MIL came in and i told her, with tears in my eyes, what was going on, but she didn't give a shit. She wouldn't even confirm that she didn't have my son. They called 911 and the police did not want to hear my side and treated it like a normal break in. I later found out SIL made that up as a prank. It's not wrong or right, it's just how you feel. If you don't want to celebrate your birthday that's your choice but if not celebrating your birthday is keeping you from moving on from the death of your mom you may want to look at that a little more closely. We love our parents and we grieve their death but eventually life has to go on. DISCORD SERVER: https://discord.gg/hXd4ghE Music created by Lakey Inspired, Any music after 13:33 created by Joakim Karud, Welcome to r/AITA! I'm your host! ~ This channel is an upcoming Reddit ... My (27F) fiancée (28M) and I have been dating for about 6 years now, and he proposed last year. We started planning a wedding almost immediately because we want to start our family soon, we’re both stable in our jobs, we’ve found a house and are working on a down payment, etc. Basically, we didn’t see a reason to wait. “I married my mother, for sure,” one woman says, “He was on the surface completely different from my mother but, in the end, he treated me much the same way, the same seesaw of not knowing ... My siblings understood and they didn’t tell her. Except one idiot cousin had to go post the pic we took with my b-day cake on Facebook and my mom saw it. She called me earlier wanting to know why I lied about not doing anything on my birthday when I clearly was having the family over. I tried to be as sensitive about this as possible and said ... 13 For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. 14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. 15 My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. One would think that this gets easier, but somehow I have come to dread birthdays because of it. I am in my 40's and every other year or so my dear sweet mother forgets, I suspect just decides not to bother, to wish me a happy birthday. I even called her on my birthday to see how a doctors appointment went and nothing. AITA for not wanting a toddler at my mom’s birthday dinner? Not the A-hole. My mom is having her 60th birthday dinner at an intimate and very expensive French restaurant Friday night, with several family and friends in attendance. She invited a family friend, and he said he, his wife and two year old son would love to come. ... For more stories: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9nMyUKuY63ikfeZoclXJBsfME1pjg2KQ Quality Reddit stories with spell checking and quality voices dail...
2020.09.23 17:08 notstrangeronmyBD Free mom sex pictures
Ok, title is biased but anyways I'm telling you the story. Sorry about my English and the format (I'm on phone, you know)
Characters: I (19F), my sister (18F), my mom (58F) and D, (my mom's reflection) (18F)
About a month ago D (who is my sister's friend from school, close but not too close) started living with us. Before that she was living in a very abusive family with her mom, her stepfather and her sister. She was living next to a town 2 hours away from my house. She couldn't continue studying cause her mom push her to do al chores in the house, the cleaning and the cooking, she failed her first semester of University and her stepfather was abusive (making comments about sex and taking her pictures).
My sister told my mom about this. I have to mention that my mom had a terrible teenage years, she had abusive parents a siblings and she reflects a lot in D. So for that reason she invited to our house, rent-free until she finds job, then she has to pay rent.
She is not like my mom, she likes to be looked (she was flirting with my sister's boyfriend the first two weeks living here), she is lousy, and talks a lot. I'm very silent, I like to have my place and my silence.
Now she has a work she earns 400 US and pays 100 US for rent, food and services like internet or water. Here I have to add that I agree with my mom that we don't have to pay anything until we graduate from our degrees I study medicine and my sister business, and we don't say that we are rent-free cause we don't have time to have a job and study (in my country) and my mom says that studying now is our job.
I don't like D, I don't like that I can't be comfortable anymore. Every complain that I have about her my mom takes personally she always says "poor D".
The thing is, I want to have a little meeting for my birthday (12 people - 9 friends from med school, my sister, her Bf and I) is in my mom's place (not my house but it's hers) my sister is in charge cause she loves to make meetings but I don't want her, I don't want to invite her. I told my mom and she says IATA but my sister says I'm not.
She will know about the meeting indirectly cause my sister and I won't be that night.
submitted by notstrangeronmyBD to AmItheAsshole [link] [comments]
2020.09.23 04:09 jw_mentions Free mom sex pictures
I am a bot! Please send NotListeningItsABook a private message with any comments or feedback on how I work.
--- --- Notes Submission 10 Year Old Jehovah's Witness Receives Applause For Shunning Sister (Can we please discuss Jehovah’s Witnesses?) Comments 10 Year Old Jehovah's Witness Receives Applause For Shunning Sister (Can we please discuss Jehovah’s Witnesses?) Author mushaboom83 Subreddit /FundieSnark Posted On Wed Sep 23 01:52:24 UTC 2020 Score 34 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Total Comments 11
Related Comments (31):
--- --- Notes Author prefabsproutx Posted On Wed Sep 23 05:10:42 UTC 2020 Score 6 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
a JW best friend (that I wasn’t allowed to play with out side of school except for one time [her strict parents choice]) when I was real little and the knocks at the door -I had never known much of anything about JW!
--- --- Notes Author SevanIII Posted On Wed Sep 23 03:29:58 UTC 2020 Score 224 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 19 Body link
JWs for 20 years. I woke up and left that organization exactly 15 years from my baptism.
It's a straight up cult. It has a lot of abusive practices and dysfunctional people. It's also very misogynistic.
The best thing I can say about
JWs is that at least they don't vote.
--- --- Notes Author SevanIII Posted On Wed Sep 23 04:38:29 UTC 2020 Score 74 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 12 Body link
A JW that votes is considered to have disassociated themselves according to the elder handbook Shepherd the Flock of God. This handbook is not available to lay membership, but has been submitted as part of court cases such as the Australian Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sex Abuse. Evidence in that case and other court cases are available to the public.
According to that book, if the elders find out that a member has voted, that member will most likely be disassociated. They will not be
disfellowshipped. This is to get around laws in certain countries that ban religions from preventing their members from voting.
However, the end result of both disassociation and
disfellowshipping is the same. In fact, the announcement to the congregation is the same: "Person blank in no longer one of
Jehovah's Witnesses." The congregation will generally not know whether a person was disassociated or
Once that announcement is made, that person will be shunned by anyone who is
a JW, including immediate family members. This shunning will continue until the person completes the reinstatement process and the elders feel that person has sufficiently repented. This usually lasts at least 1 year of shunning while maintaining regular meeting attendance. Meetings are twice per week. If the person never completes the reinstatement process for whatever reason, including that they no longer believe in or agree with the religion, they will shunned indefinitely.
--- --- Notes Author Cat_Island Posted On Wed Sep 23 11:15:38 UTC 2020 Score 17 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
disfellowship (shunning) like Catholicism or even the mainstream Baptist faith and supporting lgbtq+ folks is totally different than being JW and supporting lgbtq+ rights. JW’s can be kicked out of their faith, which also often includes family shunning, for supporting lgtbq+ rights. So chances are this youtuber is not a lgbtq+ rights supporter behind her religions back, as the risk is tenfold higher than in a mainstream faith.
--- --- Notes Author kellyfrancex Posted On Wed Sep 23 04:38:24 UTC 2020 Score 15 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 1 Body link
as JW and he never really showed it - he cussed, drank, and was the funniest person i knew. He never talked about it except when he went to church on sundays and took snapchats. It’s such an interesting religion that makes no sense but the more i learn the more fascinated and disturbed i am.
--- --- Notes Author kellyfrancex Posted On Wed Sep 23 04:41:28 UTC 2020 Score 7 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 4 Body link
as JW. ade there denominations of it that are considered more modern? Him and his family didn’t adhere to a dress code or anything like that so that’s why i ask.
--- --- Notes Author Kalamac Posted On Wed Sep 23 03:31:29 UTC 2020 Score 59 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 2 Body link
JWs. I guess that's what they're doing now that they can't door knock due to COVID.
--- --- Notes Author curlylonghairx Posted On Wed Sep 23 04:50:47 UTC 2020 Score 17 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
a JW. All my dad's side is still JW. I haven't seen them or my dad in years. I don't talk to him. The "religion" messed me up. Some of my mom's side still is, but she isn't. She was treated bad and
disfellowshipped/shunned for divorcing my dad. That made me hate the cult more than anything. It was a horrible childhood. Not with my mom because they divorced when I was like 7, but weekends at my dad and step-mom's sucked.
--- --- Notes Author SevanIII Posted On Wed Sep 23 12:45:47 UTC 2020 Score 7 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 1 Body link
JWs are stricter the closer they are to Bethel. They call their cult head quarters and various branch offices in different countries "Bethel." So yeah, I've heard New York
JWs are overall stricter. But I'm sure there's plenty of
JWs living "double lives" or just generally being lax there too. As long as they never tell on themselves to another JW or elder and to keep those two lives separate. Those lax
JWs can be super strict and righteous acting around other
JWs and then not around "worldly" people.
I was in California, which is known for being less strict. Partly because of having more money and partly because of the weather. Still fucked up, but overall less strict. I lived in Idaho for a few years while
a JW and there was a definite difference there. I think because Idaho in general is a much poorer and more conservative state. The misogyny level definitely got kicked up a few notches and my ex-husband's abuse was much more accepted there.
--- --- Notes Author inkstainedwriter Posted On Wed Sep 23 22:54:34 UTC 2020 Score 1 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
--- --- Notes Author Chronically_cute Posted On Wed Sep 23 15:49:23 UTC 2020 Score 14 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 3 Body link
a JW and we could never celebrate any holiday in that class. I remember the next class over had a window between their classroom and ours. They had a Halloween party, so all the kids were dressed up and eating candy. While we were learning about Nevada history. It still hurts to think about. :(
--- --- Notes Author funkyfunyuns Posted On Wed Sep 23 04:30:58 UTC 2020 Score 48 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 3 Body link
JWs all day, but one of my least favorite things that they do is prey on the vulnerable to join their cult. They find the people who are really hurting for any reason, and manipulate them into joining. They tell them all about how joining will solve their problems and save them, and so many people fall for it simply because they're desperate for something to make it better.
An aunt of mine was recruited when her marriage started failing and she was deeply upset over it. Sure, the marriage lasted - but only because she was brainwashed into thinking she has no say and has to let her husband do whatever he wants. Another aunt was recruited by the first one when she was a very young, struggling mom after giving birth as a teen.
I didn't talk to or see the second aunt who half-raised me from ages 12-19 because she got sucked in so deeply that she isolated herself from everyone not involved and dodged me and my mother until we stopped trying. We've reconnected, but the relationship will never be the same and will still be tense unless she leaves, and I genuinely do grieve that loss.
It's a cult, 100%.
--- --- Notes Author Orca-Hugs Posted On Wed Sep 23 03:56:32 UTC 2020 Score 47 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 8 Body link
as JW. We couldn’t celebrate her birthday in class and during the class Valentine’s Day party she had to just go do stuff on the computer because she wasn’t allowed to participate. I’m not real big on the Pledge of Allegiance, but she wasn’t allowed to say it either. She would stand up though. My guess was so she wouldn’t draw attention to herself.
--- --- Notes Author crimsonmegatron Posted On Wed Sep 23 05:31:35 UTC 2020 Score 26 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 8 Body link
JWs, but it's still really gross to me, especially because of the huge LGBTQIA+ community in the beauty world.
