forewarned.
And understand that my story is one of unimaginable horror.
***
To explain what really happened aboard the Seastar, I need to first tell a little about myself. Sorry, I know I’m like a bit of decorative wallpaper—just sort of there. But I see things.
It all started when I was very young (I do promise this is relevant). I didn’t want to swim in the community pool with my brother because the water was cloudy, hiding a shadowy figure in the deep end. I distinctly remember standing at the pool’s edge, crying inconsolably while my father urged, “Go on, jump in!”
My brother set the example, diving down to the bottom of the foggy water. When he came up, a silver dollar glinted in his fingers, which he dropped back into the pool before I could snatch it. “Oops! Guess you gotta dive for it!” He laughed, the sun shimmering off his sunburned shoulders. “Come on, there’s quarters down here, too!”
Diving for coins was a game we often played, so I plunged in after him, kicking my way down with my eyes squeezed shut. When my hands grazed the rough cement bottom, I patted around.
Silky hair tangled around my fingers like seaweed.
I forced my eyes open against the stinging chlorine—and shrieked.
Wide, empty eyes stared back at me from a bloated face.
When I shot to the surface, wailing about a dead woman in the water, other swimmers looked on, perplexed. My older brother tried to console me and swore there were nothing but coins.
He was correct—not until a week later would a woman drown in that pool, and sink to the bottom of the foggy water while swimmers unwittingly raced laps above her.
***
The next time I saw was when I threw a tantrum over my grandmother’s armchair. It smelled so bad I grabbed my nose and exclaimed, “Ewwww!”
My parents scolded me for my rudeness. Grandma occasionally struggled with incontinence, so for her chair to stink was, they assumed, the result of an accident. They thought I was exaggerating to make fun of her, but in the sweltering summer, the smell was truly unbearable—like rotting meat and diarrhea and cheap perfume all churned together. I threw such a fit we left, though Grandma insisted on hugging me despite my being an “awful brat.” Her skin was wrinkled, papery-thin and soft as silk, but despite the uncomfortable warmth of her apartment, her embrace was ice cold.
Less than a week later the call came. My grandmother had been found after a neighbor’s complaint about the smell…
She’d died in her chair.
***
But when the seeing really clicked was in my tween years, two separate incidents. The first was after a classmate of my brother’s pulled up in a car reeking of burnt meat, the interior charred and black. He stepped out of the car seeming not to notice that behind him, another version of him remained belted into the front seat, unrecognizable through the char beyond the glint of a gold chain melted into his neck. I burst into hysterical tears and screamed at my brother not to let him drive. The classmate laughed and called me a weirdo.
He crashed later that week.
The second incident began at a school function, where my brother chaperoned me. A man pulled up in the school drop-off zone—he was one of the more popular teachers, famous for his yearly pizza parties. In the car with him were two young kids. I can’t remember their names, just that the littlest boy was giggling and clinging to a toy T-rex when he hopped out. My brother and I were asked to help carry the party supplies and drinks from the teacher’s car. But the moment I opened the passenger door to grab a box, the reek of fetid pond water made my stomach lurch. I staggered back, clapping a hand to my nose and mouth.
“Hey! Everything all right?” the teacher asked.
My brother, no doubt remembering what happened to his classmate weeks earlier, took me aside.
“C-c-c-c-cold!” I burst to him. “D-dark! The smell! Like the rot in the bottom of a lake…”
While I wrung my hands and sniffled, my brother watched the two young kids follow the teacher into the school. He shook my shoulder and said, “Hey—hey, we’re going to save them.”
“How? No one ever believes me!”
“I believe you, Hope. Hey…” He gave me a squeeze and looked in my eyes. “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers…”
What a dork. That line was from Emily Dickinson—my brother’s favorite quote for me for when I was upset. It was corny, but encouraged me.
A few minutes later, we were careening along backwoods roads in the teacher’s car. To this day, I don’t know how my brother got the keys. His plan was we’d stow the car in a garage for a couple weeks, long enough to outlast the vision, since my predictions always came true within about six days. But it hadn’t occurred to either of us how being inside the car would affect me. The damp and rot washed over my skin. COLD. Every hair on my body stood erect, floating as if underwater. I couldn’t breathe… gagging on the fetid water, I rolled down my window. Raindrops from outside pelted my face, and something… something clicked. A sudden terrible question. When I’d peered into the darkened interior, I hadn’t been able to see… who was inside the car?
“Hey,” my brother said, apparently struck by the same thought. “You’re not foreseeing our deaths, are you?”
I don’t know if it was fate that caused us to fishtail just as he spoke. But also he might have hit something, because there was a bump. All I know is suddenly we were flying, off the road and over the side toward a lake, and then plunging, and I snatched for his hand as the impact slammed us forward into the dashboard. Then the water wasn’t just in my mind. It was real. It was pouring in through the car window.
I fought, flailing. Unbuckled. Floundered through the half-open window. Luckily I was still small enough to get through, swimming up and breaking the surface.
“Cory!” I screamed. “CORY!!!”
But I knew already that my brother wasn’t coming up—his hand had been cold when I’d touched it.
***
Naturally, his death feels like my fault. Oh, in kinder moments I remember that I was a child, and try to forgive myself for letting him get behind that wheel. But for a time, I was driven by the fierce need to atone. I sought desperately to save even one life… ANY life. I’d see a body swaying from a beam in a construction site. Legs dangling from a trunk in the car on the highway ahead of me. A suitcase on sale in a luggage store, dripping blood. Every time I tried to prevent the death… only to fail or worse, cause it. Each loss drove home more deeply my shame, my failure… until eventually…
I gave up.
I don’t try to prevent the deaths anymore. These days I catch a whiff of that familiar sickly putrid scent, and I leave. I avoid human touch, especially handshakes.
I’ve truly become wallpaper. Able to see. Powerless to prevent.
My name, incidentally, is Cassandra… I changed it because I could no longer bear my birth name. If “Hope” is the thing with feathers, I was an angel of death, harbinger of doom to my brother and others. So instead I call myself after the Greek priestess doomed to foresee the future but never to be believed… unable to prevent even one single tragedy.
***
But let’s get back to the cruise. The missing passengers. The eyeballs in the thermos—oh, those grisly details! Mind you, once you know you can’t un-know, no matter how much you drink, or smoke, or however you drown your despair. Speaking of drowning, a month ago today, I hit the big 4-O. I celebrated my four decades of life by doing the one thing I’ve done consistently since I was old enough—drinking away my failures. Every icy grip. Every unheeded warning. And especially the times I’ve well and truly fucked up. Oh yes. Those are the ones that call for some hard forgetting.
I was on my second or seventh drink at my favorite bar when a voice exclaimed, “’Evening, friend!”
A woman with shimmering purple eyeliner and matching purple hair approached. It was the musician who often played there, Lily Tsuki. To be honest, she was the primary reason I frequented that bar, though we’d hardly spoken beyond my occasional compliments about her playing. She slid into the seat next to mine and clinked my glass.
“Roy at the bar told me it’s your fortieth. I see you in here once a week, always tipping well and drinking like you’re trying to drown yourself. Someone did something kind for me recently, so I’m trying to pass it on…” She fished a hand into her pocket, and to my surprise produced a gift card for a cruise. I didn’t catch all of her story in the noisy bar, but apparently, one of her admirers was very rich, always offering her gifts verging on inappropriate. After finding out she’d be playing on the Azure Seastar, said admirer sent her the card so she could spoil herself on the cruise. She didn’t feel comfortable accepting, so she gifted it to me. “… There’s enough on there to cover your fare. Don’t thank me—thank you, I needed to get rid of it. Enjoy your fortieth, friend!”
As she handed me the card, her fingers brushed mine.
Warm. Alive.
I mumbled my thanks, cheeks warm. Why? Because she chose me? Blushes! I’m an idiot.
Still, I was glowing, and not just because I was tipsy. Why not? I thought. Why not treat myself, this once? The Azure Seastar… it sounded like a dream. I’d go see Lily Tsuki play at the piano bar against the backdrop of a glimmering ocean. I’d drink under the stars. Get a tan. Get my sea legs! And every hand would be warm and every breath would taste of the summer breeze!
***
Nine decks (eleven including the crew-only levels). Over a thousand people. Pool, bars, restaurants, lounges, cafés, spa, cabaret—the Seastar truly was the Ritz Carlton on the water! I was absolutely giddy! Of course before the luxury came the wait—just like the airport, parking, luggage, ticketing, security. It was as I neared the entrance for ticketing, enjoying the summer breeze, that I caught traces of a sour odor… a whiff of decay… so faint beneath the car exhaust and the smell of the saltwater that I might have missed it, were I not so attuned to death. At port, it was likely some unfortunate animal packed into a shipping crate and decomposing. I’d even read horror stories of people, trafficked in sealed shipping containers and asphyxiating. That faint whiff made my insides curdle.
Then I was inside the air conditioned terminal, packed with passengers—and inhaling nothing but the blessed AC.
The check in was surprisingly quick. I followed the embarkation signs up the escalator to the terminal’s upper level, through the double glass doors, greeted on my right by printed images of pool decks and steaks and wine glasses. On my left, through the enormous paned wall of glass, the Seastar herself loomed. My God, she was enormous!
So many decks! So many balconies!
Then I squinted a little closer. What was that speck? A tiny figure, draped on a railing?
My heart dropped to my toes.
Something was horribly wrong.
The figure, small against the massive width of the ship… had no face. Only a torso and most of its arms. It had been decapitated, and dried blood spattered the rail.
My footsteps slowed. I pressed against the glass, eyes rapidly roving the rest of the ship. Was it just one…? One incidence of violence, or…
Perhaps I wasn’t seeing correctly. It was a stunt. A practical joke. A mannequin. I needed to get closer. I hurried along the terminal, joining the line out to the gangplank.
The bowl of the sky had turned deep purple, the sun lowering toward the horizon, and in the Seastar’s deep shadow, the temperature dropped. A sudden chill gripped me as I trotted out onto the gangplank. I sniffed. Sniffed again, more deeply.
Rot.
The same putrid odor I’d caught outside. A passenger ahead of me noticed me grabbing my nose, and remarked, “Not used to that ocean smell?” I did not respond, because now that I was close enough to see the ship more clearly, I noticed… cracked glass… broken panes in the sliding glass doors of the cabins… no! I gasped, sinking to my knees, and the passenger kindly leaned to help me up. As her hand seized mine—it was cold.
I jerked back so fast I actually collapsed into the passengers behind us—a mother and her daughter.
“Oh!” exclaimed the mother.
My hand brushed the daughter’s bare arm. Cold.
“Are you okay?” asked the daughter, a child of about twelve.
I crawled back from her, and another person, an elderly gentleman, leaned down to help me up, his hand on my elbow. Cold!
“Miss?” he asked. “Miss—” But I bolted, barely hearing their cries as I launched myself back toward the terminal. No no no no no no no no—my eyes watered and my belly bunched into knots and my heart lurched into my throat and oh God oh God—the ship! The whole. Entire. Ship. It was… dark… windows broken… Not a single light shining in the interior, and spatters of blood here and there visible on its decks and balconies… But worst of all was the smell. I hadn’t even entered the ship yet and already I knew, knew, in the way only I can know, that the smell wasn’t just one body or two. Not if I could detect it all the way out on the gangplank. All the way at the entrance to the terminal. For the whiff of putrefaction to have spread so far, the source was something massive. A colossal pile of decomposing bodies like a herd of dead elephants.
That ship… no one on that ship was going to make it back…
As I entered the terminal with its blessed filtered air and the windows between me and the ship, I turned and looked at the line stretching behind me. Passengers laughing. Chatting. Dressed in their finest. Flirting. Teasing. Buzzing with excitement. Old and young couples. Children.
Everyone on this ship is going to die…
... and I’m the only one who knows…

