#just decompressing from the work week and BAM

[caffeineheroes]

Just lying in bed when I was brutally attacked for checking email on my phone.

#dictionary.com #slugabed #morning bird #saturday #lying in bed #just decompressing from the work week and BAM #personally attacked #some of those old english words smack though #old english #middle english #words #language

[prettyyoungandbored]

Be Careful

Pairing: Johnny Knoxville x Reader

Warnings: language, slight fluff, female reader, idk

Author’s Note: I have no business writing this, but I did. So yeah.

NOT MY GIF

The alarm clock read 1:15 A.M. as Y/N exhaled softly.

Her eyes darted back to the television where some black and white movie played. She was half paying attention to it, her mind elsewhere and eyes mostly shifting between the clock and her cell phone.

She was invited to go to the bar with the guys, but she declined, exhausted from spending the day organizing their medical records. She shouldn’t have offered, but considering how frequent the trips to the hospital were, she figured it would be useful for each of them to have a binder that contained important medical documents in the event of an emergency.

Jeff was beyond thankful for it and she was happy to help considering Johnny wouldn’t let her do any stunts lately.

Even though Johnny was a pro at what he did, she still worried. Going through his medical binder was a kick in the stomach for her. His was the most personal considering he was her fiancé. She often worried when she got calls from the guys if it was going to be that “one call.” When they called “action” and she watched Johnny begin, she said a mental prayer begging for him to make it out alive.

The door opened and Johnny appeared, smiling.

“Hey there, cutie,” he greeted her, before bending down to untie his red converse. “Thought you’d be asleep.”

“I tried but just couldn’t seem to keep them closed,” she said, reaching over to turn the light on for him. “Did you guys have fun?”

“Sure did,” he replied, throwing off his jacket and tossing it onto the chair in the corner. “You know how it is. I wish I could say you didn’t miss much, but we spent the night helping get Tyler the PA laid.”

She cracked a smile. “It’s the least you boys could do considering you made him mud wrestle Bam.”

He laughed. “That was the logic.”

He pulled down his jeans before crawling into bed beside her in his boxers and graphic tee. He propped his elbow up, resting his cheek against the palm of his hand.

“I really did miss you tonight,” he said, using his other hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “I was a little bummed you didn’t come out with us.”

“I know.” She exhaled. “Honestly, I just needed to decompress.”

“Seemed like you were having an off day,” he noted. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I know you know what you’re doing and I trust you,” she said. “It’s important to me that you know that. It’s just, going through your medical records was a hard pill for me to swallow. I get worried that one prank will be one that either kills you or leaves you with some permanent injury or that these injuries eventually…”

She paused, realizing how pathetic she sounded. She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I-.”

“Don’t apologize for that,” he said. “I’m fucking serious. Don’t.”

“No but-.”

“No - hey, look at me. Open your eyes and look at me.”

She opened her eyes to find him smiling at her. The same smile that made her weak in the knees when she first saw it.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said. “I know it’s a lot for you, and I can’t thank you enough for standing by me and putting up with this shit even when it’s hard to deal with.”

“It’s not that I deal with it. It’s just me getting worried because I love you.” She gave him a small smile. “I told you I’m not going anywhere and I meant it. No amount of concussions or broken limbs or any other injuries is gonna change that. All I ask that you be careful, ok?”

“I will,” he promised, kissing the top of her head. “But only because I think you’re cute.”

She snorted. “That’s the only reason, huh?”

He nodded. “Pretty much. It’s really the only reason I’m marrying you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then I guess it’s ok for me to say I’m only marrying you because the sex is great.”

He shrugged. “Works for me. Now, c’mere.”

He pulled her body under his, peppering her face with quick kisses. “Just one more week then you and I head off to Vegas.”

“Having second thoughts?”

“Never. I’m all in, baby.” He pulled his head back for a sec. “Are you?”

“Not a chance, Clapp. I’m in it for the long haul.” She paused. “Unless, of course, I decide to marry the Elvis impersonator instead. I’ll figure it once we get there.”

#johnny knoxville #johnny knoxville x reader #jackass

[inkribbon796]

Backstage Blues

Summary: Roman is determined to plan out the greatest wedding in history, if only he could get some help on that front.

A/N: I have decided that for the sake of the narrative that Tubbo and Ranboo’s marriage is a lot more common knowledge, Michael’s existence is still not, but whether Techno knows about that marriage is up in the air because he’s Techno. He focuses on weird stuff.

Things were strangely quiet in Egoton. Especially for the amount of people trying to actively kill each other these days.

The heroes had some of their usual problems to deal with: robberies, press talks, superhero activity; things that the heroes usually had to take care of.

The press wanted interviews with the heroes’ new “apprentices” and they were counting three of them, despite the fact that the Coalition had only two currently on record: Bomble Bee, Big Man . . . and Enderwalk, as Tubbo liked to introduce Ranboo.

With Tubbo’s husband almost acting like an apprentice, and the city absolutely loved the idea of a new trio of apprentices. Tommy loved being on TV, screaming and cursing when Ethan didn’t try to distract him from something else. And Tubbo who would ask overly invasive questions on camera about the most population-dense area of the city. Ranboo often helped Logan with Tubbo so that he didn’t accidentally give out bomb threats on live news feeds. Ranboo between his more demonic appearances and skittish nature the news could get close to him without putting themselves in harm’s way.

Despite Logan and the rest of the more senior heroes’ efforts, Ranboo was starting to become more and more an attachment onto the Sides. Mostly because Ranboo liked to come over and talk to Tubbo, and other times he liked to bring little snacks and trinkets. He wasn’t an apprentice yet, but with two of his little trio in the Coalition, a lot of people figured it was only a matter of time.

And occasionally he actually remembered to wear that identity-obscuring outfit Tubbo had made him a week ago.

Roman was really coming around to Tubbo, mostly because he and Tommy liked to listen to music and quote random musicals. Which was really all the requirement that Roman needed to like someone.

Today Logan, Tubbo, and Ranboo had accompanied Roman on a very important mission. Mostly because Roman was meeting with Illinois and Eric to help finalize some final touches on what Roman was sure was going to be the most glorious wedding in all of existence.

The couple met Roman in an outdoor café, taking advantage of the nice, warm summer weather. Roman was at one table with Eric and Illinois, while Logan was two tables over with Tubbo and Ranboo. Everyone except for Illinois were in superhero outfits, mostly because Illinois didn’t care about his own identity and he wasn’t a hero.

Any errant press that wanted a picture of “Egoton’s own Romeo and Juliet” because one was a hero and the other worked in Dark’s network — to which Illinois originally shouted when he first heard that “at least pick a couple with a chance” — and the sight of them always made Eric extremely jumpy. After Illinois caught sight of them it usually took a second or two for them to suddenly get pulled into a portal and dumped somewhere else to give the couple a little bit of privacy.

After another ameteur “reporter” had been dealt with, Roman looked over to the trio over in the other table. Tubbo and Logan were working on some equipment while “watching” Illinois. Ranboo’s lanky legs were pulled up in his chair and he was folded up in his seat.

Honestly Roman was pretty sure you could shove a bus under their noses and they wouldn’t notice. Which was a disappointment because he needed a third party to help give his ideas a little positive gratification because Illinois was letting Dark completely plan the entire affair with no consideration for what Roman suggested except for “paltry concessions”. Roman needed Patton to back him up, but Illinois drew the line at two Sides being part of his wedding planning at any one time.

“It’ll be a wonderful experience,” Roman promised, looking back from his failed check for Logan’s support. Then he looked over to Tubbo. “Bomble, you’re married, tell him.”

“Huh?” Tubbo snapped to look at him, clearly distracted by what he was working on. Ranboo put his feet down.

“You’re married,” Roman urged. “Explosion Boy needs a little bit of confidence for the wedding. How’d you and your husband get married? I’m sure it was beautiful.”

Tubbo snorted, “I got married fer[1] tax benefits.”

Roman blinked at him, “What?”

Tubbo chuckled to himself, looking positively pleased with himself. “Yeah, bonded pairs in the SMP get a bit of an aura break if yer linked with an empath. I got sick an’ tired ‘a havin’ ta pay that extremely pricey piper an’ Ranboo had just joined so when I saw him I went “that’s the one” an’ we were already kinda friends so BAM! We’ve been married fer almost six months now.”[2]

“What?” Roman repeated in complete, astonished confusion.

“Sides,”[3] Tubbo added, “yer older than I am, shouldn’t you have changed yer apprentice name ta somethin’ like, I don’t know? Concussion? Explosive Decompression. Or Combust-ION?”[4]

Tubbo paused, thinking, “That last one’s not half bad, I probably should have gone with that one.”

Another pause from the young arsonist passed, “Okay if you don’t take that one I want it after I stop bein’[5] an apprentice.”

“I, uh, I,” Eric stalled nervously.

“If he likes the name it stays,” Illinois dismissed. “If he wants to change it, he’ll get around to it.”

Tubbo shrugged, turning back to his projects with his usual dismissive but chipper demeanor.

“There must have been some romantic aspect of your engagement,” Roman demanded in exasperation.

“Nah, man,” Tubbo chuckled. “You are talkin’ ta the wrong person. You should talk ta my sister an’ her girlfriend. Or Karl’s fiancés. That would probably make yer argument work.”[6]

“So if you got married for taxes, which, okay, I get that, how did you two actually decide to get married to each other?” Illinois looked confused but intrigued at the same time.

“Well Tubbo was already making jokes that we were already married and divorced so I just proposed,” Ranboo answered. “I kinda looked online how to do it and Tubbo had been mentioning the thing so I gave him some jewelry and I said “do you wanna get married for tax benefits” and to my amazement he said yes.”

“I was smitten,” Tubbo joked. “Certainly helped that he was throwin’[7] necklaces an’[8] gemstones at me.”

“Man you two aren’t just a can of worms, you’re a whole boat of ‘em[9] aren’t you?” Illinois asked.

“Neat trick I didn’t realize until afterward is that tax benefits count in the human world too,” Tubbo grinned.

“You are an absolute menace,” Logan told Tubbo, and the teen just startled cackling in laughter.

“Isn’t it great?” Tubbo grinned before looking back at Eric. “I’m sure yer weddin’ will be nice an’ pretty an’ stuff. Yer in love an’ shit, it’ll be great.”[10]

“I’m,” Eric hummed, making the word sound more like a smushed “m” in his nervousness. “Nervous.”

He was gripping onto his knees, “I-I’ll trip over my . . . stupid legs or—”

Illinois slowly and gently placed his hand over one of Eric’s. “Dulcito,[11] if you’re worried about it we can get you a wheelchair or I can just carry you down to the altar.”

Eric’s face went red, he started twitching a bit, “But . . . I’m supposed to walk down the aisle.”

“Fuck that,” Illinois told him, leaning in. “You’ll look lovely whatever you do, even impossibly lovelier if you’re happy. I don’t want you to hurt yourself over this, or be so worried you’re not enjoying it. It’s our day. Your day. We’re doing a huge ceremony because a bunch of people want to be there. But I could grab Host and my dad and we could go down today to the closest courthouse and be out in an hour flat.”

Roman twitched uncomfortably.

“We did that,” Ranboo cut in, looking back at Tubbo. “We had what? Six people?”