--- --- Notes Author cbp26 Posted On Wed Sep 23 16:16:05 UTC 2020 Score 3 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
JWs turn family members against one another. I believe it’s on Amazon Prime for free. The director is an
ex-JW. Have any of the former
JWs here seen the film and does it seem accurate to your experience?
--- --- Notes Author rhealeigh Posted On Wed Sep 23 03:47:10 UTC 2020 Score 29 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
exjw is another sub I love reading on. Very interesting looking at their viewpoints.
--- --- Notes Author stoned_n_polished Posted On Wed Sep 23 09:16:31 UTC 2020 Score 6 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
a JW and she is VERY sheltered. Like 26 year old virgin who is afraid of doing anything fun because of her parents judgement. It makes me so sad for her since she seems so fun.
--- --- Notes Author auntieneena Posted On Wed Sep 23 06:29:24 UTC 2020 Score 8 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
as JW. She would take us to church with her when my mom was at work. (MY MOM WAS PISSED WHEN SHE FOUND OUT). Anyway those sermons scared the shit out of me! And I grew up in the Church of Christ! From what I remember from it, if you weren't in the top 100,000 devout
JWs ever....then you were screwed!
--- --- Notes Author SevanIII Posted On Wed Sep 23 04:52:56 UTC 2020 Score 23 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 3 Body link
There are individual
JWs that are pretty lax about following the rules though. As long as they keep everything on the down low, in other words don't let the elders or any devout member that will report on them find out, they may be able to do so for a very long time without being
JWs are more skilled at living what the cult calls a "double life" than others. I was a dumb true believer when I was
a JW and always told on myself for every little infraction to the elders.
Your friend is likely just a lax JW.
The dress code is for cult activities only. Meetings, volunteer work, missionary work, preaching, etc.
JWs are allowed to dress pretty normally in their private life. Although they are still encouraged to be modest even during non cult activities. JW standards of modesty are not as strict as fundy standards.
--- --- Notes Author SevanIII Posted On Wed Sep 23 05:07:16 UTC 2020 Score 25 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
JWs started talking to me when I was only 12 years old. By the time I was 13, I totally believed it was "the truth." I got put back in foster care for a couple of years after that, but got baptized after I got legally emancipated at 17. I had no stability growing up and
JWs offered that. I was a young, inexperienced kid with a shitty home life so I was pretty vulnerable to their love bombing and seeming community.
Vulnerable people are great targets for cults. The combination of low self esteem and emotional distress leaves people more vulnerable to the type of psychological manipulation that cults employ. The JW cult certainly isn't unique in that regard. They all use the same tactics, exploit human weaknesses and target the vulnerable.
--- --- Notes Author curlylonghairx Posted On Wed Sep 23 16:16:27 UTC 2020 Score 3 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
a jw and my mom was
disfellowshipped) came into the picture and had me and my siblings celebrating. I got told on by a lady who worked at my elementary school, for dressing up on Halloween. That was when they did the parades in school. She called my dad and told him. I was in the 4th grade and my dad called and chewed me out. I was so upset. I always told myself that my kids will never have to experience what I did and I go all out on holidays. I could never do what they did to my kids. Screw those people for ruining it for children.
--- --- Notes Author TitoTotino Posted On Wed Sep 23 19:12:05 UTC 2020 Score 2 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
JWs have gone to to accommodate decades' worth of their leaders' failed prophecies without going as far to say their leaders were capital-W wrong about anything are an amazing display of mental gymnastics and willful ignorance. How anyone not born into the cult can willingly sign up for it boggles my mind.
--- --- Notes Author Jnbntthrwy Posted On Wed Sep 23 04:44:08 UTC 2020 Score 15 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
a JW doing Snapchat is hilarious.
--- --- Notes Author neidin28 Posted On Wed Sep 23 07:11:25 UTC 2020 Score 5 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
JW's knocked on my parents door. They asked to talk I said I didnt have time I was baby sitting and they gave me a pamphlet. All I did was take the pamphlet (british politeness) and close the door. They repeatedly called to my mums house looking for me, saying I showed a lot of interest in joining them!
--- --- Notes Author commmoncrowww Posted On Wed Sep 23 17:31:14 UTC 2020 Score 4 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
Ex-JW. I was told to stand up to show respect, but I was not allowed to recite it. Might be what she was told to do as well.
--- --- Notes Author onefornine Posted On Wed Sep 23 16:46:07 UTC 2020 Score 2 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 3 Body link
a JW Belief that only a certain number of people get into heaven? And they actively recruit with that
--- --- Notes Author Ainzlei839 Posted On Wed Sep 23 07:26:15 UTC 2020 Score 38 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 3 Body link
I was in Europe for the last federal election and wasn’t able to organise a postal vote or get to an embassy, so I just said as much and they waived the fine.
Edit: so I’m not thread drifting: I know some
JWs and they do exactly this.
--- --- Notes Author Jnbntthrwy Posted On Wed Sep 23 04:07:47 UTC 2020 Score 40 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 4 Body link
JWs). This can easily happen with any doomsday cult when the stated deadline for The Great Tribulation comes and goes without any real issue. There was a pretty big scandal in the ‘70s because tons of
JWs sold off all their belongings thinking the world would end and it didn’t. This has happened a few times in JW history and they have to flex the messaging to fit the times...
Anyway, I was raised JW and can tell you what I was taught: We are not to believe in the righteousness of sovereign states but instead should live as a brotherhood of man. Jews are the chosen people, and everyone else is just JW or not JW.
Governments and religions are corrupt, worldly constructs. This is the idea behind not voting, not using statues, not celebrating holidays/birthdays (because of pagan traditions), and not pledging allegiance to any country or country symbol (aka the Stars and Stripes).
If you are baptized JW and are good, you will be rewarded with eternal life in the “New System” (paradise on Earth) and possibly the call to serve as a ruler in heaven. If you are not baptized JW and are alive at the time of Armageddon, you will cease to exist. If you died before Armageddon, baptized or not, you will be resurrected and allowed the opportunity to join the New System but can be ejected if you falter. (I think?)
Besides the voting thing, one silver lining of growing up JW is that I was around a diverse range of POC from an early age (and wouldn’t have been otherwise since my immediate community and school were very homogeneous). Equality across race and socioeconomics was built in. However, so were terrible messages about how to parent (abuse), how to govern abuse (ignore or hide it), and how to (not) grow as a person (education discouraged, sex shamed, strong traditional gender roles enforced).
--- --- Notes Author kajigleta Posted On Wed Sep 23 17:03:04 UTC 2020 Score 2 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 2 Body link
a JW teacher would do.
--- --- Notes Author Cat_Island Posted On Wed Sep 23 13:27:51 UTC 2020 Score 7 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
exJW from Idaho. She always said his JW congregation was really strict and terrible, his family got
disfellowshipped, all of them, because his mom had an affair.
--- --- Notes Author NoUDidntGurl Posted On Thu Sep 24 07:23:29 UTC 2020 Score 1 as of Thu Sep 24 22:54:50 UTC 2020 Conversation Size 0 Body link
a JW for over 30 years. 4th generation. I don’t regret walking away.
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2020.09.23 00:48 normancrane Mom pictures sex free
Part 1 <-- You are here.
Part 3 [Soon!]
Iris The first person to ever tell me the theory was Iris. It was nighttime in 2015, and we were lying on an old mattress on the roof of a four-storey apartment building in a university town in southern Ontario. A party was going on downstairs to which we’d both been invited and from whose monotony we’d helped each other escape through an ordinary white door that said “No entrance”. It was summer. I remember the heat waves and the radiating warmth of the asphalt. Our semester was over and we had started existing until the next one started in the way all students exist when they don’t spend their months off at home or touring Europe. I could feel the bass thumping from below. I could see the infinite stars in the cloudless sky. The sound seemed so disconnected from the image. Iris and I weren’t dating, we were just friends, but she leaned toward me on the mattress that night until I could feel her breathing on my neck, and, with my eyes pointed spaceward, she began: “What if…”
Back then it was pure speculation, a wild fantasy inspired by the THC from the joint we were passing back and forth and uninhibited by the beer we’d already drunk. There was nothing scientific or even philosophical about Iris’ telling of it. The theory was a flight of imagination influenced by her name and personalized by the genetic defect of her eyes, which her doctors had said would render her blind by fifty. Even thirty-five seemed far away. It’s heartbreaking now to know that Iris never did live to experience her blindness—her own genetic fate interrupted by the genetic fate of the world—but that night, imagination, the quality Einstein called more important than knowledge, lit up both our brains in synapses of neon as we shared our joint, sucking it into glowing nothingness, Iris paranoid that she’d wake up one morning in eternal darkness despite the doctors’ assurances that her blindness would occur gradually, and me fearing that I would never find love, never share my life with anyone, but soothed at least by Iris’ words and her impossible ideas because Einstein was right, and imagination is magical enough to cure anything.
2025, Pre- I graduated with a degree in one field, found a low paying job in another, got married, worked my way to slightly better pay, wanted to have a child, bought a Beagle named Pillow as a temporary substitute, lived in an apartment overlooking a green garbage bin that was always full of beer cans and pizza boxes, and held my wife, crying, when we found out that we couldn’t have children. Somewhere along the way my parents died and Kurt Schwaller, a physicist from the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, proved a grand theory of everything that rather than being based on the vibrations of strings, was based on a property of particles called viscous time force. I never understood the details. To me they lacked imagination. The overriding point, the experts on television told us, was that given enough data and computing power we could now predict the outcome of anything. The effect was that no one wanted to study theoretical physics and everyone wanted to make breakthroughs in data collection systems and biological hardware. Hackers created a version of Linux that ran from DNA. Western Digital released the first working holographic storage drive. The NSA, FSB, BND and other agencies rushed to put their suddenly valuable mass of unprocessed raw spy data to prognostic use. A Chinese bookmaker known only by the nick ##!! wrote a piece of Python code that could predict the outcomes of hockey games. Within a month, the NHL and KHL were scrambling to come up with ways of saving their leagues by making them more unpredictable. They introduced elements of chance: power plays without penalties, a tilting ice surface, fluctuating rules that sometimes allowed for icings and offsides and sometimes not, and, finally, a pre-game lottery by which the names of the players on both teams were put into a pot and randomly drawn into two squads. Given enough variables, the strategy did thwart the code, but the inherent unfairness of the innovations alienated the players, the draft made owners question why they were paying the salaries of superstars who played against them half of the time, and the fans simply stopped paying attention to a league full of teams for which their already dwindling loyalty had bottomed out. Besides, the code was basic. ##!! had room to expand. The KHL folded first, followed by the NHL, and then the other sports leagues, preemptively. They didn’t bother to wait until their own codes were broken. I remember seeing an interview with ##!! while this was still front page news. The reporter, a perpetually smiling big-breasted blonde with blindingly white teeth, asked him if he thought that hockey could be rescued by the creation of roving blue lines that would continually alter the relative sizes of both offensive zones and the neutral zone. ##!! answered that he didn’t know what a blue line was because he’d never watched a hockey game in his life. His voice was cold, objective, and there was something terrifyingly inhuman about the idea that a person with no knowledge of a subject could nevertheless understand it so completely. Content had become a mere input of form.