With Rashid, Ed, Akuma and newcomer AKI joining in as DLCs, I’m thinking about how my wishlist will be like for SF6 in the future.
Here’s mine, starting with the veterans. as they are for story purposes:

1. Sakura Kasugano: Where's she been after SFV and while missing out on Third Strike?
2. Karin Kanzuki: Same with Sakura
3. Sean Matsuda: After Third Strike, wonder what changes have been made for him? Will get some Brazilian Jiu-jutsu from his sister? Would be nice to see him wear Ken's SFV look.
4. Elena: Love to have the capoeirsta of Kenya return! Wonder what changes will be made for her?
5. Dudley: The British boxer to return and maybe face Ed.
6. Ibuki: Wonder what she's been up to after Third Strike? Do you see rivalry between her and Kimberly?
7. Makoto: The Rindo-kai Dojo must've progressed.
8. Menat: She must've furthered her soul power abilities after Rose. Hope she's matured.
9. Sagat/Adon/"Successor": Whether it's Sagat, Adon or Sagat's successor, it'd be nice for Muay Thai to return in SF6. Sagat needs to come back, otherwise he leaves himself a successor. If male, he'd be based off of Tony Jaa. If female, she'd be based off of Jeeja Yanin. Adon? Depends on how he's developed after SFIV.
10. Vega/"Successor": Should the Spanish matador ninja return? What's he been doing outside of Third Strike? Otherwise we end up with a successor of his.
11. Hakan/"Successor": The Turkish oil wrestler. Whether male/female, should Hakan pass on his style to another?
12. Rolento F. Schugerg/"Successor": Wonder what he's up to? Otherwise we end up with a successor.
13. Sodom/"Successor": Same question for Rolento.
14. Alex: As a Hulk Hogan-inspired fighter who's both wrestler & kickboxer, what'll he be up to after Third Strike? Be nice to see if Marisa will take him instead of Zangief. Be nice if he shared with her about Gill for what he did to his life.
15. Poison/Roxy: Whether Poison or Roxy, would be nice to see the other female take a turn. Wonder how she'll be different from Poison?
16. Cody Travers: The new mayor of Metro City after Mike Haggar. What's next for him? No jailtime again please! Would be good to see if he meets his new soulmate, whether he and Jessica get back together again.
17. Urien: Wonder what's next for him after the Illuminati?
18. Remy: Should he return as he's the only Savate fighter we've got from France. Manon hasn't been seen connecting with him and Abel.
19. Oro: Wonder what the Senjutsu fighter's been up after training Ryu?

And here are the newcomers!