Tubbo started quickly counting on his fingers, “Puffy, Foolish, FJ, me, you, Niki, Eret, Michael . . . Yeah six, not includin’[12] us. Eight, if you do.”

“It was a nice little ceremony.” Ranboo reminisced with a smile on his face. “Eret married us, your sister walked me down the aisle.”

“You tripped on the stairs,” Tubbo chuckled, before turning to the engaged couple, “do yourselves a favor an’[8] make a ramp. Boo here is all legs like a mad giraffe an’[8] he ripped his dress when he tripped. Almost knockin’[13] Puffy over and you can’t do much worse than that, let me tell you.”

That didn’t seem to calm Eric’s nerves.

“Already been planned,” Illinois reassured.

“We’ll get back to that, just excuse me,” Roman cut in, “so your best friend didn’t even show up to your wedding?”

“No, he couldn’t have, he . . .” Tubbo paused, clearly thinking about something. “Big Man couldn’t be there, talk ta[14] him about it, it’s really not my place ta[14] bring it up. It wasn’t his fault, Dream just . . . like I said, it’s not my place ta[14] talk about it.”

“I,” Logan stalled, something in Logan’s brain didn’t like how that had been worded. “I see.”

“Yeah so Big Man wasn’t there,” Tubbo shrugged, a distant look hidden behind his domed helmet. “He’s around now an’ it is nice ta kinda have him back ta normal again. Wish he didn’t try ta set Boo on fire, but no one’s perfect.”[15]

“That is very concerning,” Logan commented. “When was the last time he tried that?”

“Tried or just threatened it?” Ranboo asked.

“Both,” Logan’s tone was as dry as a bone.

“Attempted, it’s been a couple months,” Ranboo admitted, “ he threatens it once every couple of weeks though.”

“We need to have a conversation about constructive behavior then,” Logan decided. “We’ll talk with him when we get back because death threats are unacceptable.”

“No, I’m pretty sure he’s joking,” Ranboo tried to deny. “The furthest he’s ever gone is pull out a knife on me. It’s alright, he’s just like that.”

“You know the more I see you heroes, the more I’m sure that if you’d ever actually met the Author, he would have cut through all of you like wet tissue paper.” Illinois spoke up, looking at Ranboo like a particularly accident-prone toddler. “You all really lucked out, didn’t you?”

Ranboo nervously ducked his head so he didn’t accidentally look Illinois in the eyes.

“Yoo-hoo! We have the world’s perfect wedding to plan.” Roman reminded, trying to refocus the attention. Inadvertently saving Ranboo from the stand-off. “Hey, while I have both of you here: what’s on the menu, what’s the number of chairs, seems like it should be higher.”

“Max of fifty,” Illinois reported. “None of Dark’s business contacts are invited, we figured you guys might arrest them.”

“Depends on the person,” Logan admitted.

Roman rolled his eyes, cutting back into the conversation, “I just wanted to know how we should just group people, is there any extended family we need to separate from each other?”

“My . . . siblings were all I had,” Eric whispered quietly.

“Well let’s see, Yan’s parents were part of a demon murder cult, they’re dead. Yancy’s folks are dead and he’s still not on speaking terms with his uncle for obvious reasons. King’s parents are dead. We literally all live with Bim’s dads. Fuck if the Host ever talks about Artie’s folks. And all we’ve got are shitty foster parents, who if they show up are getting exorcised back to hell and then killed again.” Illinois scoffed dismissively. “And even if I wanted someone who threw me away the instant they saw me, I would have gone looking for ‘em[9] years ago.”

“Didn’t you,” Eric started timidly before looking away, his mouth still open but not sound was coming out anymore. “Uh, get a, uhm . . .”

“Some asshat might have tried calling me at assfuck O’clock in the morning, but I blocked him,” Illinois sounded like he wanted to punch his mystery caller, Eric nervously looked away. “Dark’s my dad and I don’t care about anyone trying to get money or use me to cozy up close to Dark.”

The other two were quiet for a bit as Illinois mentally calmed down. He did reach out and lightly stroke the side of Eric’s face. Which helped Eric relax and by extension calm Illinois down.

“You could have just said no,” Roman finally commented in a tone that might as well have been saying: “I think you need therapy” and went back to his planner. “So we make a safe plan for sixty people?”

“Sounds good to me,” Illinois agreed, his tone brisk and forced.

He did take Eric’s hand in his own and smiled, “Don’t worry, my dear, I will make sure everything’s perfect for you. It’ll be the most amazing day of your life. I promised that I’d make sure you never regret saying yes to me. I meant it, it’ll be the most beautiful day of our lives and you will look amazing.”

That got Eric to tear up a little and after some minor note taking on Roman’s part, the couple left. Eric left with Roman, Logan, and the two apprentices, while the adventurer returned to Dark to run a couple “errands”.

Roman for his part was in a better mood, he’d gotten a couple more “concessions” and the wedding planning was coming along smoothly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Post A/N: Also I would like to draw to everyone’s attention to the canon fact that Tubbo and Ranboo got married at an emotionally turbulent time for Tubbo. Tubbo doesn’t handle those moments well. Impulsive marriage to escape how he felt about what happened to Tommy? . . . It’s more likely than you might think.

Accessibility Translations:

1. for

2. Yeah, bonded pairs in the SMP get a bit of an aura break if you’re linked with an empath. I got sick and tired of having to pay that extremely pricey piper and Ranboo had just joined so when I saw him I went “that’s the one” and we were already kinda friends so BAM! We’ve been married for almost six months now.

3. Besides

4. you’re older than I am, shouldn’t you have changed your apprentice name to something like, I don’t know? Concussion? Explosive Decompression. Or Combust-ION?

5. being

6. You are talking to the wrong person. You should talk to my sister and her girlfriend. Or Karl’s fiancés. That would probably make your argument work.

7. throwing

8. and

9. them

10. I’m sure your wedding will be nice and pretty and stuff. You’re in love and shit, it’ll be great.

11. Sweetheart

12. including

13. knocking

14. to

15. He’s around now and it is nice to kind of have him back to normal again. Wish he didn’t try to set Boo on fire, but no one’s perfect.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #footnotes #Roman Sanders #Eric Derekson #Illinois the Adventurer #ahwm illinois #Logan Sanders #tubbo underscore #ranboo #Ericilly #Logince #Enderbees #platonically married Tubbo and Ranboo #wedding planning #emotionally repressed Tubbo #because have you SEEN the kid? #he never deals with his problems #creatively unfulfilled Roman #Ranboo just likes to be involved #hopeless romantic Roman #Tubbo laughs in the face of romance #married for tax benefits #Ranboo 100% enables Tubbo

[leglesstv]

THE DARK DAYS BACK– 2021

 I have been struggling with how to start this piece. I guess I should tell you a little about myself.

What I do for a living is not who I am, yeah, I get to blow shit up and its super fun but it’s not what defines me.

I have been a water baby all my life from growing up on the beach to commercial diver.

The ocean or the ocean’s rhythm ebbs and flows within me.

Surfing has been the biggest part of my life for longer than I care to remember. For sure I have been out the water for extended periods before while working on projects overseas. Always with the knowledge that I will be getting wet again, sometime soon. I have never before been concerned that surfing will not be an option. I have always just figured I would surf till the day I die.

 October 2019 we were still basking in the glory of a once in a lifetime trip to the Ments. 10 Kneelos on a boat sailing around the Mentawai’s. Absolutely what dreams are made of. Red, Giggs, Lester, Larry, Craig, Steve, Johan, Andrew and myself. Jason the skipper of Switchfoot made it 10 chargers in total.

We had also had a run of solid swell at the local, which for me was all time as my new Kneeon that Nick had shaped for me had arrived. Nick and I had chatted over the phone, had a few video calls and bam!! this magic carpet arrives. Oh my sack, I have never been happier with a stick. My surfing went up in leaps and bounds. Never been happier in my life.

 Around this time, I started to get pains in my left hip which radiated down the leg. Initially it wasn’t too bad but it got progressively worse. It got to a stage where I literally couldn’t walk anymore. Thinking it’s got to be the hip, off I went to the hip specialist. Had some photos taken of the hip, back to the clever guy’s office and this is where things started to go south.

Mate, as hips go, yours look beautiful but I recommend you go see a neurosurgeon.

Your spine doesn’t look good at all.

You can imagine, I’m thinking “what the fuck, are you sure you’re looking at the right X-rays.”

So, at least by this time I was on crutches to help me get around and waddled off to see Dave. Dave is a neurosurgeon that had done some work on my spine before.

Same sort of story, pain in my shoulder, radiating down my right arm.

True as nuts, I had gone to the shoulder clever guy who had told me exactly what the hip guy had just told me. Anyway, a long story short, Dave did a decompression on the C7 and T1 vertebrae.

I was booked on a boat trip to the Maldives with my good mate Guy. He is a stand up but I love him anyway. I manage to get on the plane without really having tested the neck or having had time for rehab of any sorts. Probably not my brightest move. We had solid swell the whole trip, but truth be told, I was in constant pain.

Once back in SA, I was off to see Dave again. X-rays and CT scans followed, and Dave said unfortunately we going to have to fuse the C7 and T1 but we will go in through the front this time.

Absolutely no problems whatsoever and I was back in the water 3 months later.

Dave, howzit I’m back. More scans and X-rays (starting to know everyone by their first names by now) followed. Yip, pretty much the same story, crumbling, degeneration of the spine.

I was booked in for a decompression on the L4 and L5. The procedure was pretty standard and uneventful. Unfortunately, just as with the neck, the decompression was not successful. A week later, I was booked in for a multistage fusion, L4, L5 and S1.

So, they going to open me up again along the same incision line, not feeling great about that but hey, there are worse things in life. Waking up from this op was a rude awakening. Fuck me this shit hurts. Trying to move was pretty tender for sure. Anyhow the drugs did their thing and a few days later I was able to get out of bed and lose the dreaded catheter. Walking was fair interesting to say the least, I had to laugh at myself as I looked like a mummy.

Little shuffles with my hands out front but hey, I was mobile. The day they let me out rolled around. Crap balls I felt like shit and was fair tender. It felt like someone was taking a mallet to my head.

I remember battling to get into the wheelchair to get me to the car. The nausea was just incredible, I thought I was going to throw up all over the place. Between the porter and Jo (my wife) they managed to get me into the car.

The ride home is not too far but I was deteriorating at a rapid rate of knots. Got home, Jo managed to get me onto her “throne” where I just passed out.

Through the rest of the day and night I remember fleeting moments of being awake. Couldn’t move, didn’t know what was going on. Basically, a vegetable on the couch.

The next morning Jo realized that this wasn’t good. Somehow or other she managed to bundle me into the car. I have a memory of the gardener holding the car door open with a look of concern on his face. The next thing I was on a gurney at the hospital with Debbie staring at me. Debbie is Jo’s business partner and one of my best friends.

Tests and more tests.

Somehow or other I had picked up Bacterial Meningitis.

Jo had literally just saved my life. A few hours later and it wouldn’t have turned out well.

Some serious antibiotics and medication I can’t even pronounce later, my infection levels started coming down, but the headaches wouldn’t go away. Back into the noisy tube for some more scans. Was good to see all the guys and gals in radiology again.