By 2025, mainstream interest in the theory of everything faded, not because the theory was wrong but because it was too right and too abstract and now there weren’t any young theoretical physicists to help explain it using cute graphics on YouTube. We consumed what we understood and passively accepted the fallout while going on with our daily lives. The people who did understand made money, but for the rest of us the consequences were less than their potential, because even with enough time, memory and microprocessors the most we could know was the what and the when, not the why. For the governments and corporations pouring taxes and tax-free earnings into complex models of world domination, that didn’t matter. They weren’t interested in cause. They were in the business of exploiting certainty to gain power. As long as they could predict lightning, they were satisfied. If they could make it, all the better. Away from the cutting edge, however, like ants or ancients, what we craved to know was where the lightning came from, what it meant, and on that issue the theory was silent. As Kurt Schwaller put it in a speech to the United Nations, “All I’ve given you is a tool—a microscope to magnify the minutes, so to speak—with which to investigate in perfect detail the entirety of our interrelations. But the investigations still have to made, ladies and gentlemen. Have a hay stack, look for the needle. Know there might not be one.”
In January, my wife and I began a fertility treatment for which we’d been saving for years. It was undoubtedly the reason we became so emotionally involved in the media attention around Aiko, the lovely, black-haired and fashionable Crown Princess of Japan, who along with her husband was going through the same ordeal that we were. For a few months, it seemed as if the whole world sat on the edges of its seat, wishing for this beautiful royal couple to conceive. And we sat on two, our own and one somewhere in an exotic Japan updated by the royal Twitter feed. It strikes me now that royalty has always fascinated the proles, a feeling that historically went in tandem with hatred, respect or awe, but it was the Japanese who held our attentions the longest and the most genuinely in the twenty-first century, when equality had more or less rendered a hereditary ruling class obsolete. The British declared themselves post-Christian in 2014 and post-Royal in 2021, the European Court of Justice ruled all other European royals invalid in 2022, and the Muslim monarchs pompously degraded themselves one-by-one into their own exiles and executions. Only the Japanese line survived, adapting to the times by refusing to take itself seriously on anything but the most superficial level. They dressed nicely, acted politely and observed a social protocol that we admired without wanting to follow it ourselves. Before he died, my father had often marvelled that the Second World War began with Japan being led by an emperor god, and ended with the American occupation forcing him to renounce his divinity. The Japanese god had died because MacArthur willed it and Hirohito spoke it. Godhood was like plaque. If your mother told you to brush your teeth, off it went, provided you used the right flavour of Colgate. Kings had once ruled by divine right. By 2025, the Crown Princess of Japan ruled our hearts merely by popular approval. She was our special friend, with whom we were all on intimate and imaginary terms. Indeed, on the day she died—on the day they all died—Princess Aiko’s was the most friended account on Facebook.
That’s why March 27, 2025, was such a joyous occasion for us. In hindsight, it’s utterly sick to associate the date with happiness of any kind, but history must always be understood in context, and the context of the announcement was a wirelessly connected world whose collective hopes came suddenly true to the jingle of a breaking news story on the BBC. I was in the kitchen sauteing onions when I heard it. Cutting them had made me cry and my eyes were still red. Then the announcer’s voice broke as he was setting up his intro, and in a video clip that was subsequently rebroadcast, downloaded and parodied close to a billion times in the one hundred thirty-two days that followed, he said: “The Crown Princess of Japan is pregnant!”
I ran to the living room and hugged my wife, who’d fallen to her knees in front of the wall-mounted monitor. Pillow was doing laps on and off the sofa. The BBC cut away from the announcer’s joyful face to a live feed from Japan. As I held my wife, her body felt warm and full of life. The top of her jeans cut into her waist. Her tears wetted the top of my shirt sleeve. Both of our phones started to buzz—emails and Twitter notifications streaming in. On the monitor, Aiko and her husband, both of their angular faces larger than life in 110” 1080p, waved to the crowd in Tokyo and the billions watching around the world. They spoke in Japanese and a woman on the BBC translated, but we hardly needed to know her exact words to understand the emotions. If them, why not also us? I knew my wife was having the same thought. We, too, could have a family. Then I smelled burning oil and the pungency of onions and I remembered my sauteing. I gently removed my arms from around my wife’s shoulders and ran back to the kitchen, still listening to Aiko’s voice and its polite English echo, and my hands must have been shaking, or else my whole body was shaking, because after I had turned down the heat I reached for the handle of the frying pan, knocked the pan off the stove top instead, and burned myself while stupidly trying to catch it before it fell, clattering, to the floor. The burned onions splattered. I’d cracked one of the kitchen tiles. My hand turned pale and I felt a numbness before my skin started to overflow with the warmth of pain. Without turning off the broadcast, my wife shooed me downstairs to the garage where we kept our car and drove me to the hospital.
The Toronto streets were raucous. Horns honked. J-pop blared. In the commotion we nearly hit a pedestrian, a middle-aged white woman pushing a baby carriage, who’d cut across Lake Shore without looking both ways. She had appeared suddenly from behind a parked transport—and my wife instinctively jerked the car from the left lane to the right, scraping our side mirror against the truck but saving two lives. The woman barely noticed. She disappeared into a crowd of Asian kids on the other side of street who were dancing to electronica and waving half a dozen Japanese flags, one of which was the Rising Sun Flag, the military flag of Imperial Japan. Clutching my wrist in the hope it would dull the pain in my hand, I wondered how many of them knew about the suffering Japanese soldiers had inflicted on countless Chinese in the name of that flag. To the right, Lake Ontario shone and sparkled in the late afternoon light. A passenger jet took off from Toronto Island Airport and climbed into the sky.
In the hospital waiting room, I sat next to a woman who was reading a movie magazine with Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s face on the cover. The Cannes film festival was coming up. My wife checked me in at the reception desk. The woman beside me put down her magazine and told me that she was there with her son, as if needing to justify her presence. I affirmed by nodding. He’d hurt his leg playing soccer for a local Armenian junior boys team, she went on. I said I’d hurt myself frying onions and that I was here with my wife. She said my wife was pretty and asked if I liked movies. Without meaning to do it, I tried to guess her age—unsuccessfully—and proceeded to imagine having doggy style sex with her. She had dark eyes that barely blinked and plump thighs. When I started to feel guilty, I answered her question: sometimes I watched movies at home, but I hadn’t been to a theatre in a decade. When my wife sat down, I let the two of them talk about the woman’s son. I was having trouble concentrating. I took my phone out of my pocket and read all the new emails about the royal conception, then stared at the seconds hand going slowly around its digital clock face on my home screen, wondering why we so often emulated the limitations of analogue machines on devices that were no longer bound by them. I switched my clock type to a digital readout. Now the seconds no longer rotated but flickered away. They called my name over the crackling intercom and a nurse led me to one of the empty rooms. “How about that baby,” he said while we walked. I didn’t see his face, only the shaved back of his head. “The things they can do these days, even for infertile couples.”
I waited for over thirty minutes for a doctor. When one came in, she inspected my hand for less than ten seconds before telling me that I was fine and hinting that I shouldn’t have wasted her time by coming to the emergency room. She had high cheek bones, thin lips and bony wrists. Her tablet had a faux clipboard wallpaper. Maybe I had only misinterpreted her tone. “How about that baby,” I said.
“It’s not a baby yet,” she answered.
This time her tone was impossible to misinterpret. I was only repeating what the nurse had said, I told myself. But I didn’t say that to her. Instead, I imagined her coming home at night to an empty apartment, furnished possibly in a minimalistic Japanese or Swedish style, brewing a cup of black coffee and settling into an armchair to re-read a Simone de Beauvoir novel. I was about to imagine having sex with her when I caught hold of myself and wondered what was up with me today.
When I got back to the waiting room, my wife was no longer there—but the Armenian woman was. She pointed down the hall and told me a room number. She said that sometime after I left, my wife had gotten a cramp and started to vomit all over the floor. Someone was still mopping up. The other people in the waiting room, which was filling up, gave me tactfully dirty looks, either because I was with the vomiter or because I’d shirked my responsible by being away during the vomiting. Irrationally, I wiped my own mouth and fled down the hall.
Inside the numbered room, my wife was sitting hunched over on an observation bed, slowly kicking her feet back and forth. “Are you OK?” I asked.
“Come here,” she said.
I did, and sat beside her on the bed. I repeated my question. She still smelled a little of vomit, but she looked up at me like the world’s luckiest puppy, her eyes big and glassy, and said, “Norman, I’m pregnant.”
That’s all she could say—
That’s all either of us could say for a while.
We just sat there on the examination bed like a pair of best friends on a swing set after dark, dangling our feet and taking turns pulling each other closer. “Are you sure?” I finally asked. My voice was hoarse. I sounded like a frog.
“Yes.” She kicked the heel of my shoe with the rubber toe of hers. “We’re going to have a baby.”
It was beautiful. The most wonderful moment of my life. I remembered the day we met and our little marriage ceremony. I thought about being a father, and felt positively terrified, and about being a better husband, and felt absolutely determined, and as I kissed my wife there in the little hospital room with its sterile green walls, I imagined making love to her. I kept imagining it as we drove back to the apartment through partying Toronto streets. “Not since the Maple Leafs won the Stanley Cup!” the radio announcer proclaimed—before I turned him off. I also turned off my phone and my wife’s phone. No more buzzing. In the underground parking lot, I leaned over and licked her soft neck. I pushed her through the open apartment door and straight into the living room, onto the sofa, and wished I could be the cushions beneath her thighs and the air invading her lungs. Pillow barked a greeting and wagged her tail. The monitor on the wall showed talking heads and fertility experts. I unbuttoned my wife’s blouse. She unbuckled my belt. The picture on the monitor dissolved to a close-up of Aiko’s smiling face. My wife and I took turns sliding off each other’s jeans. I kissed her bare stomach. She ran her hands through my hair. I dimmed the lights. We made love.
When we were done it was starry nighttime. My wife bandaged my hand. We turned off the television. The silence was refreshing because people on television too often talk like they’re trying to push you off a ledge. My wife excused me from the duty of making supper because of my ineptness with the frying pan, and handed me a leash instead. I hooked it up to Pillow’s collar and took her outside. While she peed, I gazed up at the sky and identified the Big Dipper. It and the Little Dipper were the only constellations I could identify without using a smartphone app. After Pillow finished, we ducked into a nook and I peed, too. The March sky was amazingly clear of smog. My urine splashed on the concrete and I felt embarrassingly primal. I breathed in, shook out the last drops and zipped up.
In the apartment, we ate grilled portabella mushrooms topped with parmesan and parsley and drank brown rice tea. My wife had changed into fresh clothes. I had changed into fresh skin. Every time she said “mom” and “dad”, the words discharged trickles of electricity up and down my peripheral nervous system. We were happy; we were going to have a baby. The whole world was happy; the Crown Princess of Japan of was going to have a baby. The sounds of drunken urban celebrations drifted in through our bedroom window all night like fog, and we barely slept.
2025, Post- Gold is precious because it’s rare. Now close your eyes and imagine that the next time you open them, everything in your world will be golden: your kitchen table, the bananas you bought on the way home from work yesterday, your bottle of shampoo, even your teeth. Now blink. You’re not alone. The market’s flooded. Gold isn’t rare anymore. It’s everywhere. Which means that it’s worth about as much as its weight in mud, because there’s nothing intrinsically good about gold. Can you write on your gold table? It scratches. Surely you can’t eat your golden fruit. Your shampoo’s not a liquid anymore, so your hair’s already starting to get greasy. And if you do find something to eat that’s not made of metal, how long will those gold teeth last before you grind them into finely polished nubs?