1. (Pencack) Silat Fighter: Whether male or female: If female, she'd be based off of actresses Malaysian actresses Ismi Melinda and Fify Azmi from the movie Wira, as the female fighter be from Malaysia. If male, he'd be based off of Iko Uwais.
2. Australia Fighter: It all depends on his/her style. MMA? Kung Fu? Wrestling? Or whatever style that suits this individual, as we got no Aussie fighter in SF yet! I go for Aikido/Aiki-jujutsu on this one!
3. Okichitaw Fighter: We'll need a REAL Canadian fighter. Like an Indigenous one in the style of Okichitaw. From the Cree tribe.
4. Vovinam Fighter: Male/Female, depends. We don't have a fighter from Vietnam yet!
5. Butthan Fighter: Male/Female. We'll need a fighter from Bangladesh! Check out fighter Mak Yuree!
6. Bokator Fighter: A Cambodian fighter, try Jean-Paul Ly.
7. Kalarippyattu Fighter: From India, as we've got Dhalsim as a yoga master, why not introduce a female Indian fighter from Bollywood in the style of Kalarippyattu! She could have a teacher based after Vidyut Jammwal.
8. Rival School Guest Character: Whether Akira Kazama comes back, or another Rival Schools joins the fray. It'd be nice to see whether some of the students went to college/university or new jobs. Batsu Ichimonji would be nice.
9. Krav Maga Fighter: Depends on how Krav Maga goes. Whether Israel be used or another place whether in the Middle East or not.
10. Filipino/Filipina Fighter: Whether the fighter does Eskrima or a Manny Pacquiao-based fighter who uses Suntukan.

What's your wishlist on SF6's DLCs?

How are yall doing this summer? I'm planning on still doing school this summer. Have a lot to catch up on. Also swimming pools 🤗 and hopefully doing some organizing around my community. Homeschooling is great. I love how can pick out my schedules. This post is so random. Anyways hi

Ok before this starts i should give some context minimax is a Serbian kids channel which is mostly for movies and cartoons it's still going and cartoons are mostly low payed cartoons.
Minimax was and still is a kids channel it's still running. You don't need cable for it thare were cartoons like master raindrop, Marta the dog that talks and Masha and a bear the shows were mostly cute with life messages no horror or scary aspects. The horror begin
after 20:00, it was kinda like adult swim but they had a little bit of a filter the only rule is that no matter what no gore and no corn, but by my knowledge no one was looking for no one was looking for what movies and shows were playing you could take request for what was playing. Anyways the people that we are mostly was requesting hardcore corn. one show that played every night it was playing at exactly 20:05 it only lasted for about 10 minutes but some episode lasted as long for an hour it was kinda like an intro first of it started Like any show on thare next thing you know all of the characters are missing it was just Rolling shots about the back ground that was the only the first 5 minutes always the same premise it was in first person you were always getting in but not in your own house...
Some kids that were watching the some other program the man slowly grabbed them as soon as he did the other showed rolled all of that was actually a made show telling kids not to stay up at night the main man who filmed edited and "captured" the kids was just a nice man the kids were mostly his cousins sisters and brothers and other kid actors but one kid never got found
He wasn't captured during the production this kids name was Milos narkovic he got captured after the school the question is who did it the principal said he got sick so his "parent" came and pick him then he simply entered in the green bmw and just went on his way his parents has been looking for him since October 4 2015
He was never found dead but neither alive he was just missing the shows name was blank since that was the first 5 minutes pure shell of a cartoon
I remember this ever since I saw him in the class for the last time Im not a teacher either a student I was just thare ask yourself why would I know what Color the bmw or how did I know he edited and filmed...
So everyone what do you think about my firsts creepypasta my first idea was for nickelodeon resort hotel creepypasta inspired by abandoned by Disney.

Hello all!
I’m in a weird place in life. One of my best friends just had his first son. One is getting married in September. One just moved in with his long time girlfriend. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking for a romantic partner. I am aware that this isn’t the sub for things like that, but I just wanted to share some info about why I think I’m hyper fixated on my loneliness. I know there are other single people out there and I’m not alone but it doesn’t really help.
A little about me. I’m a full time student. I’m currently working full time during summer break. I decided last year to return to school as a 30 year old to study what I want and not what society or my parents deemed important. I’m from a small east coast town. I now live in the south. I enjoy pretty much all outdoor activities. I used to hike quite a bit and I owned a kayak for a few years. I also enjoy camping, natural trails/walks and swimming. I wouldn’t say I’m a movie buff but I’m pretty into movies. I’m a foodie. I love to travel and have been to 29 countries. I ride my bike often, I like to long board every now and then. I take great photos (but not a photographer) and I love long drives. I’ve been journaling quite a bit lately so I’m not opposed to writing letters.
I’ll save the rest for later. Shoot me a message if I sound like your type of guy. Im being pretty vulnerable thanks to being in this weird space. I just wanna meet someone that I’m excited to message when I wake up or excited to see a message from them. Just trying to figure this life thing out. Not trying to make this post seem pitiful. I promise I’m okay. nervous laughter