Crap balls I had a rupture in the thecal sac. Basically, it’s a sac that runs up your spine and over the brain. The sac contains cerebrospinal fluid. When leaking the sac “collapses” on the brain causing insane headaches, headaches that are just next level. Think migraine on steroids.

Back into theatre to patch up the leak.

Once again, they opened me up on the same incision. Success at last, once again freedom day arrived and was bundled into the wheelchair again and back into the car.

Was great to be home with the animals for sure. Jo had made a bed for me in the lounge as walking at this point just really wasn’t an option. To say I was tender would be a bit of an understatement.

A day later, I got this incredible pain down my left leg. Kinda like being hit with a cattle prodder. I remember screaming as the first one hit. Absolute agony, pain like I had never felt. It would last for about 30 seconds but in that time, I couldn’t move a finger for fear of escalating the pain. I just screamed and screamed. Over the next two days, it got worse and more frequent.

This was an incredible low point. I remember crying like a baby. I was emotionally drained by this time. I remember thinking I just want to be normal again. Remember, I can hardly walk, can’t even get down on the toilet to take a dump. I hadn’t had a shit for as long as I can remember.

My wife was washing me and dressing me. It was taking its toll.

This carried on for two days until it got to a point where I just couldn’t move.

An ambulance and crew had to come and peel me off the couch eventually. They dosed me up, got a stretcher underneath me and carried me out to the ambulance.

Jesus, what the fuck!! But hey, could be worse…right?

Back to my favorite people with the noisy machine. Hi everyone, true as nuts I’m back. Another scan revealed that the crushed bone material that they place between your vertebrae was leaking out and catching the nerve going down my leg.

Another twirl in theatre to clean up the debris, by this time the clock on the wall and I were good friends. I used to watch the seconds tick by as the anesthetic started kicking in. I woke up from here being wheeled into high care. Now I have to tell you this was by far my worst experience.

The following morning two nurses came to wash me. I was in absolute agony and they kept moving me and turning me. I was screaming in absolute agony, but they wouldn’t stop and no-one came to help me. To this day I can’t understand it.

Couldn’t wait to get out of there and back on to a ward. Or so I thought…

From there they wheeled me into an isolation ward. Apparently, I had picked up the dreaded hospital Super bug. My infection count was in the 400’s (8 being normal) and to make matters worse, the headaches were back. I had sprung another fucking leak in my Thecal sack. FUCK!!!

Back to my old friend on the wall with the ticking second hand. Again, opening me up on the same line. This time I wasn’t friends with the clock on the wall.

Dave patched me up as best they could.

What the actual…

My new home turned out to be a glass box in the ICU. In isolation in intensive care. Jesus, this isn’t good.

Nurse and doctors were putting gear on to come into the glass box. “What’s going on???”

Machines were everywhere beeping and hissing. “Fuck me, this isn’t good.”

Waking up at 4am with people sticking needles into you to draw blood loses its shine after a while. I think all I ate for the two weeks was watermelon in the morning that Debbie used to bring me with a cup of coffee. When I say bring, I really mean bribe the porter.

 Now you must remember I have basically been bedridden for 6 weeks and not had an appetite at all.

I could see the concern on peoples face when they came to visit, as much as they tried to hide it, it was there.

Nights were the worst and the tears used to flow. So as not to let the pressure in the Thecal sac become too great, they drained it every few hours. This as I’ve said to you before brings on insane headaches.

Morphine and I were no longer friends. It made me incredibly sad and depressed.

I came off the morphine by choice and gritted the teeth. Absolutely worth the pain.

 Lester and Marco organized a live feed for me for the warmup session before the SA Kneeboarding Champs. What legends.

Once again, I cried like a baby, but these were tears of joy. It was so good to watch my mates surfing and everyone saying “hi” on the feed made me feel like a million bucks. The brotherhood is strong here in Cape Town. Love these boys.

 At this point I was literally skin and bone, but my infection levels were coming down and I had managed to get out of bed and make the few steps to the toilet. The sun was definitely coming up for me. For the first time in a long time, I thought I was going to make it.

Fuck, the thought of dying in that glass box haunted me every night there.

Freedom day was like no other. Getting out of there into the sunshine and colors and breeze was a sensory overload, but hey, I was out and feeling good…ish.

 My mates, Debbie and Sian had kept me going. Sian is my office manager and best friend.

She tried to feed me all the way through to no avail, true as nuts she used to arrive with bags of food.

 God it was good to be home.

Reality starts to kick in pretty quickly. Fuck me am I ever going to be able to surf again, am I ever going to be able to sit on the toilet again (it’s the little things hahaha…)

Time to reset the mind from “fuck me, I don’t want to die in here to I need to get in the water again”.

 Enter the amazing Lara, the physio that is a gift from the angels. I remember that late December day shuffling and shaking my way into her office. By this time, all my muscles had wasted away and just holding my frame up was as much as I could muster. I could do about 2 minutes before all my muscles started shaking from fatigue and I was still shuffling like a mummy.

The question Lara asked me off the bat was “what do you want to get out of this.”

“Just get me back in the water please,” was my response.

At this point it was a fantasy I had to believe in, physically I was a mess, but I think mentally I was scarred and the mental trauma was real. But fuck it, if I could survive that, I can achieve anything. The will to get back in the water was incredible and became all consuming.

 Walking around the house became my exercise routine initially and braai tongs my best friend (in case I dropped stuff as bending was not an option). I had to hold on to everything at first as I walked along, eventually I could skip the kitchen counter on the way to the TV room and skip the chairs on the way to my room, and so it went on until I could just about walk the whole house without holding or resting.

 Lara had given me gentle low impact stuff to do, just to tone the muscles and stretches to get some life back in the buggers. Everything hurt. This was a continuous process that I did all day every day for a few weeks. I was starting to feel more stable on my feet which did wonders for my mental wellbeing. Progress was gradual but I started noticing results which made me feel like a million dollars.

 Getting behind the wheel again was a massive boost for me. My buddy Kante who is a running coach, walked with me from my local to St James, what a joy being next to the ocean again, mind surfing every bump that came through. I steadily built this up over time. Eventually I could make it to Muizenberg and back (5 kms). Everything ached at this point and the thought of shortening every walk was ever present. 4am wake ups every day can be a challenge and for sure there were mornings I couldn’t bear the thought of getting up. Sore back, sore hips, it’s dark and it’s cold, fuck this shit. On the odd occasion that I didn’t manage to get going, that feeling of worthlessness would set in. What the fuck is wrong with you, don’t you want to get back in the water? That’s not a cool feeling. I have probably missed 3 days in the six months I have been rehabbing. A 45-minute 5km walk followed by an hour of rehab back at home. I can’t begin to count the many lonely hours I have spent in the dark, walking and processing thoughts and priorities.

 My weekly visits to Lara are always a highlight. My flexibility is measured as well as my strength. Some weeks just like some days are better than others. Lately there are a few moments of some days that I am totally pain free. These can quickly be followed by days and moments of crappy pain, but I will take the good ones for sure. Setbacks some and it’s natural to be bummed by them. Thinking “end goal” always helps. Watching Billy Kemper’s story after that crazy injury in Morocco has inspired me tremendously and there is a kinship that forms in adversity.

To keep the spirits up, I have ordered me a new board from Nick (Kneeon) which should arrive any day.

Jedd has also shaped me a 5’4 twinny that looks more like something that should be flying in space rather than the water. Can’t wait to get these beauties wet.

 The daily grind continues relentlessly and it’s not always easy to appreciate the reasons for the dark hours one spends with oneself on the rehab trail. I want the prize now. Sheesh, it’s a constant battle upstairs. Here’s the weird thing, the closer I get to the end of April (paddle out day…hopefully), the more fearful I become. Will I be able to, and can I still?

All this and more just keeps swimming in the head and there’s the self-doubt.

Fuck it’s terrifying.

I have gone over it a million times in my head, do I just paddle out at a gentle beach break and see how it goes. Na, that scares me more. Soft waves are hard work and the amount of torque on the spine terrifies me. What if the nuts and bolts pop out?

There is no way in hell I am going back to that building with the big red cross on it. This drives me harder for sure back on the road, back to the floor and core exercises.

Lara assures me the hyperextension of the back I have obtained through this time will definitely be fine for paddling.

The torque and pressure on the lower back coming off the bottom and turning off the top, is what scares the crap out of me. The reef and I are intimate, god knows I have bounced and scraped along her so many times. I have certainly paid my dues.  

Wiping out doesn’t scare me, it’s that word again “TORQUE”.

Perhaps I will just go straight on the first few. That in itself presents a bit of a problem at the local, but that’s where my head is.

I know you will all understand this, “what if a section just presents itself, just asking to be slapped”.

It is so ingrained in each and every one of us, that muscle memory just takes over. Going to have to be ever vigilant.

I have swum out to the peak just to be out there with the guys. The first time was not great. It took me so long just to get to the water. Jumping off the railway line so not an option. Doing the walk around and trying to get over the rocks was tricky to say the least.

Feeling the water over my feet was an absolute delight, but crap balls, had the water got colder since the last time? As soon as I laid in the water, it dawned on me that this is going to be quite the journey.

I couldn’t swim on my stomach as the pain was intense, but fuck it, I was going out. I swam on my side and back. Eventually I made it, the guys cheered and whooped, I felt like I had just won the lottery.

It was so good to be part of the conversation out there again, it was so good to hear how stoked the guys were for me, life was good.

I fed off this like I had been starved of life for ages.

 Today being the Saturday before the Wednesday that I go back to Dave (the surgeon), brings turmoil to my emotions.

I’m not sure what I am scared of more, being told you aren’t ready or yeah, go get in the water. I am so scared of not surfing to my full potential again. Every day closer brings more panic. I just want it to be over now.

 Wednesday morning dawned (but not really), up at 4am and back on the road. Usually, I am thinking about the workday ahead but this morning not so much.

My head is swimming with what ifs. What if there is still something wrong, what if I can’t anymore, what if, what if…

On the drive to see Dave, the surgeon, my heart is beating at a million beats/minute.

It’s good to see Dave again in a weird type of way, he really is a very cool guy.

Anyhow, he sends me off for some more pictures of the spine. Gotta say I was staring at the radiologist for some clues, but nothing.

The stress is killing me, and I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest.

So, back up to Dave with the thumping heart, I can hear it in my ears.

It all looks brilliant mate. What… I could not believe what I was hearing. He took me through the X-rays explaining what he was looking for and everything was just right.

There’s no use putting off the inevitable he says to me, go get in the water…but don’t be stupid. I wanted to scream it to the world!

Obviously, the doubts started kicking in hard right about now, but hey, I had gotten the green light.

Thursday morning I was off to Lara for physio. I couldn’t wait to tell her the good news. The muscles on the left side of my back had been in spasm for two weeks now, so as thrilled as she was, there was the don’t be stupid again.

I had coached myself in my mind for months now, high tide, small waves and just go straight…right.

 Friday morning and the reports started coming in. There’s a bit of a wave at the local.

“It’s go time.” With my heart in my mouth, I started packing the car.

Sweet Lord, it had been a while, I had to keep double checking I had everything packed.

I don’t think I noticed any other cars on the way, I was mind surfing all the way through to the local.

I got there a few hours before the high just to get my head straight and check the lineup.

