All gta stripper numbers

I have a Yale YDR4110 installed. I can't seem to get out of safety mode. Hence it doesn't let me change or reset anything. Any idea on how do I go about this? I read the manual and tried everything listed in there but nothing really works. I do enter the master pin and then tap the register button it just goes beeep boop beep boo and numbers turn on in random pattern and then nothing happens. I can't select anything. Yale themselves have not been helpful at all as they kept sharing the information already in the user manual. How do I reset this thing to start a fresh.

When I saw posts here. I really wanted to have a happy situation to tell. But as of 3 1/2 hours ago I got rejected. I'll start top to bottom of my day. But first Backstory. I've been loving the heck out of this girl since 7th grade and we are now sophomores. At the Beginning of Freshman year, I asked my friend who did have her number If I could have it. (I could at that point never have done it myself.) Finally last day of Freshman year I texted here saying
"Hey -----! This is ----, I got your number from a friend. Just wanted to say Hello! We've been waving in the hallway and such all year. But how's life going? How have you been doing this year? Anyways just saying hi right now and I hope to see you next year!"
I sent this May 26th and didn't get a response and I decided to make sure I had the right number even
Hey! it's me ----. Is this -----'s phone number? Just wondering.
Then about 4 hours ago I got a response finally.
Sorry, wrong number. Please stop texting this number.
My heart sank. I truly was in denial I went to my friend that gave me the number and I asked him Did I get the right number like is that ----- -----------'s number? and he said
"Yes it is."
And I just broke down crying I haven't done anything but sit in silence I don't think I've said a single word accept insulting myself while crying. I have been building up this day and putting many things of my very small attention size due to ADHD to the side for this and I'm just defeated... I don't know what to do. What doesn't help is that earlier today I put down my dog that has been in the family for 14 years (he was a 19 year old Labrador) I've known him all my life and I've put that guy down. I've known this girl since pre school and this relationship Is either put down or will never be the same. Idk what to do. I have nothing to support mey mom can't drive me to counseling and I will be working this year my family hasn't had a job in 7 years now so I have been carrying this household family friends bring me to the store and I grab items and soon that's gone cause I will have to drive. I'm crying and I don't know what to do. I need something out there I've got no one.

330 then 210 now
Congratulations Everyone!

1. Knew I had to do this when my older brother died at 43, 425#. I was 40-325. Younger bro 38-300.
   
2. Fought the insurance battle, obtained policy covering RNY, started process.
   
3. 8-month pre-op was not an option, and that’s a good thing. Saw people sabotage themselves in pre-op, and they were dismissed. Others flunked the psych tests, demonstrated things pointing to high risk of post-op sabotage. Dismissed.
   
4. Procedure was as described. Comedian/anesthesiologist asked me, right before I entered never, never land, if I was aware that I would be lifted above surgical table, and turned upside-down during procedure! What???…never saw that joker again. Doc confirmed this detail later.
   
5. Weight loss was rapid and thrilling. Below 220 in 7 months or so. Learned important lessons for this first stage. Like (a) don’t eat raw carrots or celery, as these can conspire against you, weave themselves into a “mat,” and jam your hole. Rice can do this too—see funny anecdote below. Upward Eviction ensues. (b) [for the lucky people] don’t eat sweet, sugary stuff like ice cream, shakes, pie etc. Immediate downward eviction occurs [turbo-charged food dumping] it’s a race to the bathroom (c) Sushi and an ice-cold Ichiban. Sounds fab. Maybe not. Rice is starchy and clingy, beer is loaded with malt. Hmmmm. Imagine belching up (and out) an impossible quantity of rice-infused foam for an hour. Yup!Hint: Ditch the rice..eat sashimi. Maybe the beer too. If you are not lucky with auto-rejection of sweet/fatty stuff, look out! Stat away from it. Milkshakes are particularly troublesome. They liquify on contact with mouth, and there are no limits on quantity.
   

By the time you graduate from this stage, you will have your own set of rules.
At any and all stages, even 20 years down the road, BEWARE OF ALCOHOL. This was not discussed in my pre-op process. I’m guessing it is now. Alcohol can DESTROY you and your weight loss. Know this now. People who have never had an issue with alcohol can become dependent on it post-op. It’s a transferred addiction. Sugar in a different form. No one is immune. You, like me, may be physically unable to overeat, but there are no limits on liquids. I lost a lot of ground on this issue, but managed to gain control. Zero is my magic number when it comes to alcohol.

1. My brother. Same path, same successes and failures. Developed same alcohol problem. It killed him at 58.
   
2. Later stages. You’ll lose the “easy pounds” in stage 1. Going lower gets back to food choices and exercise. Gaining weight is common, so stay in front of it. If alcohol use sneaks upward, get in front if it. Maintenance is the drill forever thereafter.
   
3. Hope some of this helpful. Ask me anything.
   

Congratulations and Good Luck!!

How are Sorcs in WT4 at 70+ Doing? I've been bouncing between various streams / youtubers and seeing Druids / Rogues / Barbs all running around with builds still hitting for insane 400k+ numbers even after the recent nerfs, wondering if Sorc has anything that's scaling even remotely as hard currently? Ice Shards looks like our strongest at the moment but doesn't seem as busted as any of the above.

If you are interested in something, lmk and I can send or upload pics and pull model numbers. If you are interested in a bunch, we can setup a time to come by.
Sometime the week of 6/12 whatever is left will be donated to the tool library/maker spaces/Habitat Restore.
Corded power tools in great shape or near new. with storage cases. Prefer to sell together or at least in decent grouping.

• Makita 7 1/4" skill saw + a variety of blades, several brand new
• HPT corded 1/2 drill
• HPT grinder, brand new
• Dewalt sawzall
• B&D Jigsaw
• Belt Sander
• Bosch fixed & plunged base router kit, opened but never used. Includes a dozen or so router bits.
• 12 inch Hitache dual bevel compound mitre saw + custom rolling base & cabinet with 4 foot foldable extensions (one for each side)
• 12 inch harbor frieight compound mitre saw used for a few cuts
• Tons of 12 inch blades, lightly used or brand new
• 1 rockwell oscillating saw
• 1 oscillating saw (forget brand, acquired at costco)
• Several dozen new oscillating saw blades
• 20 year old craftsman 1/2 inch drill, well used but very reliable

Large corded tools:

• Dewalt wet saw with blade, clean water bucket, pump, slides, stand, power source, etc.
• Delta 10" contractor table saw. Orginal fence & rails as well as 50" biesemeyer clone, blade guard, etc. Cast iron table is perfectly flat, unpitted, no rust. It's the last model made in USA before Delta closed the tupelo plant. Tons of blades including Forrester Woodworker II (needs manufacturer reconditioning which is like $75 + shipping), varios Freud blades (new & lightly used) & some Diable blades
• Delta 10" four poster planer in good shape & working, dust extraction hookup. Needs plug replaced as it was damaged when relocating in garage. Will sell at part out value if I cannot replace plug before you come to look at it.
• Older craftsman radial arm saw on mobile base, + 7 or so blades
• A dozen or so pairs of Bessey 3/4 inch pipe clamps, 4-8' long
• A few pairs of 1/2 pipe clamps, 4' long
• 8 pair folding saw horses

Pneumatic tools

• Porter Cable 16, 18, finish nailer & pin nailer pneumatic nailers
  • tons of unused nails
• Porter Cable 5 gallon oilless compressor, lightly used
• Sanborn Magna Force 25 gallon oil compressor, good shape. Needs the regulator knob replaced ($40 part online) but working otherwise
• Several air compressor cords, various lenghts 10 ft to 50 ft.
• HPT stapler & staples
• Freeman pneumatic flooring nailer, opened never used.
• Ramset w/ nails & powder cartridges

Remodeling/woodworking

• 1400 - 1600 sq ft of 3/4 inch x 3.25 inch rustic white oak solid hardwood flooring, new in bundles. A couple bundles were opened. Includes a dozen packs or so of oak splines, possibly underlayment. All in, paid $5500 ($3.25-$3.40 per sq ft). Asking $2500 OBO.
• A variety of stain-grade wood including red oak, white oak, maple, poplar, hickory, walnut. Mostly oaks & maple (some but not much tigeburled maple). It's all full dimension 1x1, 1x2, 1x3 in 8'-16' lengths for cabinet face frames. Stacked together, it would be 6-8' tall x 2.5' wide. Most of it is longer lengths.
  • Can include a lumber storage shelf that is 16' l x 3' w x 12'.
• 20 or so rough sawn 1x6 or 1x8 ~16' local blue stain pine boards.
• Never installed 60" inch vanity, white with separate molded counter & sinks. Will include delta faucets new in box if I still have them
• American standard garbage disposal new in box
• New door handles, hinges, hardware in aged bronze (color matched to Kwikset handles & Delta fixtures)
• Never installed light grey large format tiles, enough for 1.5 5' tub surrounds (front, back, side)
• Bunch of 4" mdf trim 8' or 10' lengths. New
• Set of 2 year old LG stainless steel kitchen appliances. 25 cu ft fridge, gas range + gas convection oven, dishwasher. It was $5-6k new, asking $2200 OBO. Trying to verify length left on extended warranty.
• Whirlpool commercial standup garage freezer, 28 cu ft, white, approximately 12 years old. Great shape.
• Danby 20ish cu ft garage freezer, 2 years old.