Sincerely
Ba-doh, ba-doh, ba-doh, ba-doh-ba
Sincerely, oh yes, sincerely
'Cause I love you so dearly, please say you'll be mine
-The Moonglows
Part I - The End
This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. If I keep saying it maybe it will be true.
But it was happening. Tough times. Humpty Dumpty times. Out of gas in the desert with no bars times.
And, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse than a Tijuana root canal; she walked in. Out of the sweltering Mexican heat, into the dim bar, she came; the only thing standing between me and the blinding light. I heard a couple of gunshots somewhere in the distance.
I still remember how the sun illuminated my 2pm rise and shine, shit-faced full of no caffeine afternoon after, hair of the dog; tequila shot and beer. Like I said, tough times on the Ponderosa, Hoss.
Every time I think of that moment, I stand transfixed in time. Unable to move, frozen in-place tighter than a suckered kid’s tongue to a Chicago lamppost in a February ice storm. Maggie had long ago won my heart’s devotion only to betray both me, and it, in ways still inconceivable to my sauce pan of a brain.
So, a couple of months ago, my life in post-apocalyptic ruin, I did what any red-blooded American would do; I flew across the border to CDMX to drown my sorrows in tequila and cheap living. And now, incomprehensibly, here she was; back, again like the September monsoon. Had the bitch air tagged me?
It seemed with Maggie my heart’s devotion was not enough. Everything she wanted and received soon became a dull knife; just ain’t cutting. Mags had to have it all, all the time. And I thought she had gotten all of me and more. Who’d think she’d want to pick at the carcass? But inexplicably, there she was like my constant migraine, the one that never really left the base of my skull.
Without a word Mags swooped in close like she missed me and now hadda kiss me.
Then, quicker than lightning showing off, she plunged her delicate-boned hand deep into my chest. She then removed it with even greater alacrity holding it high above her jet-black mane. She waved it for all the bar to see, my still beating corazón in it, color-coordinating against it’s will with her manicure, making what looked like vague Italian gestures.
Nobody in the bar paid us any mind.
I, on the other hand, couldn’t help but avert my horrified gaze into my now exposed chest cavity, only to witness darkness within darkness gazing back at me.
“Heyyyyyy,” a voiceless voice greeted and saluted.
I looked up at Maggie. She took the seat opposite mine. Then reaching over with her free hand commandeered my tequila and knocked it back quick. Her encore was to grab my beer and drain it with all the mud she could muster into my eye. Then, with a satisfied look she dropped the now emptied bottle on the wooden table hard enough to make a thud.
Maggie then met my stare. My cardia beating peripatetically in her freshly manicured right-hand she made an elaborate shrug, her face smug as a tyrant’s fart.
I remembered wondering what the fuck was keeping my cardio so vascular. It sure as fuck wasn’t clean living. Then, that voiceless voice had yet more to say.
“Now what, Spenser?” it asked.
Now, it was now my turn to shrug. Surprisingly, despite being a now certifiably heartless son of a bitch, I, too, had something to say. So, I said it.
“You’re fucking diabolical, Maggie.”
My words of judgment echoed clear, permeating deep into the abyss, then back again at Maggie. She caught my words easier than a kitten catches smiles. She just shrugged again. It was starting to get annoying.
“You ruined me,” I added just to be doing something.
The shrug undulated down from her tan and toned shoulder through her arm, finally coming to a full stop at her finger’s tips.
Waving my heart at me with more vague Italian gestures Mags asked, “How can you be so sure, Spenser?”
Part II – The Middle
Sincerely, oh you know how I love you
I'll do anything for you, please say you'll be mine
...
This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. My new mantra wasn’t working.
Six months ago, I thought Maggie was the answer to my dreams.
Swooping down like an angel to shower me with attention and affection. Dinners with wine. Hot sex. More hot sex. No strings attached. Getting to know you pillow talk.
Now, there’s one thing I need to add. I met her through a dating app but as it turned out we both worked for the same nonprofit. We didn’t know each other as it’s a fairly big company but it turned out I supported the code for both her projects. This turned out to be one of many coincidences.
We both hated our jobs. We both liked writing short stories but never could sell a thing despite writing dozens and dozens. We both could dance salsa, on 1 and 2 and loved to hablar en español que no era muy guapo.
We both wanted to run away to Mexico city and live the Bohemian life.
Coincidences like we both grew up in NYC and had issues with our respective families of origin. And while she was Chinese-American and I was Russian-American both our fathers were born in the same year and were obsessed with Woody Allen. We both had much younger siblings we didn’t speak to.
Yeah, we had both grown up with weak fathers and selfish narcissistic mothers in common. And worser still, we had both experienced unstable living situations in high school. In my case, I was kicked out of the house for smoking weed.
In Maggie’s case, I never really was sure what went down but the best I could get out of her was at 13 she got pissed at her mom for cheating on her dad and left the house with nowhere to go. She ended up with family friends or relatives but the details were always murky and I was not the nosey type.
Her words to me were, “My mother’s emotional IQ is low. I raised myself.”
Impressively, she had made it through the Ivy League and seemed to be someone down to earth I could spend time with. But truth be told from the minute I saw her profile picture I was hotter than a Texas chili sprout for her.
It was some kind of primal attraction I thought I was long past entertaining. It wasn’t lust. It wasn’t love. It was like the thought of coming home to a family I never knew I had or that even could exist.
This shit made old me feel like young me again. But, as oft is the case in life, there was a problem. I was old, broke and probably about to lose my job. I was in IT and I was having problems with my manager being a psychopath; for reals.
It wasn’t mere conjecture as he had a reputation of getting people fired, or worse, making their lives so miserable they would quit; even with no prospects. I had been the focus of his sabotaging efforts and it had been having a bad effect on my mental and physical well-being.
This had taken a turn for the worse and I was catching a lot of passive aggressive hostility on the project Maggie supported.
Anyway, she was the bright spot in my otherwise mostly solitary and emotionally bleak life. And she lived nearby. She had an ex and kids and shared custody but I never met them and she didn’t really talk much about it except to say once, “You should need a license to have kids.”
I never had quite known what to make of some of the things she said, but like I said, I was under her spell. And I liked it.
And the icing on top? I had a dominant kinky side and that was a fire Maggie poured gasoline on every chance she got. She was worse than an arsonist in Underoo Town.
One weird thing about Mags was her knitting habit. If we weren’t fucking or eating she was knitting. Even at restaurants and bars.
One day in November, with the sun golden in a sky so blue you thought you could touch it I asked, “What are you knitting?”
Maggie gave me a wry look. She got out of her chair and seemed to be examining my bald head which I had shaved just that morning.
“A hat,” she replied.
But as the holidays rolled around things started to change. One Sunday morning as we were having coffee Maggie looked around the crowded steamy café.
“Everybody’s hooking up for the holidays,” she remarked.
I didn’t really know what to do with that one so I let it be.
But as the days went on there was a change in the weather. Fewer texts. Less sex. Maggie going out of town to some vague destination. Sending me sexy pictures of herself in Santa outfits after I caught the flu during Christmas.
A few days after Christmas I got a text late one night.
“Is it okay if I come by?”
“Very okay,” was my reply.
Maggie showed up with chocolate, red wine and the hat she had been knitting. Orange Afghani wool softer than a golden retriever’s fur. She put the hat on my head and then removed all my clothes.
“Let’s celebrate Christmas, Spenser.”
And, we did.
When we were done and lying head-to-head, I said, “I love my hat.”
Maggie said, “I made it especially for you. No matter what, don’t lose it.”
It was another one of those weird Maggie things she said, like, “I used to shoplift,” and shit like that.
I nodded.
“Promise me you’ll hold on to your hat, Spenser.”
“I promise.”
Maggie observed my face, then nodded as if confirming something to herself.
“Okay.”
Then we did that thing again.
That was the pinnacle. Things quickly went downhill for no reason I could discern. Texts unanswered and when answered; kind of abrupt-like. Being unavailable. Stuff with her kids. Time away in Connecticut for some vague reason. After that I began feeling like the weakest card in a gambler’s hand.
But Maggie kept shoe horning me in at odd times, giving me just enough crumbs to keep me on the hook. And as we rode the roller coaster down everything always seemed to center around alcohol. And sex. More and more debauched sex. Finally, by New Year’s Eve things were getting straight-up weird no chaser.
“You know that thing we talked about?”
By her tone I knew what she meant. I nodded cautiously.
“You want to try it?”
Maggie dropped a smile on me that would have had the serpent in the garden applying for unemployment.
“Yes,” she said.
So, we did.
I thought I had been imagining things. I thought we were back at the pinnacle. I could feel the love drug course through my veins. Things couldn’t be better. Or, so I thought.
Oh Lord, won't you tell me why
I love that girlie so
The Following Monday
The next Monday I was called into what turned out to be the most fucking bizarre moment of my fifty-eight years on this planet; and I’ve had some bizarre fucking moments growing up in south Brooklyn in the 1970’s; believe you me.
The company’s CIO, compliance officer, head of legal, head of HR and my evil manager, Conte Rugen were all in attendance, cameras ROLLING.
It appears I was being dismissed after 8 years loyal service for sexual assault, extortion, harassment, hate speech, insults to farm animals and every fucking other offense against God and man one could commit in these holiest of holy United States of America.
And just who had I… who had I.. victimized? Who had I preyed upon? Harassed? Gone full nutso on?
Maggie.
They had the goods. Recordings. Video. Ropes. Whips. Chains. Bad Spanglish. Maggie screaming, “No, papi! No!!!!”
I believe I was, what is known in legal parlance as, summarily fucked.
Nobody wanted to hear my side. How things were taken out of context. Things we had mutually consented to out of exciting and bonding trust and exploration.
“Did I have consent agreement?” I parroted back in shock to the head of legal.
“Did you get one when you fucked your mother in the ass before she shat you out?” I added just to keep my mouth from puking.
I was in bombshell shock. Maggie was my angel. Our situationship was supposed to be fucking healing from our abused childhoods and here I am now some kind of Tarantinoesque, Mr. Fucking Rapist? And my fucking manager once bragging about throwing a cat out a window when he was a juvenile delinquent?!?
There would be charges pressed. I would need an attorney. I might be arrested.
And it all happened faster than you can say, “Blue Monday, How I hate Blue Monday”.
And then Maggie sued the company. Take no fucking prisoners, Maggie. Disco-fucking-inferno burn that mother down we don’t need no water let the motherfucker burn Maggie. I wondered if her ex had been left on food stamps after the divorce.
A few months and my life savings and retirement account after that the criminal case got pleaded down to misdemeanor assault and I was able to arbitrate with my employer and Maggie’s lawyer leaving me with some clothes, my passport and precisely enough plastic to fly into the sweltering Mexican heat. So, fly into it I did.
Part III – The Beginning
Sincerely, oh you know how I love you
I'll do anything for you, please say you'll be mine
Oh Lord, won't you tell me why
I love that girlie so
She doesn't want me
But I'll never never never never let her go
...
“I wish you’d stop waving that thing at me,” I said gesturing at my heart with my chin.
“You’re still upset,” Maggie said. It wasn’t a question.
“You fucking abused me. You fucking eviscerated me. Yeah, you could say I’m a little perturbed.”
“But you’re still wearing the hat,” she said smiling.
“It’s a bad ass hat,” I said. It was after all. Why cut off your nose to spite your face?
“I put a lot of time and thought into it,” she said. My heart continued to beat in her hand.
...
Oh Lord, won't you tell me why
I love that girlie so
She doesn't want me
But I'll never never never never let her go
...
“Look,” she said waving my heart at me.
“I really wish you wouldn’t wave that around like that.”
The voice in the abyss in my chest spoke. It said, “Wait for it.”
Maggie said, “Spenser, you poor fucking sap. You hate your fucking job. You try to do the right fucking thing and speak up and you get kicked around like a dog. You try to love hard and you get beat up and left in an alley. You try to write books and start businesses and you end up bankrupt or dead.
And now look at you! You don’t have a care in the fucking world. You don’t have a shitty job. You are in beautiful Mexico City with the girl of your dreams. You say your heart was hardened? Well, I say it feels pretty fucking soft and sweet to me. Like the hat I knitted you. With the pom pom. And you know what?”
“What?” I heard myself murmur?
The abyss in my chest said, “Yeah, what?”
“Well, one the fucking pom pom has a beacon so I knew where you were the whole fucking time you sap. So I can tell you this true. And I will. So here I am in fucking Mexico sweating my tits off. And I am telling you this," she said nodding at my cardio, "is a very good heart. And I am putting it back where it belongs.
There is nothing wrong with it and now nobody can hurt it again. And if you want to write a book now you have something, and someone,” she added with a wry smile, “to write about.”
Then lightning quick Maggie put it back in my chest and removing her hand made a quick flourish gesturing for the waitress.
“Botella de tequila, por favor!”
I looked down at my chest. Everything seemed to be the way it had been before she ripped out my heart. Only different.
I was about to speak. Maggie raised a hand.
The waitress appeared like a wraith and put down a bottle of Don Julio and two fresh shot glasses and two cold ones.
Maggie poured two shots and pushed one at me with the hand that had been holding my cardio captive. She then fished around in her pocket and found her phone.
“What the fuck, right," that's what your thinking, Spenser. Yeah, what the fuck is right. Look at this baby boy,” she said and then pushed her phone next to the shot glass.
I was looking at what appeared to be a bank balance that appeared ready, willing and able to face fuck an extraordinarily tall giraffe. I felt the migraine disappear like a bad dream.
Maggie gave me a wry smile.
She pushed the shot glass closer to me and picked hers up. I felt my elbow bending. It felt okay.
She tilted her shot at me and said, "Here's looking at you, kid," and took the shot. I drank mine.
We put our glasses down.
“You can negotiate anything," she said, then added, "sincerely.”
And then, then she kissed me.
Oh say you'll be mine
Oo-eee, oo-eee-oo, ooi-ooi-ooo
Sincerely