There were some chunky 4 footers coming through, but I wanted some more water on the rock. I watched my mate Dave paddle out and get some screamers.

Steve finally arrived, “I thought you would be in your suit already” he says.

This is it, heart in the throat again, off we went.

Sheesh it was so good to feel the waves crashing over my feet and legs again.

Jumped on my board and started paddling.

Woooohoooo absolutely no pain. Got out to the takeoff zone and everyone was cheering and welcoming me back. How humbling.

Mickey Duffus, a local big wave legend was out. Everybody back off he bellowed, this man hasn’t surfed for 6 months.

For some reason, this made me relax and just enjoy the moment.

Something started standing up out the back, Steve was sitting in the channel waiting for me to have my first ride.

“You going Mick?” I heard someone ask.

Yip I heard coming out my mouth, I spun and went.

Muscle memory and familiarity with the wave kicked in. I made the drop…Fuck I couldn’t believe it came around the section and just flopped off my board.

Steve and Dave had the biggest smile on their faces. The emotion of the occasion just swept over me like a wave, and the tears started flowing. All I kept thinking about was lying in ICU thinking fuck, I don’t want to die in here to taking off on the first wave.

Well, for the rest of the session, I absolutely sent it, trying to take off as deep as possible on the gnarliest set waves. All the coaching I had done in my head for the last few months went straight out the window.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

 Damn, I felt so alive, without a doubt, the happiest man on the planet. When I got back to the car park, all of the Kneelo crew were in the car park and boy were they happy for me.

Sean Thompson was there too, shooting my waves and recording the moment.

How blessed am I. Nothing was getting the smile off my face.

 When I lay in bed that night, I kept thinking of the months of rehab and hard work I had gone through. The many lonely dark hours of the mornings, but I had done it.

 The next morning, we were on it at first light with the Westside boys coming through as well. The Kneelo brotherhood in Cape Town is tight. I am so humbled by all the good wishes and thoughts from everyone.

Just want to mention Lester, who kept me sane in the last two months. We chatted every day for the last while, sometimes a few times in a day. He kept me motivated and hungry and for this I will be forever grateful.

There are so many people to thank for getting me through this period. I think you know who you are, and I will get to everyone individually.

It’s good to get wet again.

I started writing this piece to help anyone in similar circumstances.

Stick with your plan and give it everything no matter how hopeless your situation may seem.

At the end of the day this was such a therapeutic exercise for me. Something I didn’t expect.

The trauma was and is real and this has certainly helped me face it and deal with it.

If this helps even one person get over and through a rough period of hopelessness, its job done.

Mickey Kirsten

Legless Contributor

SA Kneelos

#leglesstv #kneeboard surfing #mickey kirsten #health #sakneelos #lester sweetman

[xanadontit]

In other news

E started a new job today!

It’s a lateral move title-wise, but an amazing opportunity creatively. He has the chance to work with a branding agency, build something from the ground up, and - possibly most exciting to me personally - hire a team to execute instead of being a one-man show.

This came up around Christmas, right after we had a “come to Jesus” about his workaholic ways and how he had to figure out a way/ways to balance life because this is how being an adult with a career and interpersonal relationships works. You don’t get to put your marriage on hold until work calms down. That’s not a thing (at least not a thing I’m interested in), and he admitted he needed to figure out how to do “well enough” and not think that once he masters some area of his life then the other pieces will fall into place. Ironically, he was juuuussst starting to figure that out and BAM! New job that will require more of his time and brain space. Cool.

We talked it over and weighed the pros and cons. One pro that felt like a bit of a con (to me): this was an offer made by his previous manager at the job he just left. Obviously great that he loves and trusts E and wants him on his team. BUT: this guy thinks E makes magic happen and I was more than a little reluctant to watch that play out again. Because there was no magic, just my husband driving himself into an early grave working 22 hours a day over fucking letterhead and trade show booth graphics.

So he talked with this guy and said he would love to come aboard, but he had learned a lot of lessons and would take things a little slower as far as producing, but of course would bring his A game every day. An agreement was set. Hooray! E gave notice, spent some time with his mom, and has been taking some time to decompress and really think about how he wants life to look.

Not going to lie: I have not hated having a SAHH the last couple of weeks. Dinner on the table every night when I walk in the door! Laundry folded! Can I take in your dry cleaning, dear? The dishwasher is magically run and emptied. Truly the stuff of dreams, people. 

#I would happily work and support us if we could swing that #and let him run the house #he is so much better at that than I am #and actually likes it #anyway hella psyched

[ddontyyoukknow]

its time to decompress its time for me to decompress and express myself. I feel like I I've in a way subjected myself to be in a pressure cooker in my own head and I can feel it. I can feel my head being progressively more and more tight and I need to tread carefully so It doesn't burst. what I'm about to talk about it something that I think will be good to let out but its also something that I was not able to talk about it or a while because it was something so sad and helpless to me I wanted to hide it and o just digit know what to do about it. even after I found a helpful course that would help with symptoms the biggest hurdle was figuring out when id get it done and some of my lowest point were when I fell into the hole of thinking that I I would never be able to pull myself out and that I would just progressively get worst. I developed dp at around 17 years old I had a dissociative panic attack on a lot of weed when I was 18 and I chucked it up to being a bad weed trip. little did I know that it had to do with a dissociative disorder the I had and that  would go into that stare of furious helpless panic to the point to where I thought I was in hell 4 more times in the next 3 years. with many little panic attacks spurred in here and there. and just generally living in a constant state on anxiety and fear, I allowed those experiences to absolutely consume my life. on the beginning I had absolutley no other emotional or mental health support. for a while there I believed I was dead and hearing anything spiritual sent me in a spiral on dread and panic. I didn't know what was going on and I think speaking to my parents about it all was scary for them so I don't think they really heard me out and just tried to fill me with their own ideas which was nt helpful for me I theywerent goingnto hear me out. even if they did I don't think theybwere equips to give me the informartionad help I needed. eventually after dissociative panic attack #4 I decided to get help. I was over it wanted to find out what was going on wit me. I moved out from my parents and I found and bought a dp recovery course. after I found that course I felt a lot better and began to heal and restore a lot of my misconceptions to the point of bringing myself to a livable mind state  but I continued procrastinationg on completely going through with the course forsook reason. recently my lief has been one of haze. I can't quite see. I can't quite gear I can't quite think. I can do all those things but a little but muted. like I bt all therefor some reason. I have been able to tame my anxiety for weeks at a time since. moved out soenthingi was m=not all to do when I was wit my parents but I still am panicky most of the time. I mostly just want to get rid of the dp. I want to feel like myself again I want to be whole in want to get rid of anxiety but it took years of heard work to breed when I am right now it will take years and years of hard work to create a path for me to come back and experience fully. I was nagging all the time so much hat the universe said oh if its so horrible living then here, half living BAM! or I made my life suck a catastrophe in my head that I dp was a way of protecting myself. or maybe this was real trauma that I was subjected to that no-one could help. it was nouns fault and now with perservierence and love I can heal. for a while I blamed myself because I would fetishize and idealize mental illness in the lady gaga marry the night music video and I have not watched it for years because if that reason. but there is a real solid reason that this happened and it was noones direct fault. it was nouns direct intention for this to happen. my life was a life of nagging and junk food and horrible acne. I thought I was ugly and fat and stupid in school, I didn't get accepted into college, I had no motivation to do anything I was just sad I hated the job my dad was forcing me to do over and over. we didn't not have any days off! he completely controlled every aspect of my life for 2 years. he didn't let me do anything with the money I was making. it was hard for me. I didn't like my job, and my dad took that personally and was a huge ass to me outside of work he would hit us with a cable when he was really angry with us. this is in the past truly. I am in the market to change and ket go. he's the one in pain he always has been. he has the answered and chooses to ignore them. he chooses to carry his pain with him and he took it to his kids and he wanted us to take it too. he had a vision that he thought wAS The most correct out of misguided love and thats ok. everyone makes mistakes and even if the hurt he caused me was on purpose, which it wasn't, it was not on purpose.  he was showing me all he knew and I cannot hold him up to the same expectation that I would because I grew up in a more mental health aware world than he did. he did the best he did and he didn't know any better. it was out of love and that is what I choose to take with me. I escaped the situation that was no longer serving me but I will not look at it with t=anything other than apprecaation for all the lessons and good things I got outdo it. it is not my resoinibility to change them or make the bette people thats there own responsibility. I wish them the best and I hope they et better and I hope they reach their wildest dreams and I hope they are happy. I can let go and allow myself to be happy. mourn the little happy girl I lost. mourn the years I lost with Hal ability to live and the months to come but I am ready to fully heal and work hard at it. I am ready to reform my ways and but productive and happy.. know that this is the only way I could be what I will be in the future. noonw will have gone through what I did, have such strength and meaning in their walks. I've been thought the worst and I survived it. I am centered and I can do anything, 

[84reedsy]

The Docks

Rating: M

Characters: Joshua Bam Bam Brown, OC

Word Count: 3311

Summary: A newly transplanted local on the docks catches the eye of our favorite grumpy Brown brother. Request completion for @anna-ik-e

Warnings: Smut

----------------------------------------------------

Rose sat on the dock, swinging her legs idly. She tried using the salty sea are and the gently lapping waves to distract her, but it wasn’t working. She was trying not to feel blue, she was trying to keep her spirits up, but she was finding it hard to deny the desire to wallow in her own self pity.

 She’d moved to Hoonah on an adventurous whim, even having a job lined up working in a shop during the busy cruise ship season. She’d met throngs of visitors even having made a few local acquaintances, but she still felt incredibly lonely. She’d hoped with the influx of visitors and part-time residents to the small village during the busy summer season would present her with more opportunities to meet...someone, anyone. But the season was waning and while she was set to last through the long, cold winter months, she’d hoped for something more.

 She’d often come watch the boats on the dock. It was almost dance-like really, the way the large vessels would glide into the bay, serpentining other boats and sliding gently into place. Even the people on board moved in a rhythmic pattern to ensure a successful docking.

 She noticed a boat this time, one she’d seen a multitude of times previously, but for some reason it commanded her attention. She saw what she assumed were deckhands milling about the bow and stern, untying ropes, shouting phrases to the wheelhouse. The docking could have gone better, the stern of the boat cut in too far bumping the deck. She could feel the vibrations from the contact, but it was nothing of consequence as neither the dock nor the boat seemed to suffer an irreparable damage.

 She heard his voice first. It was deep,but sharp as he emerged from the wheelhouse, zipping his hoodie and reprimanding the men that seemed to walk by him with little more than an eyeroll. This boat was intriguing indeed, she’d seen how deckhands normally reacted towards a captain and none of them seemed to fit their role.

 “Idiots!” He spat, jumping from the side of the boat to the dock, his knees bending as he landed squarely on his feet, “Probably run the boat right through the dock if I didn’t keep you guys in line!” He was walking right towards her. She was at the end of the dock with nowhere to retreat to.

He was mumbling, looking down as his hands rummaged in his pockets. He seemed almost unaware of his trajectory quickly running out of solid walking space. She cleared her throat in an attempt to get his attention. When that didn’t work she blurted out.

 “HEY!” She felt her voice become more forceful than she meant, but it completed it’s intention, his thick leather boots stopping just shy of taking a step with no floor beneath it.