Miscellaneous

• 6' x 2' x 7' steel adjustable storage shelf. Great shape used for steel/metal storage, never been able to overload.
• Various other wood/basement storage shelving sized for 45 gallon storage tubs. 6-8 long, 8' tall
• T8 grow adjustable shelf with 3 @ 4'x8' T8 light fixtures. Can convert to LED by removing the ballasts. Built out of pine 1x4s.
• Ridgid shop vac
• Husqvarna battery operated string trimmer with charger, string
• Worx corded blowevac
• Heavy duty 25' electrical cords, used for 20 amp tools
• 6-8 foot i-beam & box levels, like new
• 30' warner aluminum extension ladder
• several aluminum extension & step ladders 10-18 feet
• Dozens of new work/old work outlet boxes
• New circuit breakers for GE panels including AFCI & 80-100W breakers
• 14 gauge romex rolls, 100' or 250'
• Plumbing tools
• Pair of harbor freight loading ramps, 8-10' long
• Heavy duty furniture dolly & wheeled furniture movers
• Several 5 gallon buckets of SW paint in grey & white (interior & exterior). Never opened. Will include buckets & filters to screen/box paint. Enough for 2 @ 3 bedroom houses.

Part of the issue is we have a very common last name (think along the lines of Brown, Adams, etc) and as someone who also has a very common first name it SUCKS constantly meeting people with my same first and last name, all my usernames having numbers attached etc. So I want something a little unique (not overly so) but the issue is I tend to like more classic names.
The names I like but won’t use for one reason or another (most of them being that they’re popular lol) -Eden -Harper -Grace -Adeline -Piper -you get the idea 😬
Anyone have ideas along those lines that aren’t in the top 100 girl names rn??

For legal purposes I will take out some sensitive info.
My friend got caught vaping in the plane bathroom and triggered the silent alarm, which just basically alerts the crew and pilots, not the whole plane.
When my friend went in, within 5 seconds he unzipped started urinating and reached in his pocket to grab his vape so he can try to sleep for the rest of the ride.. The smoke detector, which looks like a vent lol, beeped quietly 3 times. He really thinks it could have been the prior person, as he smelled the odor before even entering the bathroom + the silent alarm went off literally within 3 seconds of him peeing. He said his urine barely hit the water before the guy came barging in (by the way is that even legal? No idea how he opened a locked door)
Literally, and I mean literally, within 3 seconds the door started violently shaking and a male flight attendant (seemed a more senior level, he was wearing a suit type outfit) is furious and yelling all this scary legal jargon. Meanwhile, friend is in panic and shock, first at the fact he's still peeing, and the fact that he has a vape in his pocket. The attendant says to show him what he has, a vape battery or something with actual fire/lighter...and my friend stupidly in panic showed him it that he just had a vape in his pocket, and it wasn't a lighter or anything with fire.
Friend comes out, and attendant basically just scares the shit out of him and demands seat number. He give it to him right away and he says to go get seated and he'll be right there.
He comes back 10 min later with a small yellow slip of paper that says "notice to cease objectionable and illegal behavior" After reading it thoroughly, he was relieved because this notice officially confirmed its just a warning. The last sentence states "failure to cease such behavior may result in removal from this aircraft ...blabla...and/or civil penalties, imprisonment, or ban from future travel". Reading this, he just had enough and didn't want to deal with it anymore, and wanted to take the warning seriously and move on and not be stupid again in the future, so he threw away his vape cartridges. (this is important for later)
Friend's anxiety and paranoia is at peak level at this point, so he throws away the vape cartridges into a beer can he ordered earlier in-flight. so he can breathe and get to his work trip with a clear mind.
The same attendant came to pick up trash and make sure to come to my friends seat. When he was collecting trash, the beer can made a rattle noise as it was going into the trash bag.
Fast-forward... Deboarding the plane...the worst is waiting. 1 officer, 1 rep from the airline, the captain, the attendant, and another person. Guess what, they pulled out a Ziploc baggy with the 2 cartridges in it... Then they stated that my friend "handed" the cartridges to the attendant.
This is not true, the only way the attendant had these cartridges was by digging thru the trash in the back.
A part of me thought, maybe they will say hey, these cartridges definitely belong to you because they were in that beer can, and only you ordered that beer that flight. But is this proof that it was actually being vaped? Throwing away vape cartridges isn't admittance of actually vaping is it?
After about 20 minutes, my friend stuck to his guns and did not admit it was him and states he did not hand the attendant the cartridges. In fact, he asked "did you find that in that trash?" (He did). And also asked "did you open a locked bathroom door?" (He did). To which the attendant replied "I don't need to respond to a some kid who sucks on vapes all the time" (friend is epileptic and has high anxiety disorder, requires CBD and anticonvulsant meds so prevent seizures. He was just dumb bc he used the vape and not like an edible or tincture/oil)
The officer was extremely nice, and said likely nothing will happen. The attendant said "they are going to press charges" but I don't know if he was serious, bc he also told me I am going to be fined $25,000...anyone could tell his main objective was solely to scare the living shit out of my friend for no reason...a blind person could see that.
The only information they took from was a picture of his driver's license and said we can go.
He went to bathroom to unleash panic attack, debrief, And throw up ...
Then, walking to ground transport, we saw the same officer walking around.
Friend had a change of heart He went over and said thank you for being kind and apologized for wasting time. He asked if he can rest easy, and officer said they won't be pursuing anything, but definitely could if they wanted.
It doesn't make sense to me that a massive company like this would go out of its way to ruin a young stupid kids life...I think you scared the living shit out of him enough already.
Anyone know if my friend will be ok? Anyone been in a similar situation? Anyone know if my friend will receive a subpoena or legal letter in the mail a few weeks from now (that's what he's most stressed about rn). He has 0 dui, felonies, misdemeanors, or even a traffic ticket lol. Works hard too.
Tldr; Friend caught vaping on plane bathroom. Denied it and said it could have been any previous persons, (there was indeed a decent line for either of the 2 lavatories). Threw away 2 vape cartridges when they were collecting trash, (later we found this was pointless, as possession of the cartridges was not the problem, it was the act of vaping them). they dug it out the cartridges out of trash and claimed we handed it to them. Police officer said we'd be fine, but airline rep only spit out threats.
Who can we believe and what can we expect?
Already feel like shit and friend def won't be vaping on planes anymore. Id appreciate sharings of any similar experience or some words of advice.
Tbh think friend will be fine and just still in panic mode but who knows.
P.s. we really don't mind about a no fly ban with the airline, or like a small fine....but that male attendant and also the airline rep were talking crazy. Mentioned like "pressing charges", "federal crime", "jail time", "prosecution" and "writing reports and subpoenas" "$25k fine"...when he know full well my friend already learned the lesson jeez. What were mainly concerned about is any sort of permanent/ criminal legal repercussions, and how likely is that?