I think this would have been a 1970s low budget horror movie I saw on television in the early to mid 1980s, where the protagonist is a schoolboy. It is somewhat like Carrie by Steven King he is tormented by his peers and ends up possessed by a demon flying around and killing people. Does this ring any bells as to what it was called?

We have a 4yo.boy, 2yo girl, wife is a sahm.
We just had swim lessons where my kids basically got everyone else to stop being stern, which happens every time. The 2yo(girl) would do her regular thing by saying "you can do it!!" encouraging other kids. My 4yo would outdo her with extremely loud high fives. Everyone would go from unhappy to happy right away. We moved from Poland to the USA hoping other kids would be as loud and energetic because.. USA, but nope. At open swim where students taking swim lessons for free could swim, most other parents were getting their kids to swim and practice. My kids hate doing that so we practice 10% of the time, 90% of the time they want to tickle each other or their parents. The other parents look angry, their kids aren't laughing, usually crying. Swim instructor says the kids are doing ok.
I'm just wondering if maybe we're not strict enough? I will discipline with timeout and that's usually effective. They also don't go to preschool but the 4yo will start pre kindergarten aka TK, this year. He counts up to 20 but i think other kids in preschool can write their name by this age.
He does have tantrums like he wants it to be his birthday not another kids, so he has a tantrum. He's better at birthdays now but those parents want nothing to do with us now. Or he wanted to do X at the playground by himself etc, and it happens every week but then timeout for a few minutes when we talk about it and he's calm. Happens less and less often.
Are we messing up as parents and setting them up for failure by being too permissive? My thought is the kids will have 12+ years of schooling, we're going to have fun while we can.

I've been homeschooling my daughter for almost 4 years now. We're Filipinos living in the UK for 18years+. And what really helped me is when I decided to get a homeschool provider (PH based). Just this week I was scrolling through FB and I saw a lot of posts from parents in the UK struggling because school is not meant for their kids and homeschool providers here are expensive. I thought if I were to open a homeschooling agency and hire Filipinos it would help both sides. For example, live online classes (british curriculum) for year 3 4hours daily, 4 days a week in all subjects for £50/monthly (this price is roughly 64hrs worth of lessons based on 4 weeks) subscription. You can cancel anytime. Thoughts?