For two days the Earth glittered.
For two days we lived in a daze of perfection.
And then, on March 29, a researcher working with lab mice at Stanford University noticed something odd. All of his female mice were pregnant. He contacted several of his colleagues who were also working with mice, rats, and monkeys. All their female animals were pregnant, too. Some of the colleagues had wives and girlfriends. They took innocent-seeming trips to their local pharmacies and bought up all the available pregnancy tests. At home, women took test after test and all of them showed positive. By midnight, the researchers had drafted a joint letter and sent copies of it to the major newspapers in their countries. On the morning of March 30, the news hit.
When I checked my Twitter feed after breakfast, #impregtoo was already trending. Throughout the day, Reddit lit up with increasingly bizarre accounts of pregnancies that physically couldn’t be but, apparently, were. Post-menopausal women, celibate women, prepubescent girls, women who’d had their uteruses removed only to discover that their reproductive systems had spontaneously regenerated like the severed tales of lizards. Existing early stage pregnancies aborted themselves and re-fertilized, like a system rebooting. Later term pregnancies developed Matryoshka-like pregnancies nested within pregnancies. After a while, I stopped reading, choosing to spend time with my wife instead. As night fell, we reclined on the sofa, her head on my chest, Pillow curled up in our tangle of feet, the television off, and the streets of Toronto eerily quiet save for the intermittent blaring of far off sirens, as any lingering doubts about the reality of the situation melted away like the brief, late season snow that floated gently down from the sky, blackening the streets.
On March 30, the World Health Organization issued a communique confirming that based on the available data it was reasonable to assume that all female mammals were pregnant. No cause was identified. It urged any woman who was not pregnant to step forward immediately. Otherwise, the communique offered no guidance. It indicated merely that the organization was already working with governments around the world to prepare for a massive influx of human population in approximately nine months’ time. Most places, including Toronto, reacted with stunned panic. Non-essential workplaces and schools were decried closed. People were urged to stay indoors. Hospitals prepared for possible complications. A few supermarkets ran out of canned food and there were several bank runs, but nothing happened that the existing systems couldn’t handle. Populations kept their nerve. Highway and air traffic increased slightly as people rushed to be with their friends, families and gynaecologists. We spent the entire day in our apartment and let Pillow pee in the tub. Except for the conspiracy theorists, who believed that the Earth was being cosmically pollinated by aliens, most of us weren’t scared to go outside, but we were scared of the unknown, and we preferred to process that fear in the comfort of our own dens.
The New York Times ran a front page editorial arguing for an evaluation of the situation using Kurt Schwaller’s theory of everything. In conjunction with The Washington Post, The Guardian and The Wikipedia Foundation, a website was set up asking users for technical help, monetary donations and the sharing of any surplus computing power.
The project quickly ran into problems. To accurately predict anything, the theory of everything needed sufficient data, and, on April 2, cryptome.org published a series of leaked emails between the French Minister of Health and a high-ranking member of World Health Organization that proved the latter’s communique had been disingenuous at best. Externally, the World Health Organization had concluded that all female mammals were pregnant. That remained true. However, it had failed to admit an even more baffling development: the wombs of all female mammals had inexplicably become impenetrable to all rays and materials that had so far been tried against them. For all intents and purposes, there was no way to see inside the womb, or to destroy it. The only way to revert the body to its natural form, to terminate the pregnancy, was to kill the woman—an experiment that, according to the high-ranking member of the World Health Organization, the French government had helped conduct on unwilling women in Mali. Both parties issued repeated denials until a video surfaced showing the murders. I couldn’t bring myself to watch it. They spun their denials into arguments about the necessity of sacrificing lives for the greater good.
Reminded once again of the deception inherent in politics, many turned to religion, but the mainstream religions were hesitant to react. They offered few opinions and no answers. The fringe religions split into two camps. Some leaders welcomed this development, the greatest of all known miracles, while others denounced the same as a universal and unnatural punishment for our collective sins of hedonism, egoism and pride. The most successful of all was the Tribe of Akna, a vaguely mystical Maya revival cult that sprang up seemingly overnight and was led by a Guatemalan freelance programmer named Salvador Abaroa. Although it originated in Mexico City, the Tribe spread as quickly across the world as the computer viruses that Abaroa was notorious for creating. On the Tribe’s homepage, Abaroa could be seen striking an antique brass gong and saying in Spanish-tinged English, “Like energy, life is never destroyed. Every one of us plays an integral part of the cosmic ecosystem. Every man, woman and virus.” Elsewhere on the website, you could buy self-published theological textbooks, listen to scratchy recordings of speeches by Alan Watts and read about the hypothesis that Maya thought was deeply connected to Buddhism because the Mayans had crossed the Pacific Ocean and colonized Asia.
But despite the apparent international cooperation happening at the highest levels, the first week of April was an atomizing period for the so-called people on the ground. We hunkered down. Most personal communication was digital. My wife and I exchanged emails with her parents and sister, but we met no one face-to-face, not even on Skype. We neither invited our neighbours to dinner nor were invited by them, despite how easy it was to walk down the hall and knock. I read far more than I wrote, and even when I did write, responding to a blog post or news story, I found it easier to relate to strangers than to the people I knew. My wife said I had a high tolerance for solitude. “Who do you know in the city?” she asked. Although we’d been living here together for three years, she still considered Toronto mine. She was the stranger, I was the native. I said that I knew a few people from work. She told me to call one of them I’d never called before. I did, and the next day’s sky was cloudless and sunny and there were five of us in the apartment: my wife and I, my friend Bakshi and his wife Jacinda, and their daughter, Greta. Greta drank apple juice while the rest of us drank wine, and all five of us gorged ourselves on freshly baked peach cobbler, laughing at silly faces and cracking immature jokes. It hardly registered for me that the majority of the room was unstoppably pregnant, but wasn’t that the point: to forget—if only for a few hours? Instead of watching the BBC, we streamed BDRips of Hayao Miyazaki movies from The Pirate Bay. Porco Rosso ruled the skies, castles flew, a Catbus arrived at its magical stop. Then Bakshi’s phone rang, and he excused himself from the table to take the call. When he returned, his face was grey. “What’s the matter?” Jacinda asked him. He was still holding the phone to his ear. “It’s Kurt Schwaller,” he said. “They just found his body. They think he killed himself.”
Proceed to Part 2
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2020.09.21 16:48 HaulA21Sepl Free mom sex pictures
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2020.09.21 07:48 NotACommie24 Free mom sex pictures
Title, I was wondering if this happened to anyone else.
Basically, what happened is my grandmother on my father's side died in 2013. He became super depressed, started drinking, and lost his job about a year later. Around this time, my mother reconnected with her high school boyfriend. Just like all cheating people, she used the excuse of "He's just a friend." After about a year of this, she kicked my dad out of the house because his alcoholism became too much. A few months after she kicked him out, she went to Ireland with my dad's money for "research" on a book she was writing. I had suspected she went with her old boyfriend, but didn't say anything since I would be baseless accusing her. She then went across the country to Oklahoma for a "Book event" Two weeks after she came back, I learned that said ex boyfriend conveniently lived in Oklahoma. In 2015, she told my dad she wanted a divorce, but she said she might be willing to get back with him if he got his alcoholism under control, which he did. For the next year, she went to the East Coast multiple times for "book events," until finally she told me that she was dating her old boyfriend and she wanted me to meet him. At the time, I was still 14 so I didn't realize how deceptive she had become. Me and his son get along great, and we legitimately love each other like brothers. Can't say the same for his daughter, she's a fucking lunatic that accused me of beating her because she tried attacking me and I threw her to the floor. When I first got there though, I saw a picture of my mom and her new boyfriend in front of a castle that I recognized from one of the pictures she sent me during her Ireland trip. I confronted her on this, and she made up a bunch of bullshit excuses about how he was just there as a friend and nothing more, so I don't need to tell dad cause she would've never had an affair. Having being cheated on myself and knowing how depressed it made me, I went off on her and didnt talk to her unless I had to for around a year, maybe more (my dad got his act together, so I lived with him). So that bring us to last year. In march, she let me know that she was moving to oklahoma with him and bringing my little brother and dog. My older brother was getting to the age where he was moving out on his own at the same time, so being away from both brothers really fucked me up. She said she isn't really abandoning me cause I could move out with her if I wanted, cause yeah I'm definitely gonna leave everyone I love behind to live with a mother who emotionally abused me my entire life.
When I say she emotionally abused me, there was far more than just all this. When she found out I had sex form the first time when I was 16, she took my phone while I was asleep, and went through all my texts with the girl, my friends, my brothers, and my dad, then went through all my internet history. When she went through me and the girl's texts, she saw that the girl was really worried about her parents finding out because they are extremely strict, so she took it upon herself to reverse search the number, find her parents on facebook, and proceeded to threaten to tell her parents what we did if I don't stop texting my dad the various ways she emotionally abuses me, and don't let her go through my phone every night.
I have a chronic life threatening genetic illness (type 1 diabetes), and in February 2017, I got influenza b and it hit me hard. Naturally she accused me of lying, so she forced me to go to school, and I would be sent home every day for vomiting. I was so lethargic that my legs would buckle out from under me if I tried to stand, so I would quite literally crawl to the bathroom and for water. Because leaving my room was so much effort, I stopped taking my insulin, and due to that I couldn't eat or drink much of anything without instantly vomiting. After about 5 days of this, my dad got back from the backpacking trip he was on and after waking up screaming because I was hallucinating, seeing people reaching through my walls trying to grab me, people crawling out of the ceiling grinning at me, and vultures flying above me trying to peck at me due to the ketoacid buildup in my blood, I called my dad and told him that she wouldnt take me to the hospital because she said I'm faking. He instantly sped over, and when my mom said she wouldn't let him take me because I'm just trying to get out of school, he said
"I don't care if it takes me beating you to the ground, if that's what it takes to keep my son from dying, that 's exactly what I'll do," and she proceeded to run off crying and called the cops because he threatened to beat her. Naturally my dad was charged because she's a woman and our justice system always believes women over men, even though me and my little brother both said the same thing, but it was only after he got me to the hospital, and I spent 11 days in the pediatric ICU.
Anyways, I'm rambling at this point, but tldr, my emotionally abusive mother abandoned me and took my little brother to go live with her new love. I kinda just needed a place to vent, so you can ignore this post if you'd like, but if anyone else has had similar experiences and would wanna talk about it feel free to comment.
submitted by NotACommie24 to DysfunctionalFamily [link] [comments]
2020.09.21 02:59 hypointellectual Free mom sex pictures
For all you brave queens who are online dating in the middle of a motherf*ckin pandemic because y’all are a bunch of crazy psychos, I want to arm you with an ironclad checklist for spotting a LVM via social media. This shit might be obvious to you, but let’s make a checklist so y’all have tools to use when you’re dating. This is meant to be an objective way to weed out scrotes without bringing in all your feelings and excuses.
The best way to vet a male is via social media because you don’t have to waste your time going on a date or even really conversing with this potential LVM. Just cut him out and move on to finding a HVM.
Hope the scrotes don’t see this shit. If they do, it’s hard to clean up their messy act anyway.