Question: If April flowers bring May showers, what do May flowers bring?
Answer: Puritans and misery.
Part 1 - May Flower Moon
I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure this is a ghost story. It all started in early May under the, "Flower Moon".
In the still of the night, I awoke from a deep sleep to witness a moonlight so spectacular it hurt my eyes.
Fumbling for my glasses, I found them, dropped them, cursed, then almost stepped on them. I finally got them where they belonged thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
3:33 am. Again.
Willow weep for me
Bend your branches down along the ground and cover me
-Ann Ronell as sung by Billie Holiday
The birds were chirping loudly. I shuffled to the window. I looked up wide-eyed at the sky. There was the moon; big, round and golden like it didn't mind a big electricity bill. As I used the bathroom, I remember thinking that I didn't ever remember a full moon so bright it could light up my apartment.
I washed my hands then splashed warm water on my face. I cracked my neck. I dried my hands and face with a towel. I remember thinking if I didn't get back to sleep the day was going to suck.
Shuffling back into my bedroom I thought to look for my ski hat. I figured I could pull it over my eyes and escape the light under the blanket. Flower Moon was beautiful but so too is sleep. If I could just hide under the blanket perhaps it wasn't too late for sleep to creep up on me.
I have been renting the same sunny shoebox in old Brooklyn for more than 20 years. It's a corner apartment on the second floor of a 19th century walkup. Across the street, diagonally resides a community garden fronted by a very tall and expansive weeping willow tree that won't let me move away. I didn't know it's age until recently. But it's younger than me. Most things are these days.
I shuffled to the corner window to squeeze the blinds tight and that's when I felt grateful, grateful I had decided to use the bathroom first.
There, at the base of the hundred-foot-tall willow, behind the wrought iron fence, illuminated beneath the moon's glow, I witnessed something that froze my blood and tested my aging bladder. Standing beneath the moonlight, I saw, clear as day, a little boy in footed pajamas with a trap door. The little boy was holding a blue stuffed Grover Muppet in one hand and crying.
Trying to get a good look at the boy was like trying to look at something from behind a campfire. There was a shimmering distortion. What I could clearly see was that he was pointing down at the ground in front of his feet with the non-Grover hand. Suddenly, the little boy spun his head up and around looking directly at me. Eye contact occurred and then too, something I can't explain.
First, a truck transporting fuel broke loudly for the red light at the corner. Through the open windows I smelled what seemed like diesel. I grew light-headed. The room spun around. I remember thinking this feeling smelled both nauseating as well as timeless.
I reached down to try and pick up the floor and that's when it hit me in the face. A sharp pain across my cheek like I had been slapped in a 3 Stooges short. I felt icy fingers grab the hair I had not had in over 30 years and jerk my head back. I smelled more diesel. I grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from losing my balance.
Holding on to the desk, I noticed my mind's eye was playing the little boy's face like a movie. The camera panned in. His little boy face filled my consciousness like I was watching from the front row. He was about four or five years old with long dirty blonde hair. His face looked familiar from a dream.
Then, another slapping pain turned my last good cheek. Losing my balance, I fell ass first to the floor.
Out the window, from on my ass, I watched the traffic light turn green. I heard the truck lurch into gear, rev it's engine then drive away. As it rumbled off into the distance my equilibrium returned.
Muttering my life sucked I gently shook my head and felt for damage. Just my non-existent pride. I got myself vertical, yet once again; feeling a distinct twinge of anxiety.
I looked out the window but the little boy was gone. An FDNY ambulance took his place, it's siren jarring me back to reality. I closed the blinds and got under the blanket. I never did really get back to sleep that night. Or ever since.
Part II - Unhappily Ever Since
Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me... -Billie I keep seeing a little boy under the tree... - me ...
The first thing I want to say is that I keep waking up for decades at exactly 3:33 am.
It's the exact time my decrepit birth certificate claims I was introduced to this world. Can't say why, but ever since digital clocks became a thing, I'm up more often than not to witness 3:33 am transpire. Never remember it happening before digital.
One of my friends recently told me it was an angel number. I don't know anything about angels. Never met one. But I for sure have met some demons in my day. In fact. you might say I was born of demon mother, and I might not be offended. Back to my birth certificate. I was born and yes, still live in Brooklyn, New York. There were gaps but it's my home.
I moved to this particular apartment building a few months after 9/11. I had moved in with a woman at the tail end of doing a romantic nickel, but that fell apart like Madoff, Abramoff or Fuckoff, and she married another dude a year later. So, there in 2002, I and my faithful golden retriever, Spenser, found ourselves, for the very first time, on our own. And, we liked it.
Like I mentioned, Spenser and I lived diagonal to a community garden that fronts a big and beautiful weeping willow tree. I felt an immediate kinship as my favorite book as a child had been, "The Giving Tree" and that's what she reminded me of; only more beautiful.
There will be more about the tree. Anyway, the tree and I dwell in an old part of south Brooklyn called Park Slope, infamous for being the stomping grounds of a young Al Capone, and, believe it or not, young me.
That was a long time ago. Things have changed a lot since Al and I, were separately roaming the streets of Park Slope, looking for adventure and whatever came our way. I came up in the day when if you cried your mother would give you something to cry about. And, not going to lie, I cried a lot. I don't remember my dad that much.
I remember he was a hippie. I remember he had a big beard and moustache and long hair. I remember his denim jacket was always cold, smelling like weed and cigarettes. I remember he gave me, "The Giving Tree" and taught me how to read it. And then, I remember he was; gone. Just. Gone.
I also remember my mother. I remember her never talking much. I remember her just smelling like hair spray, cigarettes and instant coffee with sour milk. I never was able to drink milk, not even as a child, and to this very day just the sight of a milk carton turns my stomach to acid.
I lived alone with the old lady about half a mile from where I live now. Yeah, in over thirty years I made it a whole thirteen blocks. Like I said, my pride was non-existent these days unless I was sitting on it. Another, weird thing besides waking up at 3:33 am is I have a lot of memory lapses. It has been getting worse the last few years. Especially, since old Spenser had a seizure in my arms back on the 9/11 of '09. He was fifteen and my best friend. I'd always loved dogs. But after losing Spenser, I couldn't quite remember things right all the time.
Sometimes, it was little things. Like did I turn off the stove or lock the front door. Other times, it was deep things, like did the telephone repair man try to do something to me when I was five and left home alone. Like did I pull a kitchen knife on him before he scampered out like a thief in the night; scared he'd be caught by my screams for Batman? Did I remember my mother having strange guests over late at night? Did I remember being locked in my room? I just couldn't remember anymore.
I had taken to obsessively keeping lists. But you can't put ghost-busting on a list, can you? And that was my real problem. Ever since, the May Flower Moon the haunting just kept rinsing and repeating. Eat edibles, Nyquil, and Advil PM and still wake up at 3:33am. Smell diesel. Wave of nausea. Little boy in garden. Little boy crying. Little boy pointing at something. Little boy looking up at me. Little boy. Little boy. Little boy.
By last Friday, I was a mess.
My work is suffering. I am too embarrassed to tell my aunt or besties I see a little boy. They already think I am weird enough and last thing I need is a wellness check.
To remain scientific, I have continued my daytime visits to the garden whenever it is open. Everything seems so lovely in the day. I even brought the new woman I am seeing. She fell in love with the tree at first sight. The flowers are gorgeous. And the roses; so mesmerizing. Even the fish in the koi pond are happy.
But at night. Something isn't right.
...Weeping willow tree Weeping sympathy Bend your branches down along the ground and cover me Listen to me plead Hear me willow and weep for me...
My new friend at work I mentioned, who told me about angel numbers, asked me recently if something was bothering me. She told me when we met, she is in the midst of a spiritual awakening.
Part of it includes awakening every morning to read the Tarot cards and commune with who, or what, she calls, "spirit".
I cracked and told her about the little boy under the tree. She didn't bat an eye. She told me spirit wants something from me. I didn't know what to say to that so I just left it alone. I guess I'm afraid what if she's right. And what if I don't like what, "spirit" wants?
Last night was Saturday. I had a dream.
That night I dreamed about a collie I had when I was a very young boy right after my dad split. Her name was Pearl. I had found her on the street on my block and for some inexplicable reason had been allowed to keep her.
Not long after, one hot summer day in Prospect Park, when my mother was going to give me something to cry about, Pearl suddenly ran down the hill she was frolicking on, making a wide sweeping arc that screamed, "ride or die, full throttle, and damn the fucking torpedoes," it's trajectory directly between my mother's legs. Fur overcame flesh just in the nick before I was given something to cry about.
Instead, I laughed.
I laughed so fucking hysterically at the sight of her on the grass, on her ass; smug look gone with the wind; replaced by an expression seething red menace that would have been McCarthy's wet dream.
And, like the little boy at 3:33 am, Pearl's eyes met mine. She seemed to nod her collie head, as if she were acknowledging that, yes, she was the best dog and don't you forget it. I didn't cry much for a while after that till I came home from school and Pearl was gone. Just gone. To some farm I was told. Where she could be happier. So, I guess I did get something to cry about after all.
And then last night I had a dream.
Part III - It weeps for me?
I dreamed of Peter Pan and buried treasure. I dreamed of Stove Stop stuffing and commercials loud enough to drown out a breech birth. I dreamed of Spider-Man letting Uncle Ben's killer go free. I dreamed of being American. I dreamed of Watergate, the fall of the Berlin wall, 9/11 and watching people jump out windows to avoid burning to death out the window of my office.
I dreamed of Iraq and Afghanistan and George Floyd and Covid and never-ending cycles of boom and bust. I dreamed of a golden carrot on what started out as a stick but soon morphed into what I realized was a branch. A long flowing beautiful branch covered in red. A branch that hung low. It swayed along the ground, swayed above my head and there I was.
I was in the garden. Under the tree. I felt drops of warm dew caressing my face. I was about to reach up to caress the tree. My tree. I noticed I was wearing pajamas. Not the black satin jammies I had been wearing for decades but old footie pajamas. They were Star Trek pajamas. With three golden rings on the cuffs and a trap door.
A drop of dew fell in my eye. I wiped it away and looked at my hand. It was red. Red with blood. My Mickey Mouse watch involuntarily color-coordinated with the blood. It appeared to be just after 3:30 am.
Suddenly, a dog appeared. It was Pearl. Then another, it was Spenser. They jammed their snouts into my flannel covered crotch. I pet them both and noticed my tears mixing with the dewy blood drops turning them a soft pink under the moonlight.
"Good boy. Good girl." I said.
"Hi," a voice I recognized but couldn't place said.
I looked around. And there, was, the little boy. And, in his hand was Grover.
"Hi," I heard myself say.
"Who's the dog?" he said.
"That's Pearl. And this is Spenser." I answered.
"I know Pearl, silly. She's my dog," then, "Hi, Spenser."
Spenser left my crotch for the little boy's. They went together like peanut butter and sandwiches.
"Where are your parents?" I heard myself ask.
"Dad left. Mom told me to stay here until she comes back."
"When was that?" I asked.
The little boy shrugged then, "Been a while I guess," and he started to cry. Spenser got agitated and started to whine. I approached. I went to put my hand on the boy's shoulder and he jumped.
"Hey, it's okay." I took my hand back.
He looked up at me. Then he said, "You want to see something?
I said, "Yes."
The little boy fished around in his pajamas and pulled out something, it looked like a piece of rolled up construction paper secured with a red ribbon that matched the bloody dew drops.
He un-scrolled it then solemnly showed it to me.
It appeared to be a child's treasure map. That ended in the garden. Only it wasn't a garden. It said, "JUNK YARD" and there was a big X next to the corner of the rectangle the words were written in. I looked down at him.
"There's no junk yard here, son," I said.
The little boy looked away from Spenser and up at me. Pearl ran to his side. I felt six eyes on me.
"That's what you think," he said
A moment later there was the loud cracking of fireworks being detonated. I awoke in my bed. Fumbling for my glasses, I found them, dropped them, cursed, then almost stepped on them. I finally got them where they belonged thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
3:33 am. Again.
I ran to the window to look out. But, unlike every other time for the past month, the boy was not in residence. He was gone. Just. Gone.
Part IV - The is The End
Gone my lovely dreams To weep my tears along the stream Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me
...
This was fucking ridiculous. I am sane. I am not mad. I'd been reading, "The Giving Tree," too much. Spending too much time alone working from home. Maybe I just needed to get away. Take a trip somewhere.
I realized getting back to sleep was going to be impossible. So, I went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea. No milk.
Back at my desk, my "SHIT. FUCK. DAMN." glass mug of tea firmly in hand, I took a deep breath. There was no point in giving myself a heart attack. Maybe it was just anxiety. Maybe panic attacks. I had dated lots of neurotic women. That could be it. Maybe some Lexapro and I'd be good as new. I decided to check my email.
A woman I used to date from Queens and stayed friends with had sent me a link entitled, "Birth of a community garden." It was video to my garden. Before it was a garden. Over forty years ago. It was a decrepit vacant lot filled with dead cars and refuse and apparently had been a neighborhood drug bazaar. Like I said, things have changed a lot since Al and I were young as springtime.
By the time I moved back you would have never known what things had used to look like. Spray painted signs that read, "NO DRUGS SOLD HERE!" and the like. Just like the Batman, Dark Knight, the 80s were a time when Urban Renewal was striking back. And before you could say, "corruption at City Hall," there was fecund soil where once had stood God knows what.
It gave me hope that humanity wasn't so bad. Maybe I had just been going through a tough time. Maybe I should quit while I am ahead and get a good night's rest. So, I closed the blinds and went to bed.
Why I am never sleeping again
That night I dreamed I was part of the junk yard's saviors. Hauling out decades of festering trash and replacing it with good old Mother Earth. A whole community coming together to commune with nature. I felt myself smile.
All day we hoed the rows. The fecundity of the soil filling my nostrils. There was food and laughter and soon day turned to night. One by one all the gardeners left into the dusk. Soon I stood alone next to a young woman. She held a green army duffle bag. And two shovels.
"You look like a big, strong man. They're going to be planting a weeping willow tree here soon. But first, I wanted to leave the earth a special gift to grow up with the tree. This time I think we should give to the tree. Won't you help me?"
I felt a passing twinge of disgust. I rubbed my upper lip with the back of my hand and thought I smelled the faint smell of diesel. I heard myself say, "Hand me a shovel."
An hour later I had fulfilled the lady's request to deposit the duffel bag deep within the new garden's soil. She lit a cigarette I recognized. She blew some smoke in my face and it smelled like sour milk.
"Ever read a boy and his dog?" she asked.
I nodded.
"This is the opposite," she said. I smelled the diesel again and then remembered no more.
This morning I awoke feeling none too swell. I got my glasses on without dropping them for a change then sort of hobbled to the kitchen area to make some tea. I opened the blinds and there was my weeping willow tree. Swaying gently in the Sunday early June overcast chill.
Implacable. Inscrutable. True to it's nature. The day was gray as a widow's anniversary.
Well, there's always tea, I thought, ever the optimist. And then I dropped my, "SHIT. FUCK. DAMN." mug on my foot, simultaneously battering and scalding it. I let out a yelp.
Then, mouth agape, I smelled the diesel waft in the window by the fire escape. The window, where, leaning against the fire escape's stairs I witnessed something that froze my blood and tested my aging bladder.
I spied two shovels and an empty duffle bag.
I wonder what spirit will have to say about that?
Gone my lovely dreams To weep my tears along the stream Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me
Willow Weep For Me?