​
I have brought this up numerous times in varying degrees, but it just lingers. I went to a one room SDA church school 1st through 7th grade. I then transferred to an SDA academy 8th through 10th grade. Both schools were predominantly white. This statement will play in later to my post. In that time, I was constantly reminded we were the one true church and non-SDA would persecute to the point of beatings and killing me if I left the circle. Throughout that time, my dad felt it appropriate to tell me if I didn't behave, he would send me to the local public school, and they would "straighten" me out. He always hovered that over me as a scare tactic like an older sibling picking on a younger one. Non-SDA kids were scarry to me...like some demonic presence in a horror movie.
Toward the end of 10th grade, the academy decided to no longer offer grades 11th and 12th. The closest to my area that offered those two grades was over the State line and far too expensive for my family to afford.
I remember my parents taking me in to register at the local public high school and I was petrified. It was almost like an out of body experience. I would plead with my parents to send me to the out of State SDA academy and I would somehow figure out how to make it work. Maybe work odd jobs to pay tuition. I reminded my parents that I will be persecuted and killed. But in hindsight, they knew that was all BS scare tactics. They also denied ever telling me they would send me to public school as a punishment.
That first day of school, I drove myself. I had my license by then. I damn near had a wreck because I was starting to have panic attacks. I just knew I was going into the pits of hell where God would test me as an Adventist. I accepted the fact that I would most likely die, and I made my peace with God.
There I was sitting in first period. My fellow classmates were NICE. They were socialable. They did not persecute me. The same with each period. One of these classes was biology. I sat, and not to sound racist, in the midst of black students. I thought, damn these are gang members, and this is where is going to happen! Nope. I sat next to the biggest guy I had ever sat next too. I think he was a football player. I was respectful to him, and he to me. Hell, I even helped him on a couple of questions on assignments.
My last class of the day. Junior English. I picked a seat and was surrounded by metal heads! Hell, this is where it going to happen. One guy had long black hair and wore a t-shirt with a skull...or maybe he had a skull earring or skull necklace. He turned to look at me. I anticipated the worst. He said, "hey what's up!" in the friendliest voice. I introduced myself, and the others introduced themselves. I was floored! I thought well, maybe tomorrow it will happen. The persecution.
I can't remember the next few days, but nothing sinister happened. That is when the anxiety attacks really kicked in. When was the persecution going to start! I can't take this shit. I got sick. I started having stomach cramps and severe constipation...sorry for the TMI. I ended up having to go on home study because I just couldn't deal with reality now.
I can't recall how long I was on home study. I may have been out the first part of the semester of 11th grade. My dad started talking to me about just dropping out and going to work for the postal service or something like that. My mom took me to a doctor. I told the doctor about all of the above, the threats of persecution and just waiting for the inevitable. My mom jumped into being and SDA apologist and said they never told me I would be persecuted nor that they would send me to public school for punishment.
I eventually went back to the public school to finish the second semester of 11th grade and 12th grade. It was like seeing colors for the first time. I went on dates. I had girlfriends. I hung out with other kids on the weekends. I had a job. Those first two years was such a massive oxytocin hit that those memories bounce around in my head daily 30 years later. Hell, I can still see images and conversations associated with this post like it happened a couple of days ago.
Now don't get me wrong. It was not a cake walk. What I did not realize, from a maturity perspective, I was emotionally behind everyone else. They had experienced things years ago that I was just now experiencing. There were social interactions I could not comprehend. Nothing catastrophic, but I wish I could have handled better. This is something not exclusive to the SDA Church. I knew a couple of girls from different denominations where one was almost 40 before getting married looking for the perfect Christian man and another, almost 50, who has never married due to the same situation. I learned this just recently, the one who is almost 50 told me she had a crush on me in high school and wanted me to ask her out. However, her Church told her no because I was of a different religion.
Religion can be very toxic regardless of the denomination. The deeper you are in, the more water above your head to swim out...and most don't realize they are drowning.
So, my point to this post, primarily for myself. Writing on this subreddit organizes my thoughts. Second, for you readers that are still in the church school system. One day you will get out. And it will hit you like a ton of bricks, but not via persecution, but the realization of the lies you were told about the outside world and the dismay of being emotionally behind everyone else...which can make new situations harder to process. My advice is to not take things too seriously and don't use Adventist doctrine as a grid for measure. Read posts such as mine and others. Third, for those who had similar experience and simply use this post as affirmation.
I could ramble on, but my smoker is running, and I have ribs, bologna, and sausages cooking.
Just one final note, my senior year I started rapidly dissociating myself with the Church itself.

hello i'm new to reddit + to the best of my knowledge there isn't a more suitable place to post this so! i hope i'm not posting to the wrong place but if i am please redirect me to where i should :] thank you in advance & i apologize in advance for the long post!
to preface this i should mention i had surgery ~five years ago. i had an infection (osteomyelitis) in my left leg so the scar from surgery spans from my thigh to my calf. i've had limited mobility w/ my leg ever since (it bends to around 100 degrees now i think).
i had physical therapy in the hospital after surgery, & once i got out (atp i could get in/out of a car from a wheelchair + walk a decent distance w/ a walker), i had p.t. weekly until quarantine hit. i've since regained my ability to do daily activities (walk, run, etc) in the meantime, i went to the athletic trainer's room on schooldays (i'm a student athlete) for exercises to improve my mobility. i can't access this anymore as school's out now & summer practice isn't for another month.
during quarantine, i was cleared from more appointments w/ those in charge of my condition during surgery + recovery, excluding my physical therapist but including the surgeon. i haven't returned to p.t. since & am only just working on getting back to it

mobility Qs

a) whenever i bend my knee, you can hear sounds of (& i can feel) my kneecap, i guess, grinding against the bone. is this a normal experience? & if, when i (hopefully) regain most of my mobility back again, will i still hear / feel this?
*if anyone's curious, for,,,, whatever reason idk, here's a vocaroo link (both) (in, out) of what bending my knee sounds like (idk why it sounds like that either, it sounds crunchier there than it does irl)
b) how long did it take for you to regain your (full, or as far as you could get (& if the latter, how far)) mobility? do you have any stretches you can do at home to recommend?
c) is it hard for you to 'recover' from being in one position for a while? after bending my knee to its limit, i usually have to 'take it slow' when straightening out. will this ever get better? or will there always be a 'wait time'? does your knee also ever start feeling 'heavy' or stiff after being in the same position for a while?

etc Qs

a) has anyone lost / damaged their nerves after surgery? how long did it take to recover?
i don't remember if it was like this immediately after, but there's a layer of skin (i can feel deeper in) above my knee that's desensitized + i asked my athletic trainer about it & did not get a straight answer,,, i think he said i might get it back in a couple years? however i'm not completely sure so i'd love to hear other experiences
b) do you also feel stiffness around your knee sometimes?
for me, it feels like a heavy weight. i hesitate to only categorize it as numbing, or stiffness or as a dull pain, or as something paralyzing, bc it feels like all. it gets worse when i tense my knee. i have this instinctive feeling that this is it wanting to bend fully but obviously i can't,,, do that. < if you do feel this, how do you relieve it? >
c) are you active in anything? how do you deal w/ it? how do you avoid blaming / getting mad at your knee for not being 'normal'?
i'm in water polo, trying to get involved in dance, & quit swim. my experiences w/ sports became negative after surgery. (i found an entire swim stroke was out of the question for me. my limited mobility meant my ex-coach brushed over a foundation of water polo w/me.) so i'm not having high hopes for dance (despite how much i'd like to do it) bc of my lack of mobility how do you get through such doubts, feelings of making trouble for your instructor, & feelings of burden?
d) do you experience pain on your knee that did not go through surgery? my athletic trainer mentioned the pain i feel occasionally when bending my right knee is bc it's compensating for my left one, but it's a new development (which he didn't have an answer as to why, as far as i recall)
e) anything recommended for easing scar tissue? i was told to massage it using lotion, going down the scar, but i'd like to hear if there's anything else i can try
f) how do you deal w/ the mental aspect? it really sucks not being able to do things i could've done prior at all, or normally, like some moves in dance , or even just comfortably sitting w/ my legs crossed. how do you deal w/ the envy of it all? of having activities taken away from you?
​
again, i apologise for the long post! i've been deprived of even a single person to share my experiences with / ask these sorts of questions to, so please bear with me;;

Preference is to stay in the Edina, Richfield, bloomington area. I am looking to relocate back to the area after being away for a year. Had to leave for personal/financial reasons. Now my kids were going to a charter school. Great education but they weren't big on sports. The sports were co ed with boys and girls playing together. I'm looking for a school which has a girls track, gymnastics, and swim team. My daughter loves to run track and loves to swim. I'm not sure how Edina is now but I wouldn't want my kid being the only black person in the classroom. But then Richfield Middle is really bad and wouldn't dare send my kid there.