In this edition, I’m going to be focusing on 2 main things: Instagram and LinkedIn. Should be easy enough to find most scrotes via social media because they don’t live in fear of being stalked and murdered like men like we women/LGBTQ folks do.
Source: I’ve dated so many losers in my time that someone should benefit from my terrible experiences. I’m also friends with LVM (great friends but they are honestly so gross when it comes to dating). It’s good being friends with some of them that offer something to you bc you get to see the male mind at work. I know which flags to avoid without having to experience them!!!
1. Check who they are following and who their followers are.
LVM will have a combination of the following: * Following scantily clad women - Men who follow Kylie Jenner are usually scrotes. I have nothing against her but a 30 year old man following her? Ummm red flag. * More than 30% of their following list are women. LVM ask women to switch to social media and add all their conquests to keep in touch in case they need a wet hole. Trust me, every single one of my LVM friends do this shit. * Check a few of the women’s profiles. We can all smell pickmeishas from miles away. I was literally able to find a LVW he was dating who tweets every single thought about her life. One of her tweets was about him. Y I K E S. * The girls he follows are from around the world and all sorts of locations he’s visited. It’s cuz he used tindebumble/etc. to find easy free sex.
2. Using babies/dogs/mom/grandma/hot girls as props.
His profile picture is with his mom. Aww. Chances are he doesn’t even buy her a Christmas gift. He also has a pic with a baby! Ask him if he actually babysits or has ever changed a diaper. Wow he’s with a bunch of hot girls! Are they way out of his league? If so, they’re props and he objectifies women.
3. Overly branding themselves.
Unless he owns a photography business, ask yourself why he’s so keep on making sure there’s a consistent theme to his posts. Or why there are so many professional pictures of him shirtless. Guys who do this for no real reason except to show they’re cool are usually scrotes trying to look attractive to women.
4. Read the captions and comments on his pictures.
Lots of women commenting? Is he acting like a douchebag in his description/comments?
1. More than 5 years of work experience and are not in leadership positions.
I understand this might vary by industry, but by five years you should be a manager or some sort of lead. Does his work experience make sense for his position?
2. Bad LinkedIn Page
No job descriptions, grammatical errors, etc. if you’re in his industry, VET HIM!!!!! His LinkedIn page should look pretty good, even if he’s not looking for a job. A nonprofessional picture on LinkedIn is usually a bad sign if he works in an office environment.
3. Work in certain jobs like sales, recruiting, sports etc.
These men meet women all the time. I’ve dated guys in these roles. 9 times out of 10, they’re bad at their jobs or barely meet quota. If they were good at their jobs, their linkedin page would show it. Good sales/recruiters are trying to stay on top of their A game and do not waste time on asinine bullshit.
TLDR; Social media is a great way to vet someone without actually spending much time. The reason why is because social media allows people to curate a profile of themselves. This profile shows how they perceive themselves and how they want the world to perceive them. You get an glimpse of their mind.
Share your checklist below and I’ll try to add it to the original post.
More checklist items based on comments: 1. Check if he uses Reddit and find out if he has an account. Sleuth what he posts and which subreddits he follows.
submitted by hypointellectual to FemaleDatingStrategy [link] [comments]
2020.09.20 13:55 lowercas_e Peri-areolar top surgery with Dr. Fischer - the pre-op report
Hi everyone – this is a follow-up to a post I made about a month ago, asking if anyone would be interested in the details of my then-upcoming top surgery. I’m officially post-op now (five days!) and working on a ridiculously detailed writeup. This is the first part, which goes right up until the surgery itself. I’m going to wait a few more days to do the post-op one so that I can go up to the process of getting the drains out. Feel free to skip to the end to get to the salient info, and to comment with any questions about stuff I might have left out!
So, without further ado, how I got here:
First the basics. I'm 31 years old. I live in Maryland. I'm five feet tall and weigh around ninety pounds, give or take a couple in either direction. My chest measurement before surgery was about 28 inches, and about 26 "underbust." I've never been on testosterone or puberty blockers. I've never really had to wear a binder, and avoided it because I knew that I had to be gentle with that tissue if I wanted the results that I'd really hoped were possible. Keep this in mind - I'm hardly an average representation of anything, so my experience is most likely atypical in a lot of ways. But I'm hoping the overall information could be helpful.
I came out when I was 25, though I'd known since high school. Top surgery was on my radar, but trans stuff was on the fringe then - I read a lot of "butch lesbian who got top surgery" blogs, which was the only thing that made it seem possible for me, though the thought of paying for it (I was overestimating the cost by almost double, and too scared to actually look it up) seemed unthinkable. I didn't know about anything but double incision surgery, which was pretty horrifying to me. So I put the thought out of my mind for almost ten years.
When I aged out of my parents' insurance and got my own, most plans had a line specifying that they did not cover anything meant to "alter the patient's physical sex," or something to that effect. This changed a few years ago, but at the time I didn't qualify for sick leave at work, and I was still paying off my student loans. Along the way things progressed - I started using a new name, then changed it legally, and then my state started allowing "unspecified" gender markers on driver's licenses. I paid off my loans and saved some money, without acknowledging to myself what I was saving it for. And then I got a letter at work, informing me that they were now required to provide medical leave for anyone working over 15 hours weekly. And suddenly a lot of things came together, fast.
My mom has always been supportive of me, but she was not very happy to hear about this. After talking it over a lot, we ended up going together to a therapist who worked with both trans people and families - incidentally, our therapist was also nonbinary, and we had to take a break in our visits while they recovered from their own top surgery. We visited them a few times over a few months, and they suggested that I at least look into getting my surgery covered by insurance, and directed me toward the Johns Hopkins Center for Transgender Health. I had done research on several of the big names in top surgery, particularly those who do a lot of peri-areolar surgeries - I was very not into the idea of double incision, and knew that, while I was not the seventeen-year-old kid on T who's a sure thing for peri, I had a chance. But getting it covered would make the financial hit more bearable.
I did some research on insurance coverage. When it came time to renew my Medicaid coverage, I switched to an MCO that had a history of working with Johns Hopkins. I contacted them about finding a therapist to write a letter for me, and about getting a consultation - I expected to have a long wait to meet with Dr. Devin O'Brien-Coon, but they suggested that I come in much earlier and meet with Dr. Benny Tan, who had only recently come to work at the Hopkins center, so I got my letter and scheduled my appointment with him.
Dr. Tan had just started at the JH center when I had my consultation with him, and while he had a lot of previous experience doing breast cancer mastectomies, he was clearly a lot less familiar with top surgery. He was adamant that I was ineligible for peri-areolar surgery, and would have to have double incision. He seemed to have some weird misconceptions about the details - at one point he said that no one ever regains any nipple sensation after surgery (???), and when I mentioned the concept of the eventual shape of my chest being somewhat dependent on how much muscle I can develop through exercise he sort of laughed and said, "Well, maybe if you decide to become a bodybuilder." When I asked if I could see post-op pictures of some of the previous procedures the center had done, I was told no, that Dr. O'Brien-Coon didn't want to suggest that there was any guarantee of a specific kind of results. He seemed like a nice guy. He answered the questions I had, and my mom's. But I did not feel good about this.
At the same time, I was trying fruitlessly to get any information at all about whether I would, in fact, be able to get this covered by insurance. I won't go into the boring details of one million phone transfers, but after several days the question was resolved: because the insurance required a previous twelve-month period of hormone replacement therapy, I was out of luck. At this point I wasn't even upset - it just made it clearer that my original plan was what I was going to go with.
Finally, I paid $100 to have a consultation with Dr. Beverly Fischer in Lutherville. Dr. Fischer was one of the surgeons I'd been researching from the beginning - she's been performing surgeries since the 90s, including a lot of peri-areolar surgeries, and she also is the most local of the surgeons I'd looked into. I'd seen pictures online that people had posted of her work on people with body types very much like mine, and I was impressed. Dr. Fischer doesn't take any insurance (you can try to go through a process on your own afterward, and perhaps get at least a partial reimbursement from your insurance, but that's up to them), but I had the money saved, and I felt it was a fair trade to have a greater level of control over the experience.
Since Dr. Fischer has her own small facility, the consultation was very smooth and low-key. Again, my mom went with me (this was right before covid started, but even now she allows one visitor to come with a patient). She looked me over and assured me that I was definitely a candidate for peri (they all say "keyhole" there, which confused me, but I'm going to keep saying peri, by which I mean full circular incisions around the areola). We were given a breakdown of the cost ($9,700) and shown into a little room where they gave us a binder of pre- and post-op photos to look at. Again, her work is very impressive - my mom, who was not familiar with the different styles of surgery, was reassured that they did not look as scarred up as she was probably expecting. This was a much better experience than I had at Hopkins, enough to convince me.
Then the pandemic hit! Needless to say, things were on hold for a while.
The library I work at was closed for over two months. In June, we started working again, but with a very minimal schedule. I'd been doing almost double my baseline hours by filling in for vacant positions, but now I was working fifteen hours per week maximum, meaning I didn't lose any substitute pay for taking sick leave. So I called Dr. Fischer's office and made the soonest appointment I could, for September 16th. I made a 10% payment over the phone ($970) and scheduled my appointments for three weeks prior to surgery.
Three weeks before surgery:
I went to Dr. Fischer's office for my pre-op appointment. Because I'd already been measured during my consultation, this was mostly a lot of information and question-and-answer sessions with their surgical coordinator Shannon. My mom came with me (all of us wore masks, and we had temperature checks when we came in, as well as standard "have you had any covid symptoms or been out of state" worksheets to fill out).
Shannon brought out a set of the drains and showed us how they'd work (they are still stuck in me at the time of this writing, so I'm trying not to think about it too much!), and gave me a folder of pre- and post-op information, plus the sheet to give to my primary care doctor when I went to get my bloodwork done. The instructions were pretty standard - try to eat a lot of protein in the weeks before and after surgery (raises your red blood cell count so you recover faster), get up and walk around on the first day (helps the anesthesia junk work its way out of your body), don't lie on your back eating applesauce the whole time (you're not going to hurt yourself, live your life, just be gentle). Mentioned, but for some reason not included on the printed sheet: there's a one-day-post-op appointment the morning after, just to check everything out - this means that AFTER your surgery you shouldn't eat or drink after midnight, and through the morning, just in case there's an unexpected need to put you under to correct anything.
I brought them a check for the remainder of my payment - $8,730. As weird as it seems, seeing the money actually come out of my bank account didn't bother me at all. I'd saved that money with this in mind, so it seemed natural to finally use it.
They also gave me a stack of four prescriptions, which I filled on the way home: One pre-op anti-nausea pill, one pre-op Xanax, several post-op pain pills (hydrocodone and acetaminophen) and several post-op anti-nausea pills. Fortunately this was covered by my insurance, because I sure did NOT need all of these.
I went within the week to get the required physical and bloodwork at my regular doctor's office, and just handed them the sheet that said what results needed to be sent to Dr. Fischer. Apparently there was some kind of faxing error and I didn't find out for a couple weeks that they hadn't gotten the results, but that was fixed by some relatively simple phone calls. I'd recommend calling a week after the blood test to confirm that they've received everything.
I put in a request for six days off work - starting and ending on a Wednesday, with a normal weekend between. They usually recommend ten days, but I have a very low-activity job and only work short shifts, so they agreed that eight days would be fine. This is another factor that might have been different if I had been getting double-incision surgery, which I've heard can take a few more days of recovery.