 “Huh? What? Oh…” He quickly recalculated his surroundings, becoming aware that he’d almost taken a late summer bath in the frigid waters of Icy Strait, “I...I was just...thanks.” He mumbled, still a little bewildered at himself for being so oblivious.

 “You’re welcome.” Her voice was softer this time, sincere. She crossed her ankles, swinging her legs idly over the edge of the dock, not sure what else to say to this increasingly handsome stranger. His half-cocked smirk and eyes hidden by dark sunglasses didn’t help to calm her either.

 “I’m normally not so careless...but my brothers seem to bring it out in me.” He invited himself to sit next to her at the narrow edge of the dock.

 “Brothers? Oh. Ohhhh...that makes sense.” She said the wheels in her head clicking as she realized it must be a family boat, explaining the atypical behavior of the ‘crew’.

 “Sense?” His forehead wrinkled slightly, inquisitive of her statement.

 “Yeah, I was watching you guys dock...I noticed that they didn’t...well it wasn’t like a normal fishing boat where everyone is like ‘aye-aye’.” She mimicked a salute. His smirk turned to a full on smile as he slightly chuckled, looking down at the water.

 “A well oiled machine, we are not.” He shook his head, “Are you a local? I don’t remember seeing you around here before.”

 “What, you know everyone in town?” She chided him, but his eyes studied her, “Yeah, I’m a new local...I’ve just been here since spring.” She felt a blush creep onto her cheeks as his eyes were intent upon her. “I’m Rose.” She held out her hand, she felt the butterflies flutter in her stomach as he touch it, his touch firm.

 “Bam Brown, and that  - “ he motioned back to the boat, “is my family and our boat.”

 A small silence fell over them as the conversation stalled, Bam rubbed his hands together idly, trying to think of more to say.

 “So,” he finally spoke up almost making her jump, “ What...what brings you down to the docks?”

 “Oh, well...I like to come down here to think, decompress. It’s...well it’s been a long week.”

 Rose explained that she was helping shop owners around town close up for the season, the cruise ship stops coming much fewer and farther between. She made a little extra money or got the chance to work for trade, which had stocked her little apartment nicely. She even mentioned how people leaving to go south for the winter had given her almost a brand new outfit of furniture for her place. The problem being that she still had the old stuff. Her place was so cramped it was almost necessary to parkour from one end of a room to the next.

 “Everytime I go to get a drink of water, I worry I’m going to turn my ankle.” She joked, and it lit up her insides when he laughed in response. A real, throaty laugh. Nothing about it was forced or insincere. She felt heat creep to her cheeks as his laugh subsided and his grin turned into a slight smirk, his eyes never leaving her face though.

 “Don’t blush like an idiot.” Rose’s inner monologue warned her.

 “Well, I’ve got my afternoon free, if you need some help maybe moving some stuff around? I might be able to even use some stuff you don’t need anymore…” He offered, slightly swinging his legs on the dock.

 “You...you’d be willing to do that?” She was a little shocked. Even though many of the residents here were very kind and generous, free labor was a luxury.

 “Sure. Why not? And...anything I can use I’ll keep and we’ll call it an even trade?” He offered his hand as if he were making a business deal.

 “Ok.” She took his hand, shaking it firmly, but unable to deny his hands were quite strong, “Ok then...anything you feel like you need...you can just take.” She was shocked a little as she winked at him, her own forwardness appalling. She was calmed of her fears though when his smirk opened into a wide smile and a low chuckle.

 “Well, alright then.” He answered. He stood, offering her his hand again, this time to help her back to her feet. She took the invitation, leading him back down the dock and through the winding roads to her hillside home overlooking the bay.

 “Home sweet home.” She sang as the walked up the tall, narrow stairs that led to her front door. She did not relish the thought of trying to maneuver some of the bulkier furniture down this almost rickety staircase.

 “It’s nice.” He studied the facade of the building, turning towards the water as they both finished their ascent, “That view, though, it’s...absolutely stunning.” He rested his hands on his hips, his well defined chest slightly heaving from the steep climb, “Stunning…” he repeated, but from the corner of her eye, Rose was fairly sure his eyes were fixed in her direction now.

 Hoping on conceal her embarrassment, she nodded complementing the horizon before turning to her door. She unlocked the deadbolt and lead him inside. While the place was neat and well kept, it was entirely too full. She pointed out each piece of furniture she would not be needing and with each item could swear she saw his eyes light up a little more.

 He followed her through the precarious path, keeping a mental list of everything. He was glancing around at some of her things as well when he stumbled forward. It took a moment to realize his position. Rose had stumbled first, falling over a couch arm, Bam following, his body flush against hers, her backside pressing into his belt. The tip of his nose dipped into her hair, his arms catching himself on either side of her, almost trapping her between them.

He got a whiff of her hair, the scents of herbs and honey noticeable. Her body was warm and felt nice against him, slowly he felt his male libido stir. After realizing the awkwardness, he stood up quickly profusely apologizing. Rose did  the same, finding it hard to look him in the eye having felt desire herself as his muscles had surrounded her.

 She found an opportunity to excuse herself, shutting her bedroom door behind her and silently screaming. She hadn’t felt a man in a long time and not once since she’d been in this new town. To say she was starved for the affections of a man was a gross understatement. She took a few deep breaths, mumbling a pep talk in the mirror .

 “Don’t blow it. He might like you...but if he doesn’t that’s ok. Stay calm. Don’t be a doofus. Don’t be a doofus.” She repeated the words, fixing her hair and taking one last long breath before coming back out.

 Luckily the task at hand was distraction enough to push the incident to the back of both of their minds, Bam in her absence had designed a rudimentary pulley system to lower the furniture down the hillside instead of the death trap of stairs.

 He was easy to talk to. He laughed effortlessly at her jokes and she couldn’t get enough of the way his deep voice seemed to rumble out of his lips. She found herself staring at them. The line of them, the way the edges curled up into a smirk when he caught her looking.

 “Get a good look?” He teased her.

 “Just setting my sights on the prize.” The words left her again, flirty and full of suggestion. Again, who was this person inside of her responding like this? She was not normally so smooth and calm; it’s as if her subconscious had taken over as if reading him like a book.

 His eyebrows shot up, but he smiled again, lowered the rope slowly, his biceps bulging the arms of his black tshirt.

 It was entirely too quickly the the job was completed. His ingenuity had saved them literal hours as she stood in the middle of her living room, marveling at the fact that she had a floor. She spun around in a circle almost giddy that there was much less to possibly trip over.

 “Thank you...sooooo much.” She stopped spinning to look at him, but the world continued to move and she fell sideways slowly. She tried bracing herself for the crash to the ground, but it didn’t happen. Instead she felt his hands, his strong, rugged hands hold fast to her.

 “Got you.” His voice was quiet, but his smile was sweet. He righted her and her hands instinctively went to his shoulders, trying to steady her world which was now threatening to spin out of control for a different reason.

 “Thanks….” she muttered out, her eyes still falling to his lips. The rest of the world was blurry, but those lips. They were everything.

 Taking her subtle cue, Bam took a leap, pulling her closer to him, their warm bodies pressed lightly and his lips descended on hers. She was surprised, a small moan leaving her lips as her eyes fluttered down. The world was still now and all she could feel was his lips. They were soft, and ever so warm. As they parted around her own, the kiss became firmer, wanting more access to her.

 She relinquished control, sliding her arms around his shoulder, parting her lips to him, a wanting gasp escaping as his tongue sought the solace of hers, dancing slowly with it. He pulled back, her lips following his recession, begging for more.

 “I’m...I’m sorry…” He stammered out, his chest pushing into hers on each heavy inhale, “I couldn’t help it. I’ve been wanting to kiss you all day.”

 “But you...we just met.” Rose said breathily, still reeling, “Do you mean, since we met?”

 He nodded slowly, his hands slid around her back, slowly pressing her into him more. She tilted her head as if to give her complete consent, begging for his lips again. He satiated her, but this kiss far more demanding and punishing. It spelled out his desire of which she was eager to accept. Maybe she’d never see him again, but she would be damned if she would let this chance at pleasure slip through her fingers.

 She felt a shiver go up her spine as his fingers slipped her buttons open and slid her shirt from her shoulders, kissing her shoulder as it exposed itself to him. His fingers toyed with the clasp of her bra only momentarily before it gave way, loosening around her breasts. Her breath quickened with her rising nerves, but calmed the moment his eyes lay upon her breasts, licking his lips as he cursed softly.

 His hands toyed with her nipples softly, growling almost as she whimpered with pleasure, pressing into his hand more firmly. He grasped the back of her neck, his lips punishing hers with another possessive kiss.

 Bam slowly walked her backwards until her knees hit the same couch arm as before. She went down, but slowly this time, cradled by his strong, protective arms. He nudged her legs apart with his knees, letting his body rest between them. He relished in the feeling of her body against his. She was getting to him, and fast.

 He’d seen her on the dock that day, he’d watched her for a while. Everytime he’d been called away and had to tear his eyes from her, he’d found himself more and more irritated. Walking off the boat had really only been half because he was upset. The other was that he just couldn’t take not knowing more about this girl.

His warm breath and lips suckled her neck, feeling a sense of pride as she wriggled beneath him, clearly affected by his actions. Her hips moved, making her desires known without question. Her legs locking around his hips as his nipped lightly at her collarbone made his desire all the more evident to her as well. She moaned feeling the size of it.

 “Should...should I stop?” His voice hushed and raspy, he begged for her to say no, but he had to make sure this is what she wanted. She tugged at his shirt, slipping it over his head.

 “No...God, please don’t ever stop…”She begged him, her hands sliding down his chest, over his marvelous abs and to his belt. Her eyes fixed on his, but her fingers nimbly worked his belt open, eager to feel him. As soon as he was loosed, she dove her hand down, grasping a thick, warm flesh in her hands, her eyes widening. Bam had to chuckle as she gulped.

 “Don’t worry...I’ll go easy.” He promise, his hips gyrating slowly into her grip, humming as his hand slid down the front of her pants, finding her warm, wet; he could almost feel her aching for him. He drew his slick fingers from her folds bringing them to his lips and tasting her, “Damn girl...so sweet.”

He turned her so she sat more properly on the couch, kneeling between her legs and he pulled her pants down. SHe felt nerves return, almost embarrassed to be naked in front of him, completely exposed. But he again, quelled her fears as his lips worshiped her, trailing up each thigh until she shuddered. His tongue tasted her core, more and more feverishly until she was panting his name pressing her throbbing womanhood into his lips with an earth-shattering release.

 She tried to collect herself as she felt his lips kiss a trail back up her body. His hands grabbed her hips and brought her closer to him and she felt him teasing her entrance, his tip thick and ready. She tried to buck so that he’d sink in, but he kept her waiting a moment more.

 He guided himself into her wet, heat; a string of curses left his lips praising her as his jaw clenched. Her walls still quivered from her release and he felt every movement, having to still himself momentarily to keep his composure.

 “Rose...woman…” He whispered, slowly drawing her hips back, sinking in her so deeply she writhed with pleasure. Here blissful face willed him to go faster, bringing her to him with more force each time.

 He grunted as each thrust felt better than the last, hurtling him into a pleasure he’d not experienced before. His eyes drank in the way her flesh moved with him. The way her breasts danced with each thrust, the way her hands gripped his forearms squeezing tightly as she begged for more.