An E in America is a failing grade yet it is seen as a 0-59.99% which is a passing grade in Europe edit: I meant the 50-59.99% is a passing grade

I am female, 19 years old. This is just a throwaway account because I really wanted to get this out of my chest. I have no one else to openly say this to without being told I am beautiful just the way I am or to just stop complaining because truly, or that I am fatphobic. But I don't feel beautiful as I am now. Ever since I was born, I have always been overweight. It had been bringing my self-esteem lower and lower as I grew up. Although when I look back at my childhood photos and realize I wasn't obese, just a bit fat and curvy, my body image issues only got worse when I moved to a new country and new school. When I moved here, I ate a lot because of my Major Depressive Disorder as a coping mechanism. I went out with my family, ate all kinds of unhealthy foods. I binge eat whatever I can find when I am stressed and can't seem to control my urge to scarf down whatever. And within an year, I went from 69 kg (I used to be 78 kg but after I had my period for two months straight and got scolded by a doctor to lose weight, so I lost it just by drinking lots of water everyday) to 115 kg. And I hate myself for it, for not being careful, because I hate how I look. I hate my body, I don't want to be in this skin. Every day in school, my hatred for myself only grows when I see all the other girls in my grade. With their skinny, fit bodies and the privileges that come with it, such as guys actually being attracted to them, they can wear bikinis or any swim suits, they can wear the clothes I wish I could wear. They can post on instagram with confidence, they can love them self and how beautiful they are. But all I can wear are oversized T-shirts to hide my big belly and jeans to keep my tummy at bay. (If only I have ways to hide my fat hips and triple chin too). Seeing all the other girls, all I can wish for is to have a body like them. I wish I can be as beautiful and desirable as them. I wish I can know what's it like to be attracted to by a guy and date them. But I ruined it all. It's all my fault and I am facing the consequences of my actions. Around last year December, I went to a gynecologist because my period hasn't stopped since it started in November (it's still going on right now, meaning I had my period for 7 months). She told me I have polycystic ovary syndrome but she can't give me any contraceptives because I was too young, so I need to lose weight. She wanted me to see a nutritionist but I couldn't do that because my mom and dad didn't have enough money to support me. I tried and tried to get into a diet but it all gets ruined when I give in to my utge and have something unhealthy. I swam for a month straight but lost my motivation to continue when I saw no changes in my body. It's been months of trying and giving up and trying and giving up and I feel like I am going nowhere. I tried a few times to get into going to the gym but was only able to do so for a few days before it broke. I just went to the gym for the first time today for weight training, but it was hard I don't know if I can continue to do it. It only made me feel worse and more hopeless. I feel hopeless. I feel like I will be stuck in this body forever, doomed to look at other people and wish I was as skinny and pretty as them. I've been feeling this way for so long yet I am desperate, so desperate that I have been begging my mom to get me contraception to get rid of my PCOS so I can lose weight easily,or get a gastric sleeve surgery. But of course, she said no. I will be going to university soon, but I don't want to go like this. I want to go in a body that I am comfortable in, I want be beautiful and have the privilege to be attractive, to have an interesting love life. I want to be happy. But I feel hopeless. I feel like I can't do this, and I never will ever get what I so wish for more than anything else.

I'll preface this by saying I know very little about fishkeeping as I'm very new to it! It's my birthday today and my parents got me 2 glowlight tetras and put them in my 5 gallon tank (which is cycled, though I've been running it empty for like 9 months as I just kept forgetting to buy anything myself ahaha). I got the tank for snails and shrimp only, and I've read that tetras are schooling fish that need a minimum of 10 gallons, so right now I'm stressed and they probably are too :( I've tried making the tank as inhabitable for them as I can for now (spaces to hide, as much room as I could possible make for them to swim, etc) but I'd like to buy a 10 gallon and some more tetras (I've heard 6-7 in a 10 gallon?) so they can be happy.
The only thing is I can't afford to right this moment (fish tanks are so expensive??) and I have no idea how long they'll survive if they are stressed? They're not erratic by any means and they're at least not alone, and I should be able to afford a proper 10 gallon and some friends for them by the end of this week; will they be okay that long? Would I be better off keeping them in a big bucket or something? Will a 10 gallon be okay or should I try to go oven bigger? And in wanting to move them to a better environment quickly, what would be the best way to cycle a new tank? Would using all the cycled water from my 5 gallon and then topping up with tap water, filter boost and tap safe be adequate?
My main worry is space; I live in a flat and I'm likely going to be putting my new tank on the windowsill (with the blinds closed since it's summer and the sunlight will probably be a bit harsh lol), in theory it has the space to hold like 3 of my 5 gallon tanks but given how heavy full fish tanks are I'd like to get one as small as possible that can house tetras in a way that they'll thrive. I do have some floor space I could get creative with but don't want to put the tank on the floor, so suggestions for alternative places one might put a fish tank are also welcome lol. I'm also a bit worried about electricity costs; is running 2 fish tanks (a 5 and 10(?) gallon) together noticably more expensive than running just the 5? I can't take the tetras back - that was my first thought - and I actually love the little guys, which is why I'm currently holding out for a bigger tank as soon as I'm able to ahaha
Sorry if I sound super naive in this post, again I'm new to this and I'm kinda sad that this has happened in the first place, the poor things. I intend on keeping my 5 gallon for my amanos and some snails, though, cuz it's kinda high maintenance and it's been insanely good for my anxiety in a weird way, since I can just obsess over water parameters instead of like... everything else :') Thanks for any advice you can give, even if it's tough love because my mum just keeps telling me "they'll be fine once they get used to it" and I absolutely do not believe her after all the posts I've read here (but that sounds ungrateful, I'm still happy they thought to get me fish for my tank finally, I just wish the pet store they'd gone to had informed them better). Much love to all of you and all of your aquatic friends!