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Sorry this is such a long story I(M25) was molested by my cousin (M29) i was only 6 years old when this all happened to me so I'll give a little background. I have a really crappy relationship with my dads side of the family for a number of reasons primarily my three cousins M29 F26 and F22. My grandmother and grandfather always favored them when we were young. Always having them over at their house, taking them on vacations, and generally treating them better then me growing up. My grandmother was always weird with us about taking naps as kids, like we HAD to take a nap in the middle of the day even when we were old enough to not need naps anymore (this is important later). Well one day I was at my grandparents house with only my grand mother and my male cousin cash. Cash and I were outside playing and my grandmother said she wanted to take a nap and said we should too but we both refused as we wanted to keep playing and for once she finally agreed to let us play as long as we weren't loud. So we eventually came in and went into my grandfathers room(they slept in separate rooms) and began making a droid razor out of paper to pretend we were adults... that's when things took a turn. My cousin looked at me and said hey I know a game we could play that would make us look like adults it's called "boyfriend girlfriend" and me me being the innocent child hungry for attention from that side of the family agreed and that's when he made me do A Lot of stuff not much short of fully raping me. As a kid I had no clue what had happened to me and my brain buried that trauma deep in my brain. I didn't realize what had happened to me until about a year ago when I had a vivid dream that this had happened but I thought nothing of it. Then while driving one day my dog was in the back seat and stuck his head up front and began sniffing my neck which sent me into an absolute hellish panic attack that was so bad I had to pull over. Obviously then I knew something was up so I spoke to my therapist who also seemed to think I had been through this. I started remembering more and more about my childhood and realized he had done that twice to me. The second time trying to penetrate me until I managed to get away but not telling anyone out of fear that my dads side of the family would hate me even more then they already did. So my therapist and I talked through it until now that I am completely comfortable talking about what happened. I have told my mom, sister, and a number of friends. I have not told my dad yet because he has a good relationship with his family who have treated him awful his whole life(if you want to know specifics ask and I may do a story on my profile about that specifically) and I don't want to ruin the whole mirage he's got going on. Sorry this was so long but I feel so much better finally being able to say it!!!!