Some days later, I got a call saying that the anesthesiologist wouldn't be able to be in on the Wednesday I was scheduled for. I was all set to move everything forward by a chunk of time when they clarified that no, they wanted me to come in one day earlier. Well, okay then. I added a Tuesday to my leave. I am told that I will need to get an "excuse note" to take back when I return to work, which I haven't asked for yet, but will probably get at my one-week-after appointment.
A few days before surgery:
This is the time to get things in order wherever you'll be staying. Of course you can't prepare for everything, but I did as much laundry as I could, made sure I had plenty of prepared food in the house, checked out a ton of books and DVDs from the library. Trimmed my hair and nails. Note that you are required to shave your armpits so the tape doesn't stick to them when they bandage you up - if you're not used to this, I recommend doing it a couple days in advance, because it's a Bad Time.
Night before surgery:
I got the usual confirmation call from them the Monday before my surgery date. I got everything together (medication. Sweatpants, button-up shirt, socks, slip-on shoes, COTTON underwear, which is the only kind you may wear in surgery. The folder of information. My old ipod and headphones). I went to bed relatively early as I knew I was going to be up early, though it might have been better to stay up and have a late snack before the midnight deadline.
Day of surgery:
September 15th - my surgery was scheduled for 9:30, and my arrival at 8:30. I was told to shower and wash my hair, to only use antibacterial soap (we had the Dial orange bar) for my body. I used baby shampoo on my hair, because I wanted something that wouldn't leave any weird residue, since I knew I wouldn't be able to wash it again for some days. Deodorant is allowed, but no lotion. Brushed my teeth. No food, no drink, no chewing gum.
I went to the surgery center with both my parents, but right now they're specifying only one guest per patient, so only my mom came in. There's a little retirement community and some stores around, so they had somewhere to hang out while they waited. I left my mom's phone number with them on a post-it so they could call her when they needed to come back for me.
I took my bag and went into one of the patient rooms, where I was given this hilariously large toga-looking thing to change into. I gave them my bag of meds, and they came back with a tiny bit of water for me to swallow the Xanax. The anti-nausea one dissolves in your mouth and tastes like strawberry mentos.
In a little tiny room with a ring light, they took a series of pictures of me from ribs to neck, at straight-on, side, and three-quarter views. Later I looked back at a computer screen and saw these pictures and briefly thought "who the hell's that?" Not that I'd had any doubts before that I was making the right decision, but that made it pretty clear.
Dr. Fischer came in after that, and drew about three dashed lines on my chest. My assumption is that these were so that when my skin shifted while I was lying down, she would be able to see what parts corresponded to where when I was upright. I asked briefly about what kind of resizing she would do around my nipples, which are very slightly asymmetrical, and she said that she uses a kind of template that would make them turn out a bit smaller, and, yes, the same size.
The anesthesiologist came in to give me the rundown on what would happen when I was taken into the operating room. I would put on a hairnet, I would get an IV that would put me out, then a mask of gas to keep me unconscious. A small tube would be put in the back of my throat to keep my airway open, and might give me a sore throat for a couple days after (spoiler: it did, but it wasn't too bad). Some kind of contraption of sleeves would periodically squeeze my legs to promote blood flow. All fairly standard, probably.
So they let my mom come in and hug me, and I said, "see you soon!" and they walked me back.
Sorry for the huge cliffhanger, but this thing is way longer than I thought! I'll be back with the post-op section in a few days, ok? And definitely comment any questions you might have. Recovery is boring.
2020.09.20 09:35 BallsTreesDebts Free mom sex pictures
She was metropolitan. Not my usual type. We dated in 2015. She was severe, venomous. She was an artist. She worked hard. We broke up after a few months and I didn't see her until I delivered a pizza to her boyfriends house in the months after oil crashed. I did not see her again until today. Her finger tips were blue. Her mouth didn't look right. I wanted to help her hair but I did not touch. Her name was Kathleen. Kat. She came to open mics even though we were broken up. She requested her song, which was "I used to love her (but I had to kill her)". I think she liked the "used to love her part". The love. She would say "I love you" in a firm scolding manner. There was something wrong with her. Something had happened to her. Something made her severe. I didn't know she smuggled cocaine and went to jail until today. Neither did the friend that introduced us. That friend was the intersection of her last three boyfriends. Her most recent one found her. She hung herself. Her previous ex, the one that ordered pizza, is a good guy. He had found a noose and a note when they were living together. She had been thinking this for a while. Four of us hung out at Brewsters after the viewing.
Sean was my first friend when we moved to this town in grade eight. His dad died in 2014 and I went to the funeral. Kat was there, but we didn't know each other yet. Her ex boyfriend told us tonight that he met her at the fire we had that night. I didn't remember her then, but we would meet and date in the months to come. The last time I saw her was in the same restaurant where we met. She bought food and pushed my face in such a way that disgusted me. She said "What did I just pay for". A booty call. I left. I did see her again when I was delivering pizzas and she walked up behind her new boyfriend. So the three of us were connected. Her most recent boyfriend found her. He had been telling her to break up with me when we were dating. I broke up with her though. His sister hanged herself in the unit next door to their place. Kat was sleeping on her bed after that. What a world.
So I learned some things about her tonight. She had been to jail. Who knew. Not me. I knew she was damaged. I couldn't figure out the grin on her dad's face that time we had dinner years ago. Just trying to keep the peace I suppose. I looked through the family albums they put out and saw too much of my sister in some of the pictures.
"Night Changes" was never an important song, but I've been listening to it tonight and singing along with it, crying. Feels good. Seeing her body shook me. It was just me in that room by then. I had arrived on my own, mingled and waited for people I knew to arrive. They arrived and went in. I waited and then went in on my own. I turned away to leave a few times and rebounded to look at her again. I said "baby". Something I never said to her before. Doesn't come naturally to me. I left roses in the pew. She was feisty. A fact confirmed by all who loved her. She worked hard. She was an artist. She was a brilliant artist. Now I have to learn "Night Changes" on the guitar she found for me. It's copper. She painted it. I couldn't believe how good it was. I gave the painting back when we broke up. She continued working on it, changed it. I have to learn Night Changes on a copper guitar that's tuned funny. She was talented.
Alex hit her. Probably not out of nowhere. Tate would never do that. I didn't do that. Alex had told her to break up with me when we were dating. He had to wait a few years for his chance. He got it. I never knew him. Tate and I went to the same high school. Sean is the intersection here. They viewed her, then I viewed her. I almost died four years ago and am in pain still. Tate and her broke up a while ago. Tate gave her money to rent a place. She moved in with Alex. I haven't cried really. A few times. Two Grandparents died since I was injured, and I wrote a poem and said a few word at their funerals. This was not a funeral and I had nothing to say. I tried to talk to the parents and reminded them of when we met and complimented them on the beautiful girl they bore and raised. There was something about those meetings. Something wasn't right and I guess I learned a few things tonight.
Kathleen was 34. She hanged herself last Saturday between 1:00 and 3:00pm. I wore the shoes she made me buy. First time I wore them. I can't believe she did that. We would never have hung out again, but I wish she didn't do that. It turns out we both spent time at the same hospital. Unit 34 at Peter Lougheed Hospital in Calgary. I could see the hotel where my graduation ceremony was held 17 years ago. I was 17 then. I thought about my girlfriend at the time, the choices I made to leave her and leave town. The circle I've made. Never been able to make it. 2003 was a long time ago. We're only getting older, baby. I've been thinking about you lately. Does it ever drive you crazy. I've been crying. I don't cry. Funny how One Direction does it. That wasn't a special song.
Kathleen was a hard worker. She had a dark side that all her boyfriends experienced. It was good hanging out with people at that restaurant afterwards. I sat in the booth where we had our last meal in early 2016. Then I moved to the table by the windows when the friends arrived.
We're never raised the way we wish we were. We never become what we wished we would.
The difference between real life and fiction is that real life doesn't make sense.
We're only getting older. I should have died in an accident four years ago. I've been to some significant funerals since then. I'm a shut in. For a couple years it was physical pain that kept me away. Now it's that, but not as much. It's mental. I need to build a business, build a portfolio. It is too dangerous being in the care of others. People are far too crazy. Far too crazy. I do not desire any previous relationship. I do not wish I knew the people I've lost touch with. I wish I was raised differently. Less religious. I wish I had had fewer mental blockages and could have better loved my girlfriend better when I was 18. And the others since then. 35 is not that old. And what 18 year old is well balanced and sane anyways. We were all kids. We were all 20 somethings. Now we're all 30 somethings. Crazy how the night changes. I used to socialize.
So I have to learn that song on the guitar she found for me. The copper guitar from Texas that she painted and my other friend picked up on a business trip. I bought it with money I earned working with Sean until oil crashed and I delivered pizza, met Vanessa, had good times and then moved away and got hurt. Back again. Been back since 2017. Been to therapy. Been to the mental health ward via the police. Kathleen had the same ride, so I've learned. And although I'm usually not suicidal, I sometimes am.
Getting older is like getting better. Getting away from rigid and medieval ideals. Leaving town. Working in remote camps, going to school, dropping out, more remote camps, and then the times recovering from work. The good times in Victoria BC. The West Coast. Beautiful. And the relationships. The affection. It was good with Rachel. It was weird with the few girls I dated every six months for two years afterwards. I never quite recovered from leaving Kyria when I was 19. That might have been a mistake, but she could have come. Anyways. It doesn't matter now. We didn't have the stuff of couples that last. So many lost connections. I've been alone a long time.
Kathleen did not look like herself in that coffin. I can't believe she did that. I didn't cry then. I teared up when I exited the room and went outside. Sean put a hand on my shoulder and said he was there. I appreciated it and pulled away, put my hands on my knees like I'd run a race and inhaled. I've cried maybe five times in twenty years. One Direction does it tonight. Funny.
Immediately after my work accident I knew the most important thing in life is love. Love is all. The love you give is all. It stays here when you go. I knew that after my accident. The rage set in powerfully.. I've alienated everyone in the last four years. Complete loner. I'll be polite and everything. All I want is to learn how to invest, how to start a business, and get on it. Be independent. Depend on no one. Be anti fragile. protect myself from being vulnerable in old age. Generate income through investments for any future children before they're conceived. I'll find love when I'm able to care for it properly.
I can't believe it's been 15 years since I was 20. I was five 15 years before I was twenty. That's how much time has passed. I've achieved very little, except in a society that breeds mental and physical illness. I'm over it, and the medieval belief system. And most the people. Had I stayed in school, graduated, married, had kids, then I'd still be spiritually and mentally incorrect. I'm happy to be in an obligatoin-free place to build a foundation for the future. Life is a struggle. Life is really hard. I need so much. I find hope in value principles. I find focus there. My mind is not occupied with horror and anger as it was for two years. It's occupied with efficiency, value production. Ideas develop and change every day. It's like a song and I love it. As long as I don't owe anybody anything ever. Cheap, low risk, high profit margin, etc. These are the things I've been thinking of. But I saw the dead body of an ex girlfriend today, and I saw her mom and dad, her aunt, former lovers. Their only child.
Kathleen needed love. She did not need to be told at eight years old that she was fat, and she did not need medication at that age. My mom did not need to be raised by a mean mother. And my Grandma did not need to be raised by a mean Father.