A warning before we begin this little journey:
This is going to be a long one. So grab your cup of whatever you prefer, sit down and get comfortable. You are going to be here awhile. Second warning, if you make it all the way to the end of this dissertation of mine you are going to find yourself closing your browser and saying to yourself, "That guy is as full of shit as a Christmas Turkey!". And to be honest, I wouldn't blame you in the least. Hell, I still can't believe it and I actually lived through that nightmare. Anyways let's get started shall we?
IN an effort towards full transparency, I am going to say for the record here and now.... Every day that I was in the Navy I just wanted to fucking die. Every single day. Not to say I ever considered suicide but I did often wonder if something bad happened to me if it wouldn't be preferable. Nobody hated the Navy more than me. And much like so many others here, I just wanted it to end. So much in fact, I tried to sue my way out. No really. I threatened and actually tried to bring a lawsuit against the U.S Navy for breach of contract.
I joined in late 1988. Like December of 88. Yes, I was so retarded I agreed to go to basic training at Great Lakes Illinois, December 21st. Yeah, you are already saying to yourself, "Yep...this guy really is an idiot". Correct you are sir! Needless to say we practically froze to death. Not something I care to repeat. Now my job going in was what was known as "AW". Or more correctly, "Anti-Submarine Warfare". There were three platforms for this. A Jet known as an S-3. A Helo and the much sought after P-3 Orion. Everyone wanted that P-3 because it kept you from ever climbing aboard a ship. Considering at that time they could not be launched from a carrier. Thankfully, I never had any of the three thrown at me. Fortunately I never got that far.
After the initial 8 week nightmare in Great Mistakes (is it still called that???) I was sent to Pensacola Florida where I was to complete what was then called, "Aircrew school". You may know this as the place those Navy instructors murdered Lee Mirecki by drowning him. A lovely place to be I can assure you. Somewhere during that ordeal down there I injured myself climbing a 12 foot wall. Although to what extent I wasn't fully aware at that time. I to this day cannot comprehend what running an obstacle course, climbing over walls and crawling through sand could possibly have anything to do with flying around in an airplane while hunting down submarines...but hey!! Welcome to the Navy right? After that fiasco where I learned that I could swim literally a mile in a flight suit, tread water for 30 minutes at a time...and quite literally almost drown in the helo-dunker... I was off to the dreaded Millington. I'd like to digress somewhat and say that through all of this...slowly day by day my attitude was going right the fuck downhill. To use an analogy, my entire outlook was going down faster than a 2nd cousin at a Tennessee family reunion. (And that's pretty fast!!) So I began looking a way out. But as hard as I tried, I couldn't find one. I never felt so trapped in my entire life. At that time all aviation schools were sent to Millington where you sat in a classroom day in and day out. Mine was no different. But my injury was getting worse. After my second trip to medical I was told there was no way I was going to be able to do my job. As potentially I could find myself in that same P-3 for up to 10-12 hours at a time. They told me, "Don't worry...we'll find you another job". Oh Shit! did I just stumble onto my exit?!?!? Things start looking up:
I was sent to the navy detailer. I don't have a precise definition of what this woman's job entails but we will call her career councilor for the Navy. While looking for a respectable way out of this God forsaken disaster I put myself in, I had read through my contract forwards and backwards. I knew exactly what it said and how it said it. I had my way out. (Yes dear gracey....there is a light at the end of the tunnel) In that contract it states that if something happens due to circumstances beyond my control, that make me ineligible for my job, that I have the choice of either reassignment or separation from the Navy. THERE WAS MY EXIT. When I mentioned this to the career councilor lady she said, "Well..I'm not sure if they will let you go". I informed her that if they didn't I was going to spend the rest of my enlistment suing the Navy. (And I meant it) She said she would get back to me in a few days. I immediately went to the lawyer we had on base and explained what was happening. He read the relevant part of the contract and then said that I was right. In fact, he stated that he doubted very seriously if this would even make it to court and that I was definitely getting screwed. However he made it very clear that he could not represent me as he was the Navy lawyer and could not represent me against his own employer. Fortunately, it never got that far.
The Phone rings:
I was working in the barracks 2 days later when she called me again. She said, "Ok Johnny, if that is what you want they agreed to let you go". I wanted to be very clear on this. I made sure we weren't talking about a general discharge or some other crap. An honorable discharge, no strings attached, right?!?!? She agreed and asked me to come to her office later that day. I put the phone down and went screaming down the hallway of our barracks. No really. I went running down the hallway screaming! People were sticking their heads out their doors and shit wondering what was wrong with me. They must have thought I was a fucking lunatic. My God, it was finally over!!!!
I arrived at her office and I signed a few things. She looked at me at one point and said, "Ya know Johnny I'm supposed to try and keep you in the Navy. Try to find you another job, etc. But in your case I don't think I'm even going to bother". I said nothing. (Did I mention it was finally over?)
I was then sent to some E-6 that does discharges. Yeoman I guess?? He had me sign some more crap, turn in a few things the Navy had given me such as my flight suit, flight jacket, k-bar knife, etc. He looks up and says, "You know...most people want to keep the leather flight jacket. If you just write down stolen/missing they will simply take it out of your final pay". I asked how much? He said it would be about 85 dollars. OH HELL NO!!! I told him he could keep it as I really didn't want ANY reminders of this nightmare!! You can have it all! I had actually brought my sea-bag and tried to offer him that as well but he said he didn't want it. He then stuffs everything that I signed and some other crap into a large envelope. He tells me that this will now take about 8 or 9 weeks for this to go through. I SHIT! I had been in the Navy long enough by then to know that nothing gets done in a few days, So I was not sure what I was expecting. But the horrifying prospect of this hell on Earth lasting another 8 to 9 weeks was more than I could fathom. I couldn't take another 8 - 9 weeks for shit sakes! I wanted to know just why in the hell does it have to take 8 or 9 weeks?!?! Apparently it had to go around and a bunch of people sign off on it. Some kind of inter-base company mail thing or some shit. And that's when I had an epiphany!!!!! Wait a minute, why can't I just take it to them?? Needless to say that E-6 looked at me like I had 3 eyes in my head and says, "Do you realize how many people have to sign off on this??". I explained that I could do it. Still not believing what I was proposing I was asked if I had a car. I had to tell him no. That's when he became what appeared to be disgusted. "Oh come on! You can't possibly walk this around the base!". I asked him if I could please be allowed to try. That if I failed what is the worst that can happen? I bring it back to him and he drops it in the mail right? After a few seconds of thought he says, "Well it's no skin off my ass if you want to walk all over hell's half acre....be my guest". And I began. Now there's not too many things that inspire men these days. Perhaps it's the quest for the holy grail. Archeologists trying to track down the Ark of the Covenant. Or in this case... the end of this nightmare!! The base at Millington is not some tiny outpost by any means. I walked. And I walked. I didn't stop to eat....nothing. I walked. The next day I was up and out the door and waiting at my next destination before they had even opened the doors. Nobody wanted out of the Navy as bad as I did! And I walked throughout the entire next day. And the next day....same thing. By 3:30 I was finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. My God, it was over. I dragged myself back to that Yeoman's office with everything in hand. He was shocked all to hell to see me. Or at least surprised I was still standing upright and not on a stretcher. I was done. He went through everything one last time and then shook his head....."Ok....you're done. I guess you are out of the Navy!". I said nothing. (probably shock???) I got up to leave and about the time I reached for the door he says to me, "I can't believe I'm getting you out of the Navy this quick". I almost completely lost my shit right then and there. I was so close to saying, "You fucking idiot! You didn't do anything! I'm the sonofabitch that is going to need 4 days to recover from that hike you sent me on! All you did was sit behind your desk these last 3 days and gain 10 pounds!!". But I thought better of it. I figured he would try to get me for insubordination even though I wasn't in the Navy any longer and try to keep me there another 2 months or some shit. And believe me, we had sick fucks in the Navy that would GLADLY do something like that just to screw someone over. (And they would get off on doing it, providing them with weeks if not months of shower-head masturbation material in the process) You think I'm exaggerating? Believe me, I'm not.
I called my parents and asked that they be in the parking lot in a few hours. I went back, packed up my crap and dragged it all out to the curb where I waited for more than 2 and a half hours. I didn't even want to sit in the barracks and wait. I didn't want to see the inside of that shithole ever again. I sat on the curb and waited. Around 6pm my parents arrived and just as quickly as possible I threw everything I had in the van and closed the rear cargo doors with me inside. We drove through the gate and I never looked back. My God, it was finally over.
And THAT IS HOW I WENT FROM ACTIVE DUTY TO CIVILIAN IN THREE and a HALF DAYS.
As a side note: The Navy said I could never fly due to my injury. That I could never be in an airplane. 10 years later I received my pilot's license.
-=THE END=-

So context, I held off on buying botw for a full year after release because I was busy with school, and because of that I had super high expectations going into it.
But when I played it, it was just really boring. First 10-20 hours weren't bad, but once the challenge from the combat disappeared all that was left was the annoying inconveniences.
There was no reason for me to get stronger because everything I fought was the same old boring stuff that I would probably lose more equipment on than I would gain, there's no reason to do the shrines because most were boring, the bosses were pretty terrible, and the gameplay was completely disconnected with the plot.
One of my biggest complaints was the ridiculously slow climbing and swimming speeds, but at least this seems to be addressed with ascend and ultra hand.
Basically I was incredibly disappointed with breath of the wild, and I'm cautious about wanting to play tears of the kingdom.