 Grabbing her legs and letting her lock them around his waist he leaned over her, her hands holding tightly to his sides, feeling his muscles working to fill her, to please her. She felt all of him, every inch after inch of his manhood. She whimpered out his name as she felt her core heat again, tingling, threatening to send her over again as he became a savage lover, growling, nipping at her ear, her throat.

 Just as she felt herself cum again, her fingernails digging into his back, she was overwhelmed by the sensation of his release, flooding her as his voice strained her name out. Regardless of the circumstances, she couldn’t help but feel a little pride at how much she affected him.

 Sometime passed before they were both able to regain composure. Their muscles shaky almost with exhaustion, his lips kissed her once more, softly, lingering with adoration.

 The sound of a pickup truck and it’s doors opening and closing shook them from their trance. Both quickly dressed as Bam recognized his brother’s voices wafting up as they started loading furniture.

 “The one time I ask them to do something and they do it on time.” He shook his head buckling his belt, “I’m...I’m sorry we had to ...get up so fast.” He bit his lip, looking remorseful as she covered up.

 “Bam…” She called as he started fixing his hair going toward the door, “Your shirt…”

 He looked down and noticed quickly it was inside out and backwards. He smirked, fixing his mistake.

 “Girl, you’ve got me all kinds of backwards.” He walked over to her and kissed her again, letting their lips make sweet, parting noises, “Tomorrow...can I come see you tomorrow?” He asked, his eyes hopeful.

 She let her hands caress his arms as she looked into his eyes, laughing as he brother’s yelled out for him.

 “Yeah...Joshua, I think I’d like that.” His grin gave her butterflies as he kissed her quickly once more before leaving to help his brothers load the truck. She leaned on the porch railing watching them. 

She waved as the truck left, Bam in the bed of the truck, blowing her a kiss. Maybe this winter wouldn’t be so bad after all.

#abp fan fiction #abp fan fic #ABP #abp steam #abpfanfic #abpfanfiction #alaskanbushpeople #alaskan bush people #alaskan bush people fan fiction #alaskanbushpeoplefanfiction #alaskan bush people fan fic #Joshua Bam Bam Brown #bam brown

[wendyimmiller]

A Spring for the Ages; Endurance, Rainfall, Beauty, Raw Nerves, Blind Panic, and Two Cases of the Bends

Yeah, that’s about describes my Spring.  Yours?

It all started with a misguided nod to appear on our Township’s Garden Tour. Did this sometime last Winter.  I’d been drinking. When our garden didn’t appear on the first draft of the flyer, did I take it as a sign? Nope. A smart person would have laid low and slipped out of that commitment like it was a time share they’d been sold, but not me. Being the same impaired idiot who had agreed to the idea in the first place, I reminded the Township.

The best image I could find of my garden in March.

The second prettiest March pic of my garden.

3 of 3 of March photos. Sea of mud. Just enough life emerging to keep one from hijacking a bus.

Our garden had been on the tour several years ago but the intervening years have had their share of drama with the most carefree and joyous parts of our lives and all but the most basic of garden maintenance finding themselves shoved to the side like a road killed raccoon in the path of a snowplow.  But, you know hope springs eternal. It was a new year, a different time, and I told myself, “Hey, this will be fun. And it will motivate you to make some of those improvements you’ve been thinking about.” Yep. That’s what I told myself.

Sloppy selfie.

Of course, it did do that. Just like it almost killed me. For whatever delusional reason, I failed to factor into the decision-making process that my life would remain just the same as it’s always been—a lurching, noisy, rickety, breathlessly busy, confused and confusing, poorly conceived extended round of experimental performance art liberally embellished with unpleasant surprises at inopportune moments. Somehow, I had forgotten that.

Spring comes in increments, and little things sometimes distract you momentarily from the overall ugliness and all the work that must be done.

Meh. Ugh.

And there is nothing like a looming garden tour to sober you right up real fast. First walk-through after you’ve agreed to such a thing and, bam, there you are–clear-eyed, stammering, and horrified, seeing your garden from the viewpoint of carloads of judgmental strangers. Make this walk-through like I did in March–that most hopelessly depressing, mercilessly ugly, butthole-with-a disease month of the year–and it’s the horticultural equivalent to waking up with some person you hooked up with at a dive bar deep into the early morning hours of the previous night. So you do the only things that come to mind. First you drink. Then you cry. Finally, you beseech the Almighty for an asteroid to come screaming out of the sky and smash all your years of bad ideas, lousy plant choices, inexplicable design decisions, ill-advised gardening practices, plastic containers, fake flamingos, and scuzzy gazing balls into tiny burning fragments that all fall on top of your neighbor’s boat.

Well, okay.

And a late night of work rewarded by a decent scene in the fading light.

But you know from long experience that God has a very spotty record of answering your prayers and that your luck isn’t good enough to guide a comet in on its own, so you do the only thing you can: you go outside and garden like hell. Like some nervous dervish all ramped up on speed. Rinse and repeat, you’re doing this from mid-March to May 19th, every night after work until it’s too dark to tell garlic mustard from poison ivy and every weekend from the crack of dawn to long after dark. Dehydrated most of the time, of course. And you have to fit this in and around record rainfall, a pair of weekend trips you’d committed to previously, and a bunch of appointments and presentations that wind up eating 15 weeknights and about six weekend days.

Neither aminal was much help. Martin, The Heart of Darkness, just distracted us with his constant plotting of our doom.

And Zaku, the blind old dog, kept himself busy by walking on every perennial just as it went into bloom.

I won’t go into every gory detail about every dumb mistake, disturbing discovery, and newfound deep disappointment, but I will tell you, as an example, about removing my old nursery hoop house. It had stood for years, looming, rusting, and listing prominently in the background of every otherwise scenic garden view and photograph. It had to go and it did. Big job. Cut my hands repeatedly on unseen metal burs, but, except for having to pull old landscape fabric from under Pompeii-like strata of soil, it fought its demise with a little less resistance than expected.

The old hoop house/ship wreck had earned its place in the next life.

I thought I’d experience an emotional moment at its loss. I’d learned a lot growing plants back there, reared loads and loads of rare and favorite plant material, some of which bought favor and friends when I shared them with gardeners and horticulturists I admired. And, in fact, I was overwhelmed with an emotion when it was gone. Pure euphoria. I had no idea how much I’d come to hate that thing. It’s removal felt better than playing hooky.

Of course, the best time to return to veggie gardening after a 27 year hiatus is in the middle of the rushiest spring rush that ever lived.

But that joy was not long for this world. Not when I was confronted by that big blank weedy place where the hoop house had lived. Not as ugly as it had been, but still ugly enough to give carloads of judgmental garden tour strangers a lot to talk about. So I laid waste to the weeds and built raised beds for vegetables, doing my damnedest to make them look better than almost all of those other raised beds for vegetables I’ve seen. Several trips to Home Depot for wood and hardware, truckloads of soil harrowingly wheel-barrowed along a bumpy and narrow path around the swimming pool, and a last-minute scattering of straw in the paths, and, son of a…, it actually looked just like I’d hoped: not quite as ugly as those other vegetable beds I’ve seen.

More night gardening yields an okay shot with a Pixel II. Great camera. Terrible phone.

After about half a dozen big projects like this and hundreds of little ones, we were about two weeks out from the tour and I started feeling a little better. You might even say confident. Perhaps a bit cocky. May had come, things had greened up, and all the plants I’d forgotten I had were reappearing, covering ground, screening ugliness, and some even went into bloom.

The mossy step project. A slippery slope of grassy mud that spilled down into the backyard was deemed too hazardous for old people, so old railroad ties from the hoop house were re-purposed into stairs. Only the last one was too high, so a mossy step was conceived and somewhat successfully executed, but it was one of many time-consuming ad hoc projects, and proved in the end almost as slippery as the grassy mud.

Heady in this moment, I heard these words leave my mouth, cross through air, and go into my son’s ears, “Hey, why don’t you have your (upcoming) wedding in our garden?” Whoa. I knew my mistake immediately and wanted nothing more than to suck those words right back out of the universe and into my chest, but, alas, they’d been said. And they’d been heard. And Tom seemed excited by the idea.

Despite record rainfall, plant life somehow still emerged itself out of March’s primordial ooze.

He and his fiancee had been planning their June 1st wedding as a guerrilla ceremony, to be held surreptitiously at a small, backwater Cincinnati Park that overlooked the river. This way they could avoid notifying the park district, the associated bureaucracy, and the rental payment. While we all thought looking out for the cops would lend a certain urgent element of adventure to the event, but it also meant parking would be difficult and conditions for our older loved ones could prove life-threatening if the rain didn’t let up and the grass didn’t get cut.

The open little glade that seemed just right for a wedding.

A fawn found in the garden the morning of the wedding was perceived as a sign of fertility.

Long story short, we hosted the wedding, and it’s mind-blowing the vast amount of space that exists between “garden tour worthy” and “wedding ready.” May 19th to June 1st, there I was again, out in the yard, gardening like a mofo. Literally, and I mean literally, 3:15 PM day of the wedding, guests in the yard, and I’m dashing between them, head to foot in filth, trying to get inside for a quick shower in time for the 4:00 PM start.

Mother and son the day before.

But, gotta tell you, weeks of rain and gray skies opened up that afternoon to a glorious blue sky with billowing white clouds that towered like mountains in the sun. And, the wedding was perfect! A sweet, happy, beautiful couple, lovely self-written vows, pretty bridesmaids, and, hell, even the groomsmen looked good enough in their tuxes and all lined up in a row. And the garden? Well, it was far from perfect, but it strutted its stuff knowing it had never ever looked better. It made a splendid backdrop for the wedding and the photos.

The happy bride and her loving father. Laying that runner with filthy hands was the last job I did.

The ceremony,and a hodgepodge of anything I could buy in bloom and stuff into the bed in the foreground. Background held down by big leaf magnolias.

Afterwards, we all adjourned to the Irish Heritage Center for a night of delirious fun and celebration.

Michele and I, partying like people a fraction of our ages and having the time of our lives!

Back home, joyous, exhausted, and plunging straight into illness.

Next day, with all that we could do done, my wife Michele and I both woke up sick as can be. She had a sore throat and congestion. I had full-on aches and pains. No matter the symptoms, I knew we both had the bends because we had decompressed too hard.

Never was any good at container design, but this year I raised my game a little.

Now, still a little buzzed on this meager success, I’m already thinking about signing up for next year’s garden tour. It seems I just have this need for high-stakes, stress, and tales of adventure with happy endings And I’ve never been any good at learning from my mistakes.

In almost 40 years together, I’ve never seen her so beautiful.

A Spring for the Ages; Endurance, Rainfall, Beauty, Raw Nerves, Blind Panic, and Two Cases of the Bends originally appeared on GardenRant on June 18, 2019.

from Gardening https://www.gardenrant.com/2019/06/a-spring-for-the-ages-endurance-rainfall-beauty-raw-nerves-blind-panic-and-two-cases-of-the-bends.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

[turfandlawncare]

A Spring for the Ages; Endurance, Rainfall, Beauty, Raw Nerves, Blind Panic, and Two Cases of the Bends

Yeah, that’s about describes my Spring.  Yours?