We need to be easier on each other.
I ignore it all. That's not quite right. Not functioning is not enlightenment. But I've learned things and I have a plan I believe in that is realistic, attainable, low risk, etc. If I invest right, then I can do it. Otherwise I'm on disability until they boot me off. That's when I jump in front of a train. I had $10,000 when oil crashed. That was gone in a matter of months, then I delivered pizza until I trained for a new job, failed, passed, got a job, got hurt. Been four years. Feels like last week. And Kathleen feels recent. So do the others. Like ghosts. I've had love. Good love, bad love. I've been alone. I've contemplated starting a dog religion. "House of Dog". I've been stoned, but not on morphine, not on heroin. Just cannabis. Cannabis, books, walks, guitar, sleep, food. The simple life. Today I was able to cry for my youth, for the people I hurt and the relationships I let die. We're only getting older, baby. I can't believe Kathleen did that.
Kathleen was born in 1986 and died on September 12 at age 34. Life is hard. I'm lucky to have the family I have, although I treat them poorly. Never talk. We've always had contentious relationships and I've never liked the dynamic. I like the solitude of books. I like the love of dogs, walks, music. I'm hardly interested in a conversation. Too focused. It's too important to build the infrastructure I need to survive in the years to come, to properly provide for myself and others. I've learned a lot about human nature and am glad I did not commit my life to someone when I was younger. I'm sorry for the pain I caused people. Some of them loved me. Really.
I think of these things. I think of her blue fingers. I remember her in life, walking into a room. Soon I will lose my best friend the dog. 15 is old. German Shepherds have that hip issue and I do not want him to break his hip and be in pain. We help him. It can't last. I remember the love I had before that dog was my best friend. I left Rachel. I left Carolyn. It didn't work with Danika, Christine, Katy, Kirsty, Kathleen, or Vanessa. My physical pain and trauma have made me far more distant. I haven't had sex in four years. The present apocalypse, the lockdowns, these are fine with me. I've been quarantining since July 2016. I have thought about catching that train out of here. I've been so disgusted with humanity. So disappointed. So hopeless. So hurt and tired. So angry. People are not easy. Life is not easy. We're only getting older.
I've seen enough therapists to know therapy is not the way. Starting a business is the way, and there is no better time that during an economic disaster when businesses are going under and equipment is cheaper. There is a way. There is hope. It's how you live as well as how you die. The love you give is all. It stays here when you go. Love is hard. It's hard to love. It's hard to accept love. I want to build a trap for it, keep it there, control it, let it go when I'm ready. I've alienated absolutely everybody I've ever known for four years. I have so much more support that Kat had. There are people who really want to help me who I pledge to destroy (insurance).
It's funny crying to a One Direction song, listening to it over and over again. Life is funny.
Grief is strange
submitted by BallsTreesDebts to grief [link] [comments]
2020.09.19 18:38 thrwaway861037462 Free mom sex pictures
I don't recall being abused at all, but I'm deeply uncomfortable around my father, and for as long as I can remember I've gone out of my way to avoid being alone with him, I still do. I remember telling my mom, when I was around 13-14 that I got a bad vibe from him, like a pedo vibe, and my mom told me not to say stuff like that. She said he was just a man and that I shouldn't wear only a t shirt and underwear around the house, bearing in mind I only wore a t shirt and underwear in the morning (as pyjamas) and that I was 13-14.
I only have random choppy, foggy memories of my childhood (from before 10 years old.) I don't have any memories of being around my father from this time, even though my parents spent a lot of time separated.
I've had explicit dreams and intrusive thoughts about my father. I also have sexual fantasies about being raped/abused (by men), and before I realised I'm a lesbian I had a lot of shitty sex with men. Consensual though some of the sex was, it all haunts me, coming back in flashbacks regularly.
He doesn't behave weirdly around me anymore, but I'm still deeply uncomfortable around him and spend as little time around him as possible. I don't even like sitting next to him in the car. When I was a teenager he basically manipulated me into thinking my mom was ruining our family and that he was the "good guy", it absolutely ruined my relationship with my mom, who I got on perfectly fine with before. I was a chronic liar and a people pleaser too, f4om when I was as young as 3 (according to my mom) up until when I was a teen, and I still struggle with it from time to time. I went through a deep period of depression and dissociation from 14-18 and attempted suicide multiple times. I have BPD, too.
Sometimes he would say inappropriate things about me/my body, and I always wrote it off as me misunderstanding him/miscommunication (he's got aspergers).
I have a pretty extreme phobia of the ocean, and deep water in general. When I was a kid we spent a lot of time by the beach, in a secluded rural area. I only remember this time from pictures. My dad would do this thing where he would take me quite deep into the water and then throw me into the air when a wave came by and then catch me. I was always naked, by the way? I never wore any swimwear at all. Once when I was a little older, we were at a river and I wanted to swim, but I didn't have swimwear. My mom told me to swim in my panties, but I was so adamant about not showing my chest, even before puberty, that eventually she let me swim in my shirt.
When I lived with my parents I just wouldn't bathe. I bathed only when I absolutely had to, and for some reason I was scared he was watching me through the window, even though he never was. I thought I just didn't like washing, but once I moved out, I couldn't stop showering. I'd shower 3 or 4 times a day at least. I always felt dirty, like I was ruined, but I didn't know why. I still feel gross and unclean.
I don't want to say anything about any of this, because my parents have gone through a lot (constantly breaking up and getting back together) and they're finally kind of stable together, and I really don't want to mess anything up for no reason. I don't remember anything, so I don't want to accuse him of anything. I have so many mental health issues, and dysfunction in my life with seemingly no root cause, that I just want to get to the bottom if it. Does anyone here relate to this? Am I just imagining things? Is this normal?
ps. Sorry about grammaspelling/etc. I'm on mobile, and I've been meaning to write this up for a while, but I've only been able to do it with the help of a little liquid courage (incidentally I've struggled with substance abuse throughout my life, too) Feel free to tell me to go to hell if posting this here is out of pocket, and I'm sorry about how long this is.
edit: f20 if that helps!
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2020.09.19 09:35 Warm_Introduction192 Free mom sex pictures
I am a 32/f what are the steps you took to get over a long term relationship?
7 years into the relationship was great, he is 2 years older than me, so he graduated first and got a job before me. But when I graduated I was excited to get a job, but he was against it, he did not want me to get a job, he said that it will make us fall out of love! the different time schedules to which I said I can match your schedule since we will be both working a corporate job. To which he said that he just wants me to be home when he gets home I ended up agreeing.
From the beginning of our relationship, I have wanted a family. I told him we should talk about it before things progress to which he said we will talk about it when that time comes. at some point I found my self becoming indifferent about kids,
I am asexual (we don't feel sexual attraction) I am in the spectrum of I enjoy sex but is not capable of sexually initiating. So he introduces me to some drugs for inhibition, sex was great.
We moved to a new city and it was great, but he quit his job a year into it so we had to move back to the home town, it was horrible our living space was almost squatter like. I realize that it's such a sad place to be in.
Then he got another job so we move into an apartment. This sucks because we had talked about getting a house and we even look up houses but 3 days after looking up houses he messages me telling me he just sign a lease to an apartment I voiced it out to him and he told me that he is the one working.
So I did not press anymore. I fell into a deep depression but I was fighting it every day! I told him I am depressed to which he replied that I am at home all day I am not doing anything how can I be depressed!!!?. I barely want to do anything, but I tried when I do I cook and clean, and when he gets home he demands that my time is only dedicated to him. He always makes me feel bad if I do something else, "This is the only free time I get you should spend it with me" why can't you do that when I'm not home?" "I tried to understand this he has a point".
We had a falling out he ask me to pack up so he can drive me home to my mom, while he figures out if he wants to remain marrier or be single. Since I loved him deeply I retaliate it was so hard to be in the end where you are waiting. it was one hell of a ride that moment.
That lasted for a month but we were trying to hold on to each other, then he told me he confess to our friend's girlfriend who is underage while we are trying to work things out. And he wrote me a letter telling me how much he loves me and I am his soul mate and so on and so forth "I tried to see it in his pint of view " I am indeed in a depressive state and need to be better". I fell for it.
I forgave him then as he is about to move to a new city he told me to wait for him again till he figures out if he wants to be married or be single. We kept contact that whole month then he called and told me he wants me back, so I followed him there.
1 whole year pass it was alright, was not able to fully heal from what he did because he would tell me it's only emotional cheating some people do the worst things. I was never able to fully feel that he owned up to what he did". "See what he complains about is SEX which doesn't make any sense because I am fine with sex it is the fact that I can't sexually initiate is what is missing in his life, not the sex", and in a Sense can understand that, that is why I research how can a sexual person have a successful marriage with an asexual.
I suggested for me to act it out, role-play everything I can think off, he shoots it down saying that's not genuine enough, and that he doesn't want to force me.
Well the beginning of this year after my dad died he did the same thing again, as my mom and brother were visiting he suggested that I ride back with my mom and brother so he can think if he wants to be single or married. at this point, I was just done with this roller coated shit show.
I did talk to him but I did agree, then the day be4 we leave he cried in front of my mom saying he can't lose me he will die, and so forth" again I was heartbroken that this man Is this broken and confuse".
So I ended up staying, one week upon staying he asked me for a divorce because he wants to marry one of my nieces. I agree with the divorce. He actually had the audacity to asked me to give good words of him if the said niece agrees to get with him.
To which I reply NO. Ohh all hell breaks loose, he called me selfish for not wanting a better life for my niece, he called me prideful because I refuse to help him out with my niece who just turns 18 y/o. he is currently 35. as we divorce (this is that thing where I don't understand WTF he was thinking),
He also promises me to drive me back home. I really did not want him to but he said it's for "his closure" he cried the whole drive begged me to stay, but I was done or so I thought, upon arriving at my mom's he cried and so my mom even knowing everything told me to help him fight his demon.
To which I agree. we have a little talk both agree to try to work things out AGAIN. He bought a plane ticket to get home the same day of dropping me off my mom's.
The same night he called my friend who I happen to be talking to telling her the update of what's happening. As he messages her "she said OMG he is messaging in an almost annoyed voice" she sent me all the screenshot of their conversation.
It was bad, he made me look and sound like a useless leach. NO sex, doesn't cook, doesn't clean which are all false.
I have pictures of all the food I cook and clean because I'm proud of it "THEN HE TOLD HER, I CAN FEEL IT I WANT YOU".
So I ended it with him I told him not to talk to me. But he messages my friend in the middle of the night telling him everything. and my friend in turn messaging me begging me to talk to him because he sounds like he will kill himself.
He has used that quite a lot he has told me that if he lost me that his life would feel meaningless. So In the end I ended up talking to him he asks for another chance told me he took me for granted all these pretty words I said sure,
I should have known as 2 1/2 months of rekindling our connection far from each other he started saying things that made me feel like I had to visit him how lonely he is how sad he is and so on. So I ask do you want me to visit he excited me say yes. That day came flew to his place. Stayed for 2 weeks it was meh we stayed home the whole time except when we are picking up the food we watch movies and sleep that was it,
I asked him to go somewhere but he never has the energy for it. .. 2 days be4 I am about to go back to my mom's place "HERE WE GO AGAIN" he doesn't know if he wants to be single or married he said that he have felt it before I even visits. at this point, all the beaten up bridge have snapped into 4 pieces
"I knew I was done" I knew I can't take any more of this torture, I can't give him another chance because I have to look my way at some point and notice my suffering instead of just focusing on his struggle"
I have to Take Care of my self, I have tried to understand his mistake so many time. I have tried to sympathize "thinking that maybe my asexuality drove him this mad"
But NO not anymore I realize I did try to research how a sexual persona and an asexual person can have a healthy relationship especially since I am not one of the extremes I am capable of enjoying sex with the right person "some asexual are repulsed by sex.