Tl:Dr;
Bay area has insane house prices and relatively low rent. Financially is it ever an optimal decision to purchase a primary residence vs investing in equity.
Background:
My wife and I have decent income ($1-1.8m a year based on the stock market) but we are still building our wealth which is has hovered a little below the $10m mark in the last two years (again thanks to the stock market).
We were happy renting (sfh rents are pretty compelling vs their price) but with a baby we had less than a year ago it's getting a little annoying to have to deal with collecting stuff and modifications in the rental house.
Good houses in the bay area tend to be at least $3-$4m and based on the numbers we ran it does not seem wise to invest half of our current net worth in a primary residence where it can't grow aggressively.
If we wait it out another 3-5 years we will probably be at a place where the house will be less than a third of our net worth but then we miss having a good place for our kids first few years.
Any advice? Are we completely missing something that changes the financial angle on housing considering all the costs involved i.e. interest, taxes, closing, etc. Conventional wisdom seems to be strongly in favor of buying a place but we seem to have a hard time understanding how it makes financial sense.

Hey! You! Come shoot with us!
Every other month, /Archery has a four-week session of its league. Anyone can come join in, and just about any round type can be shot as long as it's on a standardized target from WA/IFAA/NFAA!
Rules and whatnot can be found in the wiki, linked here. In order to enter, I'll need your username, what bow type you shoot, what round type you wish to shoot (distance/target size/number of arrows shot), and three preliminary scores from your chosen type of round along with pictures of the scorecards.
If you participated last session, you are automatically transferred to the upcoming one, so no need to sign back up!
Rankings can be found here!
Score submissions can be made via the form found here.
We even have a League Discord channel! If you wish to join the channel, please change your displayed username to your Reddit username so I know who's requesting what of me!
If you have any questions or simply want to put your name onto the list, either PM me, or reply here! Please do not use Reddit chat; it is very unreliable at informing me that I have messages.
If you are already in League and you wish to withdraw, you must let me know ahead of time or you'll be left on the list and suffer the penalties of missing weeks!
Signups will close at the end of the day on the 1st of July, 2023, Pacific Time. and all three preliminary scores need to be turned in before then. Competition will resume on the 3rd of July, 2023!
I hope to see you there!

I'm playing on Ensign difficulty and had a 1.7k fleet of missile corvettes. I've been told that missile corvettes are the best thing you can make before disruptor corvettes. The AI, meanwhile, uses shitty auto-generated ships. So how was their 1.7k fleet of corvettes able to destroy mine without taking ANY losses? Their fleet's power level didn't seem to decrease at all from the start of the battle to the end. I guess I can understand losing since the numbers were so close, but them not losing any ships? That's ridiculous, I must be missing something. We were about technologically equivalent, by the way.

There some are NPCs whose special requirements to get certain rewards are hit with x number of unique attacks. I use literally every Unique Attack in the novelist but it acts like I never used them? Is anyone else having this issue?
I really like World Tour mode so far but it feels like that challenge is rigged. All the other ones I’ve done so far work properly though.

FEMA Inspections Launched: The Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) inspections have begun for those that applied for disaster assistance for damages caused by Typhoon Mawar.
FEMA inspections will help determine whether a home is safe, sanitary and livable. To determine whether an applicant is eligible for assistance, FEMA considers the home’s interior and exterior structural soundness; whether the electrical, gas, heat, plumbing and sewer or septic systems are functional; and whether the home is livable and can be entered and exited safely. FEMA inspections will also consider damages to personal property.
If you need accommodations for language translations or a disability, call 1-800-621-3362 in advance of the inspection and let FEMA know your needs.
The first step for a FEMA inspection starts with a phone call, text message or email from a FEMA inspector to the applicant to schedule an appointment. Be aware that phone calls from FEMA may come from an unknown number. The inspector will try to make contact up to three times over three days. The case will be locked if the inspector cannot reach you after three attempts.
The inspection process usually takes 30 to 40 minutes. If you were able to take photos or video of interior or exterior damage to the home, show them to the inspector.
Those who are unable to meet with the FEMA inspector for an inspection can have a friend or relative act on their behalf to meet with the inspector. But first they must submit to FEMA a written and signed request for third-party involvement, which is a legal document, authorizing another person who is at least 18 years of age to meet with the inspector and to provide and receive information from FEMA on their behalf.
Important to Know: The inspector will not be collecting any documentation and will never ask for personal information like a Social Security number. FEMA never charges for an inspection. If a FEMA inspector comes to your home and you did not submit a FEMA application, your information may have been used without your knowledge to create a FEMA application. If so, please inform the inspector that you did not apply for FEMA assistance so they can submit a request to stop all further processing on the application. A fraudulent application could be a sign of identity theft. For information on what to do if you suspect identity theft, please visit identitytheft.gov. If you wish to apply for FEMA assistance after stopping an application made in your name without your knowledge, the FEMA Helpline will need to assist you in creating a new application. Call 1-800-621-3362.
FEMA May Be Able to Help with Transportation Repairs: FEMA’s Other Needs Assistance (ONA) provides financial help after a disaster to cover necessary expenses and serious needs not paid by insurance or other sources. This may include repair or replacement of a vehicle. You must first apply to FEMA (disasterassistance.gov, FEMA mobile app, 1-800-621-3362), then submit an application for a disaster loan from the U.S. Small Business Administration (SBA). If you are denied a loan, or if the loan does not cover all expenses, you may be referred to FEMA for ONA consideration.
For assistance to repair or replace a vehicle, the damage must have been caused by the disaster and the vehicle must no longer be operable or safe to drive. Cosmetic repairs will not be covered. Other conditions include: The vehicle must have been damaged by Typhoon Mawar. Assistance is usually limited to one vehicle. If there is a second functional vehicle in the household, the applicant must certify in writing that the damaged vehicle is essential for the household’s daily use. The vehicle must be in compliance with motor vehicle division’s registration and insurance requirements. The vehicle must be owned or leased (not a rental) by the applicant, co-applicant, or household member. The damaged vehicle must be an approved vehicle type, such as a car, truck, SUV or van. The amount provided for repair or replacement is based on the degree of damage and the amount the motor vehicle division has determined for the maximum repair and replacement value.
Documentation required for consideration, includes, but is not limited to: Proof of insurance policy showing the type of coverage or proof of vehicle meets the territory’s requirement. Insurance provider settlement or statement that insurance coverage does not exists, for vehicle repair. A verifiable estimate, bill, or receipt confirming the damage was caused by the disaster, with labor and parts/replacement costs. For vehicle replacement, additional documentation is necessary from the motor vehicle division confirming the vehicle was salvaged due to the disaster.
Guam homeowners and renters who were affected by Typhoon Mawar can also register with FEMA by calling 1-800-621-3362, visiting disasterassistance.gov or downloading the application on the FEMA App. For more information about registration, processing and FEMA’s Individual Assistance Programs, visit fema.gov.
When you apply for assistance, have the following information ready: A current phone number Address at the time of the disaster and the address where you are now staying Social Security number List of damage and losses Banking information if you choose direct deposit If insured, the policy number or the agent and/or the company name
Survivors may be eligible to receive assistance for uninsured and underinsured damage and losses resulting from Typhoon Mawar. If you have homeowners, renters or flood insurance, you should file a claim as soon as possible. FEMA cannot duplicate benefits for losses covered by insurance. If your policy does not cover all your disaster expenses, you may be eligible for federal assistance.
Disaster assistance may include financial help with temporary lodging and home repairs, as well as other disaster-related expenses.
To date, over 10,000 Guam residents have applied for disaster assistance.
Disaster Recovery Centers: FEMA Disaster Recovery Centers (DRC) are open at the Guam Community College, Building E and the Dededo Sports Complex, seven days a week from 7 a.m. - 7 p.m. The DRCs are open to assist island residents impacted by Typhoon Mawar with disaster relief programs.