It all started with a misguided nod to appear on our Township’s Garden Tour. Did this sometime last Winter.  I’d been drinking. When our garden didn’t appear on the first draft of the flyer, did I take it as a sign? Nope. A smart person would have laid low and slipped out of that commitment like it was a time share they’d been sold, but not me. Being the same impaired idiot who had agreed to the idea in the first place, I reminded the Township.

The best image I could find of my garden in March.

The second prettiest March pic of my garden.

3 of 3 of March photos. Sea of mud. Just enough life emerging to keep one from hijacking a bus.

Our garden had been on the tour several years ago but the intervening years have had their share of drama with the most carefree and joyous parts of our lives and all but the most basic of garden maintenance finding themselves shoved to the side like a road killed raccoon in the path of a snowplow.  But, you know hope springs eternal. It was a new year, a different time, and I told myself, “Hey, this will be fun. And it will motivate you to make some of those improvements you’ve been thinking about.” Yep. That’s what I told myself.

Sloppy selfie.

Of course, it did do that. Just like it almost killed me. For whatever delusional reason, I failed to factor into the decision-making process that my life would remain just the same as it’s always been—a lurching, noisy, rickety, breathlessly busy, confused and confusing, poorly conceived extended round of experimental performance art liberally embellished with unpleasant surprises at inopportune moments. Somehow, I had forgotten that.

Spring comes in increments, and little things sometimes distract you momentarily from the overall ugliness and all the work that must be done.

Meh. Ugh.

And there is nothing like a looming garden tour to sober you right up real fast. First walk-through after you’ve agreed to such a thing and, bam, there you are–clear-eyed, stammering, and horrified, seeing your garden from the viewpoint of carloads of judgmental strangers. Make this walk-through like I did in March–that most hopelessly depressing, mercilessly ugly, butthole-with-a disease month of the year–and it’s the horticultural equivalent to waking up with some person you hooked up with at a dive bar deep into the early morning hours of the previous night. So you do the only things that come to mind. First you drink. Then you cry. Finally, you beseech the Almighty for an asteroid to come screaming out of the sky and smash all your years of bad ideas, lousy plant choices, inexplicable design decisions, ill-advised gardening practices, plastic containers, fake flamingos, and scuzzy gazing balls into tiny burning fragments that all fall on top of your neighbor’s boat.

Well, okay.

And a late night of work rewarded by a decent scene in the fading light.

But you know from long experience that God has a very spotty record of answering your prayers and that your luck isn’t good enough to guide a comet in on its own, so you do the only thing you can: you go outside and garden like hell. Like some nervous dervish all ramped up on speed. Rinse and repeat, you’re doing this from mid-March to May 19th, every night after work until it’s too dark to tell garlic mustard from poison ivy and every weekend from the crack of dawn to long after dark. Dehydrated most of the time, of course. And you have to fit this in and around record rainfall, a pair of weekend trips you’d committed to previously, and a bunch of appointments and presentations that wind up eating 15 weeknights and about six weekend days.

Neither aminal was much help. Martin, The Heart of Darkness, just distracted us with his constant plotting of our doom.

And Zaku, the blind old dog, kept himself busy by walking on every perennial just as it went into bloom.

I won’t go into every gory detail about every dumb mistake, disturbing discovery, and newfound deep disappointment, but I will tell you, as an example, about removing my old nursery hoop house. It had stood for years, looming, rusting, and listing prominently in the background of every otherwise scenic garden view and photograph. It had to go and it did. Big job. Cut my hands repeatedly on unseen metal burs, but, except for having to pull old landscape fabric from under Pompeii-like strata of soil, it fought its demise with a little less resistance than expected.

The old hoop house/ship wreck had earned its place in the next life.

I thought I’d experience an emotional moment at its loss. I’d learned a lot growing plants back there, reared loads and loads of rare and favorite plant material, some of which bought favor and friends when I shared them with gardeners and horticulturists I admired. And, in fact, I was overwhelmed with an emotion when it was gone. Pure euphoria. I had no idea how much I’d come to hate that thing. It’s removal felt better than playing hooky.

Of course, the best time to return to veggie gardening after a 27 year hiatus is in the middle of the rushiest spring rush that ever lived.

But that joy was not long for this world. Not when I was confronted by that big blank weedy place where the hoop house had lived. Not as ugly as it had been, but still ugly enough to give carloads of judgmental garden tour strangers a lot to talk about. So I laid waste to the weeds and built raised beds for vegetables, doing my damnedest to make them look better than almost all of those other raised beds for vegetables I’ve seen. Several trips to Home Depot for wood and hardware, truckloads of soil harrowingly wheel-barrowed along a bumpy and narrow path around the swimming pool, and a last-minute scattering of straw in the paths, and, son of a…, it actually looked just like I’d hoped: not quite as ugly as those other vegetable beds I’ve seen.

More night gardening yields an okay shot with a Pixel II. Great camera. Terrible phone.

After about half a dozen big projects like this and hundreds of little ones, we were about two weeks out from the tour and I started feeling a little better. You might even say confident. Perhaps a bit cocky. May had come, things had greened up, and all the plants I’d forgotten I had were reappearing, covering ground, screening ugliness, and some even went into bloom.

The mossy step project. A slippery slope of grassy mud that spilled down into the backyard was deemed too hazardous for old people, so old railroad ties from the hoop house were re-purposed into stairs. Only the last one was too high, so a mossy step was conceived and somewhat successfully executed, but it was one of many time-consuming ad hoc projects, and proved in the end almost as slippery as the grassy mud.

Heady in this moment, I heard these words leave my mouth, cross through air, and go into my son’s ears, “Hey, why don’t you have your (upcoming) wedding in our garden?” Whoa. I knew my mistake immediately and wanted nothing more than to suck those words right back out of the universe and into my chest, but, alas, they’d been said. And they’d been heard. And Tom seemed excited by the idea.

Despite record rainfall, plant life somehow still emerged itself out of March’s primordial ooze.

He and his fiancee had been planning their June 1st wedding as a guerrilla ceremony, to be held surreptitiously at a small, backwater Cincinnati Park that overlooked the river. This way they could avoid notifying the park district, the associated bureaucracy, and the rental payment. While we all thought looking out for the cops would lend a certain urgent element of adventure to the event, but it also meant parking would be difficult and conditions for our older loved ones could prove life-threatening if the rain didn’t let up and the grass didn’t get cut.

The open little glade that seemed just right for a wedding.

A fawn found in the garden the morning of the wedding was perceived as a sign of fertility.

Long story short, we hosted the wedding, and it’s mind-blowing the vast amount of space that exists between “garden tour worthy” and “wedding ready.” May 19th to June 1st, there I was again, out in the yard, gardening like a mofo. Literally, and I mean literally, 3:15 PM day of the wedding, guests in the yard, and I’m dashing between them, head to foot in filth, trying to get inside for a quick shower in time for the 4:00 PM start.

Mother and son the day before.

But, gotta tell you, weeks of rain and gray skies opened up that afternoon to a glorious blue sky with billowing white clouds that towered like mountains in the sun. And, the wedding was perfect! A sweet, happy, beautiful couple, lovely self-written vows, pretty bridesmaids, and, hell, even the groomsmen looked good enough in their tuxes and all lined up in a row. And the garden? Well, it was far from perfect, but it strutted its stuff knowing it had never ever looked better. It made a splendid backdrop for the wedding and the photos.

The happy bride and her loving father. Laying that runner with filthy hands was the last job I did.

The ceremony,and a hodgepodge of anything I could buy in bloom and stuff into the bed in the foreground. Background held down by big leaf magnolias.

Afterwards, we all adjourned to the Irish Heritage Center for a night of delirious fun and celebration.

Michele and I, partying like people a fraction of our ages and having the time of our lives!

Back home, joyous, exhausted, and plunging straight into illness.

Next day, with all that we could do done, my wife Michele and I both woke up sick as can be. She had a sore throat and congestion. I had full-on aches and pains. No matter the symptoms, I knew we both had the bends because we had decompressed too hard.

Never was any good at container design, but this year I raised my game a little.

Now, still a little buzzed on this meager success, I’m already thinking about signing up for next year’s garden tour. It seems I just have this need for high-stakes, stress, and tales of adventure with happy endings And I’ve never been any good at learning from my mistakes.

In almost 40 years together, I’ve never seen her so beautiful.

        A Spring for the Ages; Endurance, Rainfall, Beauty, Raw Nerves, Blind Panic, and Two Cases of the Bends originally appeared on GardenRant on June 18, 2019.

from GardenRant http://bit.ly/2IQNKOY

#GardenRant

[tsgnorthwestarkansas]

Event planner + designer Bartus Taylor, owner of Buzz Event Planning & Design, talks “a day in the life” with Nikki Spurlock, local blog writer for The Scout Guide Northwest Arkansas.

What’s All the BUZZ: 24 Hours with Bartus Taylor

As I approach the double doors of Buzz Event Planning & Design (21 West Mountain Street, Suite 120, Fayetteville, AR), I hear the beep of a car alarm and turn around to see Bartus Taylor, founder and owner of the biz. Wearing a long caftan, sunglasses, fabulous fringed sandals and a larger than life smile, we hug like old friends. As Bartus unlocks the door to his office he flips the lights on to an event planning haven. Mouth open, eyes wide, I am mesmerized by the layers of fancy that I see…and smell, for that matter. Flowers, statues, columns, greenery, glassware and stringed lights everywhere. Bartus says with a swipe of his arm, “Let’s get outta here! It is a mess!” Apparently, a late weekend event made their typical “clean up” impossible, although I thought I was in a party wonderland! 

So, from Bartus’ office/studio we head back out the door. I was positive we would hit it off, but little did I know how I would walk away from our time together truly inspired by Bartus, his dedication to his business and clients, and his positive outlook on life.

We walk to a nearby local coffee shop and find a spot nestled off to the side. What better way to find out about someone than a fun and invasive round of rapid fire questioning? […which proved to not be rapid at all for the mere fact that between Bartus and myself, there is no lack of conversation.] Without hesitation, Bartus was ready:

Hidden Talent: In his gorgeous African accent, “There is nothing hidden in here! What do I have to hide? If I can’t be myself then I just can’t be at all!” Bartus references his childhood in Africa and then move into the United States at 18. “I’ve been through too much to be ashamed of anything!” His confidence is palpable and moving.  

Biggest Fear: “Letting people down,” which is ironic considering Bartus’ level of assurance. His face melts from this giant smile [eyes and all] to this defeated almost childlike disposition. We dive a little deeper into this topic. This fear is more relevant today in context to his work at Buzz. “I created this business from nothing! I owe it to myself and those that got me where I am today to be the very best I can be.” Event planning changes as quickly as the day. The styles, the cultures, the political influences all effect the way clients place their decisions. For Bartus, he has to stay ahead of these persuasions to ensure he gives the best service possible.

[I am so captivated by this conversation. We are literally finishing each other’s sentences and then laughing hysterically, which I can imagine is the comfort Bartus finds with his clients.]

Fave Day of the Week: “Every day is my favorite. Waking up and knowing that I’m alive is enough for the day. Sometimes when I’m being a brat…giggle…and complaining I realize, it’s really not that bad!” He giggles again.