He never once tried to look up what asexual is he never showed me that he wanted to know me at the deepest level.
He and I have so much in common our compatibility is insane but the hell I went through with him these past 3 years is hell and would not think of going back.
He keeps wanting to chase after 18 y/o girl to which I say it's predatory for a 35 y/o man to want to be with an 18 y/o because he is old enough to be her father. and His response is the I am just jealous and insecure.
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2020.09.17 15:49 peeledArmadillo Free sex pictures mom
I previously made a post about the abuse my grandmother and my father has put me through. I wrote to my dad.
I don’t really know how accurate my timeline is, I know there are more things that you did than the ones I’m going to mention but just like you blocked out a lot of the past, I did too.
I remember one time when G and I misbehaved you threatened to cut our fingers off with a gardening tool or threaten to burn my hand on the stove. I don’t know if that was funny to you, but I remember being just as terrified.
When I was 12, the afterschool bus used to drop me off at a Burger King in front of my old elementary school. The driver you hired would always be there once I got there or he would get there after a few minutes. This one time, I waited over an hour before I called you asking where you were. You told me “I’m almost done.” So, I waited some more. You left me waiting for over 8 hours! After calling you every hour, asking if you were on your way, you said “yes, only 30 more minutes” every time. I asked you if I could take the bus home after waiting two hours, it would have taken less than 5 minutes, but you threatened you’d hit me if I did.
When I was 13, you found out I lost my virginity when you went through my personal text messages between my friends. You went through my personal things, and yes, even as a teenager living under your roof, I deserved privacy. You called me a “hooker” when I knew you meant “whore”. You would not let me explain myself, because you kept repeating the word “hooker” louder and louder until I broke down crying in front of you. When a friend messaged me about a boy that I liked and if I was interested in dating this boy, you asked me if the only reason this friend is asking me that is because they knew that I was a “hooker”. No one talked to me about sex. The only thing my parents, the ones who were responsible to teach me about sex, was when mom said, “I don’t care if you have sex, just make sure to wear a condom.” You made me feel disgusting in my own skin over a NATURAL act. I know I was young; I didn’t know any better, but I had to teach MYSELF about sex and the infections and diseases it comes with it. You made me feel less than human.
You HATED PFree with every fiber of your being, you had every right, he was an asshole. I came home late from school again and before I walked into the door, I took off a necklace he gave me. For some reason, you did not even allow me jewelry at the time. When you saw that I was fiddling with my back pocket, you asked me what I had and I obviously said “nothing.” You literally wrestled me to the floor when I refused to hand it over to you. Once you got it, you stood up, looked down at me, lifted your foot and slammed it HARD inches away from my head before throwing the necklace away in the trash.
I ran away from home because I hated feeling hated at home. When I finally got caught in Jacksonville, you had me sleep in “D’s” room, which was the room right next to the washing room. It was the coldest room on our side of the house. I slept on the floor- no mattress, no pillows, no sheets, just a rug on the floor for three days before G convinced you guys to let me out. She asked me if I was going to runaway again after I came back, I told her that I did not know because I really did not. If it were not for her, you probably would have kept me there until shipping me off to boarding school.
I misbehaved in school. After my teacher told you over the phone what happened, he handed the phone over to me and you said, “wait until I get home.” I fell asleep waiting for you that night. You woke me up by dragging me out of bed by my hair and pulling me to the kitchen. You sat me down and told me to write 20 pages, front and back, “I will not misbehave in school” at one in the morning on a school night. Mom had to come in hours after you fell asleep to send me to bed, so I had SOME rest before going to school. My chore was to blow the front and back yard EVERY DAY for an entire school year while G had no responsibilities of her own. You told me you did not like me anymore and would ALWAYS compare me to G, you would always ask me why I could not be more like her. It made me feel like I had to be someone else for you to accept me. I had no self-esteem. It made me hate her so much. You favored G and you made it so painfully obvious.
I think I developed anxiety and depression at an early age, I am not sure when it even started. You and mom never “believed” in that or believed that some teenage girl could have such disorders or “problems”. I started to cut my arms. You shamed me when you found out. You took pictures and sent it to the family to teach me some sort of lesson. I needed HELP from you, but you bullied me instead. So, I stopped cutting my arms and made sure to cut or hurt myself where you could not find it- you never did. I became good at lying because you never believed a word I said. I learned how to keep my problems inside. You ever wonder why I go through extreme “ups and downs”? I am having a depressive episode. I overhear when you and grandma say I need professional help. I know I do; I have been to a psychiatrist. I have been diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Minor Depressive Disorder that I am taking medication for. If you ever heard grandma saying that I am taking pills for sleep, I also have insomnia. NEVER has my doctor diagnosed me as “bipolar”.
When I was 15, I lied about auditioning for a school play when I was really going to O’s house. You obviously found out that I lied, came to pick me up with your driver. You yelled at me and shamed me in front of a stranger. You took my red iPad, jammed a screwdriver through the charge port, and threw it back at me. I asked you why you did that, and you said it was to “teach me a lesson.” The only thing you taught me was to resent you. I had it for less than a month.
You did not let me go trick or treating one year. You called me when I was at home to check on me while you looked at me through your window. I guess I smiled at something you must have said, and you didn’t like that I did that. You opened the door and charged at me. You used to corner me and yell in my face, you would raise your hands as if you were going to hit me, just so you could see me flinch away from you in fear. You WANTED me to fear you, that is sad.
I remember fighting with you in your room. You were on the bed and I was yelling at you in desperation, you wouldn’t look at me. Until I asked you if you thought I was a “fucking idiot” and that is when you finally turned to look at me and HIT ME with a closed fist. I didn’t talk again after that.
You didn’t know it at the time, but I also had an eating disorder in middle school and a little bit if high school. I wouldn’t make myself throw up, but I wouldn’t eat. You called me fat one time. I was less than 100 pounds and you asked me “why do you look so fat?” I know I said I became really good at lying but I also told the truth a lot but you never believed me. Everything I said to you was a “lie”. So, I didn’t talk to you. I didn’t want to open up to you, I was also scared to. You are not an easy person to spill your secrets to.
I feel like I didn’t have a proper childhood. When I finally got my license, you had me drive you EVERYWHERE. I could not plan a single thing because I had to cancel or leave as soon as I got to my destination. Out all the thousands of times you called me to pick you up, I denied you ONE TIME, because I literally paid for parking when you called. You made me feel bad for the one time I just wanted to live my damn life. You said “thanks for nothing” before hanging up. Gr would be at home doing whatever the heck she was doing, with all the free time but you had to have ME do everything. You treated me like an adult when you wanted me to do something for you, whether it was to pick up money, dropped off a sample, or anything that had to do with the business but anything that didn’t have to do with the business but you treated me like a dog on a short leash. My life revolved around you. While G was out making her own income, I had to ask you for money. You would get mad at me and even called yourself a bank account. So I would try not to ask.
The way you have treated me when it comes to M has been nothing short but terrible. You have undermined my parenting every single time I have tried to step up. You tell me to be a parent but attack me the minute the way I parent does not go according to you. You treat me more like someone to watch who must watch over YOUR kid and not my own. I just watch him until you get home and whatever I was trying to teach him that day goes down the drain. You have deliberately gone against my rules and behind my back because “he’s just a kid too young to understand.” You have shown M that it is okay to disrespect his mother because YOU disrespect his mother. M doesn’t listen to me or respect me when you and/or gradnma are around because M knows that he can hide behind you and her.
You used to be EXTREMELY strict with me. My curfew was at 8pm on weekends when I was in middle school but you’re okay with letting a five-year-old boy stay up way past 9pm and wonder why he’s such a jerk the next day? I was trying and I’m still trying to get him on a routine, you guys won’t let me.
I don’t hate you. Even through all the bullshit you put me through as a child and STILL put me through as an adult, I still look for your acceptance in ANYTHING. I would always have to ask mom what you thought of something nice I did but she always tells me you have no opinion but you sure are quick to point out when I screw up.
I’m leaving because I HAVE to. I wasn’t ready to live with A. I told mom I had a two-year plan before even THINKING about moving in with him. I know you don’t believe it but you and grandma pushed me out. You have made me believe that I’m a terrible mother. You made me believe that I’m only good to watch him until you get home because “you’re the real parent”. You made me want to give up my parental rights because I am not good enough. You made me feel like I AM NOT GOOD ENOUGH.
Did you know I never wanted kids? I was going to abort M but R convinced me to keep him. I HATED being pregnant. I hate how I felt, I hated how I looked, I hated feeling M move in my stomach. I was diagnosed with PRE-partum depression. I don’t think I was ever happy. I don’t remember feeling any real happiness those nine months. Then M was born and I didn’t feel like a mother with her baby. I felt like some lady watching over some baby. M didn’t feel like my son. I hated him but most of all, I hated myself. I was also diagnosed with POST-partum depression too.
I don’t remember M’s first two years of life but you do. You spent all those beautiful times watching M take his first crawl, his first step. That’s something I would never get back but you have been blessed to witness. You were his parental figure. He didn’t feel “mine” until a little past his 2nd birthday. Thank you for stepping up for him when I couldn’t. Thank you for convincing me to leave R. Thank you for buying M new clothes, shoes, and toys when I couldn’t afford to. Thank you for taking him to the doctor and buying his medicine. Thank you for losing all those countless hours of sleep when crossing the border. Thank you for loving him when I couldn’t. Thank you for paying for my car insurance when you knew I got laid off. Thank you for giving me money to buy clothes when we went to La Quinta. Thank you for making me coffee every day, even when you’re upset with me.
Also, thank you for making me independent. I know it was never your intention, but you would make me wait for you to do the simplest things until I got fed up with waiting and did it myself. Thank you for sending me alone to all those places in our hometown. I know mom would get mad at you for “sending a bone to the dogs” but I know how to take care of myself when it comes to men. Thank you for telling me that you never needed a son because you have me.
I’m sorry for hurting you; I’m not taking M away from you, I’m only stepping up as a parent and standing up for myself. I love you but I can’t have you treat me like shit and not expect any consequences. You can’t disregard me as a person because you disagree with me. You ARE my blood, you’ll always be my blood but my grandmother was wrong about one thing, I don’t have to withstand ANY of your abuse JUST because you’re my dad. Although you were a terrible father while I grew up, you taught me better than to let anyone walk all over me. I don’t hate you. The abuse you put me through was not “for my own good”, I don’t know how anyone can benefit from being constantly being bullied.
Also, I just want to add that A isn’t “less of a man” because he hasn’t come to talk to you about me moving in because I told him not to mention anything. A has wanted me to move into his house from day ONE when he met me TWO years ago. He is willing to speak with you but only if you allow yourself to listen.
I DON’T HATE YOU. I love you so much. I’m just hurt by years and years of abuse and build up from someone who was supposed to protect me.