I recently came across a post about an expat who participated in a night wedding. After reading the accounts I began to do research on my own. Not because I believe in any of that stuff. I'm a magician after all. Illusion is my bread and butter. And I can detect trickery better than most. Which in my line of work has its benefits. But old traditions are the best places to pick up new techniques. Old ways that are new to others that delight and even scare people. Because, if I can make them afraid. Make them look away. For even a second. I can pull off some astounding magic.
My gig at the cruise line was coming to an end as we neared the port of Shanghai. And for my last several shows, where I'd normally start to include my greatest tricks in order to leave a lasting impression. I developed a new act that I called "The Sneaky Bride", it involved a mannequin in a wedding dress, a beautiful train, veil, flowers on the ground - the whole nine yards some would say. The trick was that the bride would sneak bites as my assistants who are dressed as servers pass by with their trays.
I begin the trick by placing a mannequin center stage for all to see so that they know it's a dummy. I show them there are no holes, and the entire thing is solid. Then we dress it up and set the stage for a wedding. And with a bit of lighting, another assistant switches places with the mannequin and is being fed under the veil. We later changed it to more slight of hand techniques as the assistant complained she wasn't able to chew fast enough as the items of course have to get larger and larger for comedic effect as the guests were wowed by the disappearing act as the fake wedding progressed.
At the end we even invited the unmarried men up to the stage and then threw out a fake bouquet, and watched them clamber over each other in good fun to catch it. The act was an instant hit and had the crowd roaring every night. Which was why I decided to take a firsthand look at the original, and see if there were any other staging techniques I could learn from this old tradition.
With some help from Bing and its ChatGPT features I was able to get a relatively good idea of where it was practiced. So I booked the next flight out to begin my quest for a real night wedding.
Upon arrival at my hotel, I asked the concierge for information about the local practice.
"Yes. I know of this one. We practice it often for children who were taken too early."
"But they are all scams?"
The concierge smiled, "In most cases the pouches mean no harm, and they're simply for families who want to provide peace for themselves and to complete a lasting tradition. Sometimes the dowries are quite lucrative as well, and it is the families who are scammed by those who go and collect these ghost wives as concubines. We call it a blue procession for the trail of ghosts the husband leaves behind wherever he goes." He leans in, "But between you and me? They're mostly all scams."
I laughed, and I can't stress this next part enough, tip your concierge! Which I did. "Thank you, and also. Do you know where I could get a good start on finding more information about these ghost dowries? Or even find one of these pouches myself?"
"The temple down this first street to the left, about half a kilometer, would be a good place to start. But finding a pouch is a bit more difficult as they pop up sporadically. However, if traditions are to be believed it is the pouch who chooses the spouse."
I thanked him again and began to make my way through the early morning rush toward the temple. The streets were lined with open markets full of food from local farmers, which were common in the morning in this part of the world. They would disappear before the afternoon and then return again to sell wares at night when it was cooler. It made the city feel as if it were breathing as the locals rose and ebbed outside with day and night.
On my way, I searched the ground and around alleys for loose pouches. But I had no such luck by the time I arrived at the temple. Large red pillars that were thicker than any tree I've personally had the pleasure of meeting held up the high ceiling. Inside, the locals were already starting to disperse as the work hours were amongst us. Which left me nearly alone in this temple at about 8:00 in the morning.
A monk or priest was kneeling on a mat in front of a wooden shrine, throwing pieces of wood in the shape of dumplings on the floor. I waited patiently for him to finish. Taking in the sights and the delicate features of the temple. When he rose I approached him.
"You don't speak English by any chance do you?"
He smiled.
"What about the middle tongue?" I asked in Mandarin.
"Oh," he seemed surprised. "Yes. How may I be of assistance?"
"What were you doing just now?"
He held out his hand and showed me two red wooden pieces that were, with closer inspection, in the shape of moons. "Jiaobei," he told me. "We use these to seek divine guidance."
"How does it work?"
The monk shows me the two sides, one was smooth and flat, the other side rounded. "You ask a question and then throw it on the ground. One block flat and one block round, means yes. Both blocks showing round means no. Or depending on the question. Anger from the Gods. Or crying in sadness as it is commonly known. And finally, both blocks showing flat means laughter. Which could mean a number of things." He hands them to me, "You throw it three times to get a better answer."
"I'm guessing if it's the same all three times, the answer is definitive?"
The monk nodded.
"Will I..."
"Ah ah ah, in silence."
I didn't want my first question to be too convoluted or difficult. So I kept it simple and asked if I was a good magician. Then I threw the Jiaobei on the floor. It clattered and rolled on its rounded back, showing two flat sides.
The monk smiled.
"That usually happens the first time anyone tries Jiaobei. But in my experience, it generally means you asked a pure question."
"What happens if I didn't ask a pure question and it came back as angry?"
"The gods will remember it. They will remember you."
"No bad first impression then huh," I whispered under my breath. "Okay. Do I need to throw it two more times or can I ask a different question?"
"You may ask a different question or throw it twice more."
"What is my name?" I threw it on the floor. And to my surprise, as the ends are pointed and difficult to balance, one of the damn things stood tall and erect.
The monk bowed to the pieces. "Truly you have been picked by the gods to be answered. Lijiao or a standing answer like this is uncommonly rare. The gods generally choose to laugh at a nonsensical question. And often get angry if you throw it two more times. And rarely do they ever answer ones asked aloud."
I bent forward, skeptical, though a temple this was, at how the thing worked. In my head I could only think that the switchboard guy was quick on his feet. But looking around I couldn't find any cameras. Though in this day an age, they're made smaller than a fly. So it was difficult to tell. I picked up the pieces, feeling for any sense of magnetism, but there were none.
I asked one last question before I left that day. I asked their gods, would I find the real deal? And I threw it on the ground three times. All three times it came up yes. But for two months I scoured the city, and the country side. And I did chance upon several pouches. Some were obviously scams as I watched each bag carefully before approaching. Especially noticeable are the ones in the city which would be laying on the sidewalk, filled with bills for people passing by. But I observed that if a local went to go pick it up, two or three men from around the corner would come and threaten him to put it back. But if a foreigner picked it up, an old man or woman would come and start calling them son before leading them away.
There were of course others that were genuinely following tradition. I chanced upon several of them and was married several times. But each one was playful almost. And performed by their parents in the day. Leaving me with several small bags of pocket change, a good dinner, as I went on my way.
During one of these fake night weddings I even saw a child playfully munching on a corn cob in the corner under one of the tables as I fed the effigy they constructed of my fake bride. Which was when I think I decided to call it quits. Believing that I'd never find the real deal. Although I did learn a lot as tradition can be translated by me into performance. Which helped me ground 'The Sneaky Bride' act further. All in all, this was time well spent.
My visa was coming to an end and I had mostly been enjoying the sights, the city, and their way of life. When on one the last day, as I was leaving from a faraway eatery that the concierge had recommended, that I saw a red pouch made of silk with a thick yarn around its throat, stuffed full of money. I looked around and didn't see a single person there, nothing except flat farmland and water gullies for miles.
Odd, I thought to myself, as it looked truly abandoned.
For a second I played with the idea of picking it up. Wondering if somehow a relative of the deceased would pop up magically next to me and I could change the world of magic by studying their technique. But I didn't want to spend my few hours chasing ghosts. I wanted to enjoy my time. So I kept walking.
I got back to the city and spent the remainder of my day eating and drinking, meeting new friends at the bar, newfound lads who I invited a hundred times to visit me in Melbourne one day. Who all agreed that if fate ever brought us back together we would drink until the sun rose. So yeah, I was fairly drunk when I got back to my hotel room, and didn't believe what I saw when I opened the door. It was a red pouch sitting on my coffee table.
"Someone's trying to play a trick on me," I mused. "They must have heard me talking at the bar." I circled the table studying the pouch. Any magician worth his smoke, likes a good bag. So there was no doubt to me that this was the same one I saw earlier. Which made me start putting two and two together. "It must be the concierge. He's the one who sent me out that far." I laughed and picked up the bag, even though I knew the rules. I opened it and thumbed through the bills. "It's much more than what I tipped him. Much more." Curious, I wondered what he would have done if I didn't return this to him. It must have been quite a few months worth of wages. I threw the bag up in the air and caught it as if I were juggling before I tossed it on my nightstand. "I'm going to let him sweat for a little bit and pretend I didn't find it tomorrow as I check out," I mused as I went to go take a shower.
I opened the door and felt the words stick to the roof of my mouth as the bag appeared on the counter next to the sink. I shot a glance back to the nightstand and indeed the bag I had just thrown on there was missing.
"This is a good fucking trick. That, or I'm drunker than I thought." I started questioning did I somehow fall asleep beforehand? Or walked into the bathroom and put it there as I mused my little scheme of making the concierge nervous at the lost pouch? Had I somehow in my drunken state done something without realizing it? No. That couldn't be it. I touched my chest to check my heart rate and put my fingers on my face. A bit flushed, but heart rate adequate. I was fine for the most part. Just drunk.
I looked at the pouch on the counter, and peered gingerly into the bathroom as if I've never stepped foot in one, before deciding to grab the bag and close the door. "Okay," I said loudly. "Whoever's doing this. Come on out." Of course no one appeared, not that I expected them to because the credo I lived by is that a good magician never reveals his trick.
"Okay, let's see how good you guys really are," I mused. Going over to my closet and placed the pouch on the shelf. Closing the door. Then I went back to the bathroom and opened the door. It was empty. I checked the nightstand drawer, mpty. I looked all over, and it was still mty. I breathed a sigh and went over to the closet door, "I guess you're just a bag after all." Except when I looked inside. MT. I couldn't find the bag behind any other nook or cranny. I know, I checked them all. And they were all .
I stumbled backwards and looked around, glancing at the ceiling corners in case someone had crawled up there. And even looked under the bed. But there was no one else here. I felt my chest tighten as I tried to make sense of what was happening. "Its got to be the walls I reasoned." And so for the next half hour I scoured the entire room with my hands, pushing, pressing, pulling anywhere and everywhere I could. Using all my years of experience to figure out what was going on. But there was nothing.
I couldn't stay in that room another minute so I rushed outside and nearly stepped on it! The bag! It was right at the foot of my doorstep.
My mind tried to wrap around how that was possible, "It's got to be a dupe. They've got more than one bag. I've been had, that has to be it. And the furniture inside, they have secret compartments. God, they really put a lot of effort into this," I laughed. "I have to know how this trick is done." So I opened the pouch and pulled out the note inside.
The notes generally contained their name, their current would-be age (she was 20 this year, older than most), what time they were born (8:07), a picture if they had one (she did), and how old they when they died (5). If the deceased were a bit older, perhaps a tidbit from their family is included about their personality. But most importantly, it always contained their address.
I looked at my watch, it was late and my flight was in the morning but perhaps I could still make it. So I gathered the rest of my things, my luggage, the mannequin for my act, and other bag of tricks in case I needed to go to the airport right after. "Come on," I yelled out loud to my pranksters. "Let's go see what other tricks you have up your sleeve."
I went down to the lobby and had the front desk call me a cab. I looked around for the concierge but he was nowhere to be found. So I left a note for him. And then left.
The cab drove until the city faded away. We were practically on the other side of the island by the time its tires skipped to a stop. I got out and knocked on the giant half circle doors of the address. I noticed that we were deep in the countryside. There were hardly any lights dotting the night.
I knocked several more times before I heard shuffling behind the door. And then it opened. An old man stood in front of me in his drawers.
"What do you want," he asked angrily. "Do you know what time it is?"
"I'm sorry for disturbing you at such a late hour. But," I pulled out the pouch. And his eyes widened up.
"Meju-eh. You're back." He looked at me up and down. "What are you supposed to be," he asked but then shook his head. "No, no. Come in. Come in, please."
"I don't have much time," I told him. "I have to leave in the morning."
"Sit, sit." He ushered me to a chair in the courtyard.
I placed the bag on the table next to it, "I have a flight in the morning, so if we're going to do this. We have to do it now."
Instead of fighting me, he nodded, "Yes. I agree. I don't have much time either. And Meju-eh is older than most ghost brides. The bull demon might not let her through his gets if she gets any older. And then she'll be a husbandless spinster for eternity." He ushered around, "We don't have many living relatives either. So it shouldn't be too troublesome to hurry this along." He called into the house and a young woman came out, "This is my granddaughter. Ah-ahn. Meju-eh's older sister. They were close as children."
Ah-ahn was quite beautiful. I almost couldn't take my eyes off of her.
"Go and start preparations and rouse anyone you can get a hold of. We must have the wedding tonight. Even if it isn't grand as I would like."
"Will we make it in time," I asked. "It's a lot of work for one person. Perhaps I could help?"
The old man nodded, "That's a good idea. But forgive me, I must retire for now. Or else have no energy for the wedding." He turned to his granddaughter, "Fetch me when the preparations are ready." As he left us alone in the courtyard.
"What can I do," I asked her.
"We're going to need flowers for decoration."
I pulled a rose out from behind her ear, "I happen to have a case of these on hand at all times." I put the flower in her hair.
She smiled, "Thank you."
"What else?"
"Um, we already have tables for family gatherings. There should be enough food in the freezers that we can just heat up. I need to call my aunt to come help. And wake up some of the kids. Also...we kind of need a statue of some sort, as a stand-in for my sister."
"Statue? I think I have just the thing."
Hours went by and it was the dead of the night, but watching all the people bustling around the courtyard, the kids in excited whispers, you'd never guess that all of us should have been sleeping. Soon the tables were set, the food was hot, even the decorations were strung, and I had procured my mannequin from my luggage and a few of the menfolk were putting it together inside the main living room.
Several times I found myself laughing and having a good time with the others, although chasing that hen made me look quite ridiculous, and several times I bumped into Ah-ahn and we would talk and exchange a few words. In the beginning she talked mostly about her sister. How she was troublesome as a child. Always hiding things. I told her about the pouch appearing and disappearing in my hotel. And we both had a good laugh. Eventually we talked about ourselves. I learned she wanted to get away from here, "To see the world," she told me. The more we talked the closer we got. I could feel it. Soon we were bumping into each other just to feel our bodies touch. But before anything else transpired the wedding preparations were complete.
The old man was retrieved from his bedroom and everyone gathered outside in the courtyard, looking into the main living room. There was a wooden shrine in the back of the room and the mannequin had been traditionally dressed. From an old box the grandfather retrieved several personal items that belonged to Meju. And I was then asked to enter the living room.
The grandfather said a few words, and then gave us his blessing. Ah-ahn handed me a bowl of sticky rice ball soup. I had been through this process before and knew what to do. I ate one of the pink balls and then went to go feed my new bride.
Now I've traveled with this mannequin for some time. Seen it at a dozen of my own shows. Slept with it in the room. Knew that it was in fact a dummy for all intents and purposes. However, as I started moving my spoon toward it. I swear I saw it's chest rise as if it were breathing.
I couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol ebbing away from earlier or a trick of the light. But even its shoulders looked softer than usual. My hand started shaking as it got closer to her mouth. It was like watching an out of body experience as the spoon inched under her veil. And then the CRUNCH. It scared the fucking shit out of me. I looked around hoping to see some kid in the corner playing a dumb joke. But there were none. And I didn't believe what I was seeing even as the veil started moving as her jaws chewed the sticky material back and forth.
"No way," I shook. "There's just no way." My hand was so close to the veil. "Oh God. Please. I have to know how this is done." I ripped off the veil.
Meju looked very much like her picture. But older. And then older. And older. As if her face was starting to rot away as it contorted. People behind me screamed. The lightbulbs we had strung popped. Kids were running around and the grandfather fell to the floor clutching his heart.
I backed away, the spoon clattering to the ground as I watched the mannequin crick and crack as its arms and legs bent in a tangled mess until it was walking on all fours!
The thing grabbed the bent down to the grandfather and started chewing!
I turned around and saw the other guests were piling out of the courtyard. The tables were upturned and only the dim crescent light of the moon bore down on us. Everyone was screaming trying to get out. I ran and bumped into Ah-ahn. She whirled terrified and then realized it was me. She yelled, "You never! Look at the bride before it's time!"
"I'm so sorry! I didn't know. I thought it was a trick!"
She grabbed her face, her nails leaving streaks behind as she clawed at her skin, "Now she's going to kill every living blood relative. And then you." Ah-ahn laughed manically. "She's going to torture you!"
The people kept pushing around us until we got separated. Her final words still ringing in my ears as I took to the dirt road outside and started running. I ran for nearly a mile before I spotted a cab sitting outside of someone's house. I banged on their door and then begged them to take me to the airport. Throwing at them all the money from the dowry.
When I arrived at the airport I hurried through the TSA. Relieved at the lights and normal looking people. I boarded my flight. Tapping my foot nervously the entire time, staring out the small squarish window as we prepared to take off. The sun was starting to rise as the engine roared. I took one last look at the island as we flew away. Still trying to catch my breath at what I had just caused.
My mind was reeling as I heard two knocking noises, they sounded oddly familiar, and for a second I thought that Meju had finished with her family and had somehow come boarded. But then I realized the noise was coming from my carry-on. I reached inside and pulled out two red shaped crescents that the Monk at the temple had given to me. And I realized that if I ever needed any form of divine guidance this was it.
So right there in the tiny aisle. I asked the gods if I had escaped and threw the Jiaobei.
No.
I asked the gods if I would be safe.
No.
I asked them would Meju kill me.
Both flat.
Both flat.
Both flat.
s