First Celeb Crush: “What’s his name? ...he’s not a really popular actor…kind of under the radar” …he agrees to let me know the second his name pops into his head. Seven hours later I receive a text…Josh Lucas! Ahhhhh…yep, I get it!

What’s for Dinner Tonight?: “Probably Popeyes”…we laugh! He’s all “I LOVE me some Popeye’s chicken!”

Favorite Word: “Gratitude. I'm just grateful for the people that support me and surround me. My clients, mentors — anyone that has ever trusted and believed in me — I have all the gratitude for them." 

Least Favorite Word: “Curated” with a way dramatic eye roll, literally throwing his head back, he explains how the word is so overused these days, with “experience” being his second least favorite…especially when used together. “oh please [his hand shews it away],” he says. …and I was right there with him.

Guilty Pleasure: With really no guilt at all…” Netflix!” Yes!!! And before I could get the words out…what’s the most binge worthy series? And with both hands on his face he laughs and loudly whispers “Sex in the City!” He giggles in this high pitch tone that makes everyone look and smile. It’s contagious. I giggle. We start the hysterical laughing and he says through his laughter, “right?!” My cheeks are sore and I have tears. Good tears.

When Bartus speaks he lingers on every word, as if each is as significant as the next. He often closes his eyes to find the best way to appropriately communicate his thoughts. His smooth voice accentuates his passion for life. I ask him, “if your hands were tied down, would you be able to talk?” He says YES…because the movement of his whole body and facial gestures would take over. With this we delve into what 24 hours of Bartus Taylor looks like.

24 Hours With Bartus Taylor

4:30 a.m.: Wake up! “I head to a quiet place to set structure to my day.” Bartus looks over his schedule, posts on social media, and plans his execution for the day.  I’m getting the feeling that serenity is a must for this businessman who hits the ground running the second he steps out the door.

Around 6:30 a.m.: Laundry time is imperative. “I iron my sheets every day. I love to have ironed sheets that are crisp and fit perfectly on the bed.” Wait. What? I ask, “you iron your bed sheets?!” I can’t even get the words out and he’s already shaking his head up and down as if to say “absolutely!” Order is of utmost importance, as a career in event planning doesn’t always lend to predictability or outcome.

These 4 hours from when Bartus wakes up until he leaves his home to head to the office set the tone for his day. Solitude and self-reflection are essential. Bartus says, “I dress how I feel that day. If I feel like wearing hot pink pants, then I wear hot pink pants.” He admits to going through a black and gray phase for a while, but decided that adding color to his wardrobe made him express more accurately how he is feeling. We then get off on a tangent about his over the top obsession with shoes and fabulous shoe collection. “Shoes are everything!” He admits to at least 150 shoes in his closet. I can picture the perfectly aligned rows of shoes, all colors and styles.

8:30 a.m.: Bartus leaves the house to head to his business of 15 years, Buzz Event Planning & Design. This is his last moment alone before he shifts into full Buzz mode!

9:00 a.m.: After about a 30-minute drive from his home in Springdale to his office that sits right on the Fayetteville square, Bartus meets his coworkers, Brandi and Alyssa, who he lovingly refers to (with a giant grin) as his “team” and “family.” With a pot of coffee brewing, they have their morning ritual “kitchen table time,” where they discuss what’s going on in their own lives, what’s on the agenda for the day and the week, what clients they will be serving and what their specific needs and wants may be, what appointments they have for the afternoon, and everything else that puts them on the same page as one another. Bartus speaks so highly of these ladies. “They can learn from me but it’s more important that they know how much I learn from them. I always want to know their thoughts and opinions before a decision is made.”

Around 11:00 a.m.: The Buzz team concludes their “kitchen talk” and spend about an hour scheduling appointment with clients and confirming their afternoon for that day.

Noon – 1:00 p.m.: Away for lunch

After lunch until 5:00 p.m.: This is the time where Bartus meets with clients.”Your job is to give people what they don’t know they want.” I had to repeat this out loud a few times to fully understand. There is an element of mind reading that Bartus has to achieve to fully understand what his client wants. “Many times, they know what they want, but they don’t know how to [he pauses…waves his hands in front of him] …they don’t know how to let me know.” There’s a whole process of listening and offering ideas back and forth until Bartus’ clients are completely satisfied. He won’t settle for less than perfection. Ever.

5:00 p.m.: Hungry from a long day, Bartus leaves the office and stops at either Popeye’s Chicken, Penguin Ed’s barbecue, or the Fresh Market for a rotisserie chicken take-out dinner. I laugh. He laughs. “People are always surprised when they hear I eat at Popeye’s!” He shrugs his shoulders and giggles…loud… “I don’t know why,” with his hands in the air as if to surrender to the judgement.

6:00ish – 11:00ish p.m.: Home. Eat. Tennis. “I have a court in the back yard, so I love to go out and play tennis by myself.” This is the time for Bartus to relax. After getting a little physical activity in, it’s time to chill out in front of the TV, listen to music, decompress the brain…until he succumbs to the sleep gods.

Bartus enjoys the vibrancy and community spirit represented by the Experience Fayetteville art mural during his walk from his office located on the Fayetteville Downtown Square to his favorite local coffee spot Arsaga’s Church & Center. Art mural by local artist Olivia Trimble. 

Bartus Taylor might be one of the most passionate individuals I’ve ever met. His joy is infectious, and his generosity is undoubted. He’s funny. He’s adorable. He loves big. Bartus speaks with intent. During our time together no less than five people come up to say hello to him and give a quick hug. He introduces me to each one and expresses right there how they have influenced his life. It’s clear why he’s so good at what he does. With tears in his eyes, Bartus quotes his grandmother, “You have to stand for something, or you will fall for anything.” I pictured him extending his arm and dropping the mic…and shouting “BAM!”

The Scout Guide Northwest Arkansas blog writer, Nikki Spurlock (left), and Bartus Taylor enjoying a selfie moment on the Fayetteville Downtown Square & Gardens.

Plan your wedding of a lifetime or unforgettable special event by connecting with Bartus Taylor of Buzz Event Planning & Design (21 West Mountain Street, Suite 120, Fayetteville, AR) at [phone] or email Bartus at [email protected].

About Nikki Spurlock, local blog writer for The Scout Guide Northwest Arkansas: Born and raised in Dallas, TX, Nikki’s creative expression began from the time she could hold a paint brush. "When I was 10 years old, my mom had my bathroom painted white and allowed me to hand paint the entire room as if I were standing in an aquarium." There were no parameters to Nikki's imagination. Extending the artistic thread through her adulthood, Nikki painted, created, sculpted, and eventually took to writing as a form of expression. Her bold and colorful paintings mimic that of her writing style. “When blogging I love to use humor and brutal honesty to relay a message. I typically just say the things everyone else is thinking! Nikki currently resides in Cave Springs, AR. “Blogging for The Scout Guide has allowed me to extend my writing roots out into our local NWA community that I naturally love to brag on!”

#livelovelocal #eventplanner #eventdesign #buzzeventstyle #weddingplanning #tsgnwarkansas #thescoutguide #nwarkansas

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How does Rocktape help in training, injuries and performance?

When I used to run half marathons, I didn’t get many injuries, if any. However, after an impact injury, I began to search for different methods to help me recover from knee surgery. Enter Rocktape AND NKT. After just one session of using this techniques, I could feel the difference and decide to pursue certifications in order to take these modalities to my clients. 

Rocktape and NKT are used by many fitness and rehab professionals across the world, helping their clients heal and perform optimally. The uses of each are too numerous to put here in one post, so I’m going to highlight each modalities and then tell you when I have incorporate them into my sessions with clients.  

Let’s Rocktape, because that’s what I fell in love with first. It can used to increase the utilization of a muscle, to help relieve pain, reduce inflammation and help achieve proper form in sports. Now that’s just a basic list, I've seen Rocktape used for some amazing things.  It all comes down to using the bodies’ largest organ, the skin. When the Rocktape is applied to the skin, it is applied in a specific manner so that the tape can help lift the skin away from the underlying muscle and fascia, creating a nice decompression. Also, Rocktape uses the sensory input from the skin to basically turn your brain’s attention to that area or motor pattern. The results can be so quick, it is just amazing.

Applications can last for a longer time than other types of taping due to the adhesive material Rocktape uses. It is the highest quality that I have found and used. Most flake up after a day, whereas Rocktape can last weeks. My personal record is 3 weeks for a knee taping I applied on myself. 

I have a few cool experiences with Rocktaping clients that I’d love to share with you! 

First up is my dad! He was my first official client taping. Sure I had taped myself hundreds of times as well as my friend Melanie who offered to be a guinea pig, but this was my first specific case I had been approached with. Dad told me that he was struggling after he had just severely sprained his left ankle.  His ankle was about the size of a softball when I did the first application and he was in a lot of pain when walking. Using a basic taping (as shown above) I covered several problem areas, as well as, gave a bit of support to the ankle. There are many many ways to tape an ankle; however, this one fit his specific issues the best. When he moved his ankle you could automatically tell a difference by his range of motion; then when he stood up, his face said it all. We left the taping on over 2 weeks (yes the tape lasted 2 weeks even with showers and activity!) and by the second week all of the sweeping and soreness had gone down.

Second, is my good friend Kimberly who is a fellow Certified Essentrics Instructor. At training in Colorado, she was telling me about how her ankle was injured a long time ago and she had to be super careful of how she walked to allow falling. Looking at her feet just sitting in staff pose (sitting on ground, legs straight in front but modification of toes pointed) you could see her left foot just collapse in at the ankle, big toe touching the ground. She told me “this is my normal, has been for years now”. Challenge accepted. 

Pictured above is her feet AFTER taping and some NKT testing. Look the big toe of her left foot. IT’S NOT COLLAPSING TO THE GROUND! For years, her ankle ligaments were so damaged that her foot wouldn’t allow her just relax her foot forward. Her brain was in complete disconnect. Now, after some arch reminder and lateral calf taping, BAM. She said she couldn't remember the last time her foot felt like this and she felt a huge difference during Eccentrics training the next day.

These two examples are just a few of the stories I could tell. One time, I taped a dear friend who was pregnant and in her third trimester. She was having severe pains under and on the side of her belly that was keeping her up at night and making it difficult to move. I put a basic sling style and a few additional tapings to support her belly and received a long thank you text the next morning saying how glorious it was to get a complete night’s sleep with no pain. SCORE. 

Now let’s talk performance.

 When I took my Rocktape certification course, I went with a good MT friend and we were able to use each other as test subjects for the applications we were learning. During that we covered this giant application. So this might look like just a random amount of tape on my back; however, I promise it has a purpose. Specific applications were needed to help specific things and they could be mixed and match depending on the issue. All in all, this was a great lesson in ways to help with posture, stability, relaxation and many other applications to our specific clients. I have worked with a lot of XC runners lately who LOVE some of these applications to improve their posture during runs and release tension in the upper traps. 

I’ve had my own stories with my injures and Rocktape. The brain/connection is huge. The swelling and inflammation reduction is huge. I can’t imagine my few surgeriy recoveries without some Rocktape utilized sometime during the process. It has helped my clients and I in so many ways and I look forward to helping YOU as well!!! 

Hope you enjoyed this run down of Rocktape, look out for an NTK write up soon! 

Ciao! 

Cassandra M.