Yesterday I was mercari, a selling app,looking up electronics. Most of it was phones and to my surprise I saw an iphone 13 for $83. The description said that by simply texting the person happy bday to get it. So I did just that. Now here's where a made the mistake. After doing so,the person told me to send through PayPal and an additional $40 to send it to a different state. The complained about not being available immediately (it needed some time to process) .....I shouldn't have given them the money in the first place. As I realized all of skepticalism AFTER I sent that money. That iphone post was literally their only post and they had no PFP,their account was recently made,they publicly gave a number to text,their names on Paypal and Mercari were different,,and wanted me to pay OUTSIDE the app.. I made a post on scams. After few people saw it before it got taken down for a reason I do not know. A person did dm saying that it was indeed a scam- meaning I had just been scammed out of $128. The directed me to an Instagram user that can help me. Now here is the part I regret the most. I should've just delt the lost but now I have taken more lost. At first,the person asked for $30 and I thought it was a great deal since I would get my money back and end up with a loss of only $30. Then as time goes on,they keep asking me for money to the point where I have given them more money than I even got scammed out of. I lost $128 but they made me pay them like $140 or something. So yeah I lost $268 or about that in two days. It's been hours since the last few messages I sent and no response so I may not even end up getting my previous money back.
TL;DR - I lost around $260 or at minimum that amount by falling for a scam and spending even more money to get the money back and still have not received the initial money back. I also didn't note any of the skepticalism until after I sent the person the money,which deeply regret

Okay! So beginning tonight, 6/4/23 and going until 11:59pm PDT 6/5/23.
If you are part of this sub and have transacted PMs with me, u/paradime11 , you are eligible for a free 1oz piece of silver raffle. The winner will be able to pick from a selection I will post tomorrow on this sub.
Simply reply to this post with any three digit number from 100 to 999. Any repeated numbers will be assigned the next highest available number.
The winner will be announced by end of day 6/6/23.
Thank you all for being a part of this sub!!! 🤓✨💖

Hey y’all. I am a lurker on my personal account, but I’m using a throwaway for privacy reasons. I (in my 20’s F) and my husband (in his 20’sM) have been married for 2 years. I found out a year into my marriage that he has been a porn addict since being exposed in 1st grade. He also is a survivor of SA as a child from his female cousin.
We are currently separated (not by choice, he is in the military) but I was able to visit him last week. We had a great time, and he has been clean for about 3 months. Yesterday I found out that he relapsed after checking our accountability app (Covenant Eyes). I’m just so broken right now and wanted to vent out loud. We are in the process of getting matched for couples therapy, and I am beginning individual therapy on Tuesday this week.
Here’s what I wrote him: “I'm serious when I say that you telling me "I'm sorry and I love you." Is not going to fix this. I told you before we left for our separation what my boundaries are and you need to decide if you want me or porn.
I don't believe you are sorry or that you love me because if you did you would have called me or one of your accountability partners before you did that. You would have confessed to me after you did it. You would have been HONEST when I confronted you. Sheepishly saying, "oh I just googled something" doesn't cut it. It was nice having about 2 weeks where I wasn't worrying about this all the time and now I'm back having nightmares about it again. It's so selfish. Have you ever cried yourself to sleep because your spouse would rather lust and commit adultery in their heart over prostitutes and porn stars? It sucks. Or had nightmares over and over that your spouse keeps cheating on you but won't admit it?
When you are really to be HONEST and actually LOYAL to me we can talk about it, but until then I need time to myself. I'm also disgusted that you asked me for inappropriate pictures mere hours after you did this.”
We had a good conversation after and I feel stronger. But it still sucks so bad that he relapsed. We get to see each other again in a week and a half and I’m excited but worried he will relapse again right after.
After confronting him yesterday I just laid in bed and cried listening to “You’re Losing Me,” from Taylor Swift. I don’t want to divorce him, but I didn’t sign up for this. I always feel broken after he relapses (this is number 4 maybe?) but over stronger that we were vulnerable together. If I knew about his addiction before getting married I would have waited for him to be strong in his sobriety. The lyrics hit so close to home:
“You say, "I don't understand" and I say, "I know you don't.” We thought a cure would come through in time, now, I fear it won't. Remember lookin' at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light. Now, I just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time.
Do I throw out everything we built or keep it? I'm getting tired even for a phoenix. Always risin' from the ashes. Mendin' all her gashes. You might just have dealt the final blow.
Stop, you're losing me. Stop, you're losing me. Stop, you're losing me. I can't find a pulse. My heart won't start anymore for you. 'Cause you're losing me
Every mornin' I glared at you with storms in my eyes. How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dyin'? I sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick. My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick.
And the air is thick with loss and indecision. I know my pain is such an imposition. Now, you're running down the hallway. And you know what they all say. "You don't know what you got until it's gone"
Stop, you're losing me. Stop, you're losing me Stop, you're losing me. I can't find a pulse. My heart won't start anymore for you. 'Cause you're losing me. ‘Cause you're losing me. Stop (Stop) 'cause you're losing me
My heart won't start anymore (Stop 'cause you're losing me). My heart won't start anymore (Stop 'cause you're losing me)
How long could we be a sad song. 'Til we were too far gone to bring back to life?. I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy. And all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier. Fighting in only your army, frontlines, don't you ignore me. I'm the best thing at this party (You're losing me). And I wouldn't marry me either. A pathological people pleaser. Who only wanted you to see her. And I'm fading, thinkin'. "Do something, babe, say something" (Say something). "Lose something, babe, risk something" (You're losing me). "Choose something, babe, I got nothing" (I got nothing). "To believe, unless you're choosing me"
You're losing me. Stop (Stop, stop), you're losing me. Stop (Stop, stop), you're losing me. I can't find a pulse, my heart won't start anymore.”
Just thinking out loud, and I’m open to any resources you recommend.