#my manager literally messaged me about it during our morning call that we both host lmao

[baldbarzal]

european hockey fans waking up to the duck divorce

#hockey talk #nhl #🏒 #my manager literally messaged me about it during our morning call that we both host lmao #multitasking excellence #we were giving the work updates at the same time consoling each other in chat

[unofficialkfamtranscripts]

King Falls AM - Episode 5: Night of the Living Dread

View on Google Docs

Summary: July 1, 2015 - Sammy & Ben learn of some breaking news regarding the Lake Hatchenhaw John Doe, but not everyone is as pleased as the broadcast duo.

[Podcast intro music]

Announcer Dear listeners, please note that the following program may contain views that do not reflect that of King Falls AM, its management, or its subsidiaries. Listener discretion is advised.

[KFAM intro music]

Sammy You’re listening to King Falls AM, that’s 660 on the radio dial. I’m your host, Sammy Stevens, and as always we are joined by producer and co-host extraordinaire, Ben Arnold.

Ben [trying not to be amused] You’re so- you’re so happy, aren’t you? You’re a child. Getting so giddy over that message.

Sammy Listening to a warning before a radio broadcast I’m on has literally been on the bucket list for a long time. Thanks Merv!

Ben *laughter* Ridiculous. A glutton for punishment.

Sammy What can I say? I enjoy a nice game of hard ball! Uh, y’know, but enough about what Merv doesn’t want you to hear, let’s talk about what he does want you to hear. And what do we have cooking tonight, Ben?

Ben Dude, it’s stacked alright? Stacked. We’ve got the- lovely Miss Emily Potter from the King Falls Library giving us her picks for enlightened summer reading.

Sammy Terrific! We always love speaking with Emily!

Ben You and me both.

Sammy I said “we,” Ben.

Ben Uh, I know. I- *breathes in* [stilted] I- We-We-uh, We’ve got some really cool news! here. We-we are announcing the line-up for the first annual King Falls Ambient Music Festival. That’s coming up the second hour.

Sammy Wait a second. The King Falls Ambient Music Festival? Is this town even big enough for a festival?

Ben Oh yeah! It’s like Coachella[1] but for hipsters that just want to relax. It’s all about “setting the mood.”

Sammy You know, I’m wondering if they’re gonna make it to a second annual.

Ben And then, um, [reluctant and slipping into mumbling] opening up the show we-we’ve got the- doctor *mumbling*

Sammy I-I’m sorry, Ben, what was that? You’re trailing off, buddy.

Ben We have that umm, *sniffs, lets out breath* one… guy. You know that- fo- w- talking about that *deep breath* one thing—

Sammy [trying to cut him off] Ben—

Ben —from a month ago or so—?

Sammy What? What are you talking about?

Ben You know— May- maybe we should start it with Uh, callers first! [mildly frantic] Just-uh-Give us a call at 424-279-3858 and let’s talk about… *tsk* anything! Let’s uh, whats your-whats your-whats-whats on your mind King Falls?

Sammy Ladies and gentlemen, put down your phones for a second. What Ben is trying to say is we’ve got a scoop here this evening on King Falls AM. We’re gonna be speaking with—

Ben [cutting Sammy off]Or you can tweet us! @kingfallsam. I-I-I will literally talk about anything right now. Even to Mr. Derschwitz about that weird toenail thing. Let-lets-lets go, people!

Sammy I thought we agreed—

Ben I know. Sammy, I’m sorry it’s just, [slightly more frantic] I’m-I’m not feelin’ the best here. Alright? my stomach, is all… knotted up, just thinking about this.

Sammy That is journalism. That feeling is journalism—

Ben [speaking over Sammy] I think it might actually be an ulcer! It Tastes, like Fear and Feels, like Cancer . It’s way more than anxiety. I-I’m gonna call Dr. Raúl, at break.

Sammy He’s a chiropractor!

Ben Maybe he can refer me?

Sammy Power through it, buddy! Look at this folks, we got somebody dialing into the hotline right now! You ready for this Ben? Come on.

Ben Please, be Reverend Hawthorne so we can talk about the Revival next month.

Sammy Oh stop it. You know he isn’t even scheduled!

Ben I just thought— maybe that’s how prayers work, I don’t know, I’m not a reverend!

Sammy King Falls AM, you’re on the air.

Dr. Rosenblum [Dr. Rosenblum’s voice is measured and monotonous and mildly creepy at all times] Good evening, this is Dr. Jeffery Rosenblum, with the, King Falls County Coroner’s Office.

Ben C-can I please just say—

Sammy Dr. Rosenblum, it is a pleasure to speak with you this evening.

Rosenblum Excited to be here, Sammy. Ecstatic even. We listen on slow nights.

Ben That’s the scariest thing I’ve ever heard.

Sammy Much appreciated, Doc. Now, as fate would have it, you were the overseeing physician working on the Lake Hatchenhaw John Doe, is that correct?

Ben Doc? Can you just, hold on for- one- moment- please?

Rosenblum Of course, Ben I—

Sammy Don’t start, Ben! We agreed to see this through.

Ben All I’m saying i- lemme finish- a- i-is that maybe it’s not our place *deep breath* to break this kind of news.

Sammy Fine. You know what? You’re right! Let’s just give this to our friends down at Channel 13 and let them be the ones to alert the public about this.

Ben [journalist voice] Doc, Ben Arnold. Tell us about cracking open the mystery body.

Sammy [quietly] Oh.

Rosenblum It’s true that I was the operating physician on that particular John Doe, y-es, irrefutablyy

Sammy Now, as I understand, your official report was released yesterday morning, doctor, but amazingly enough, not one publication or news station in our town- including King Falls AM- reported on it.

Rosenblum You are correct. Busy news day- one would assume.

Ben So, that means, you are— free to talk about it on air.

Rosenblum I would be elated

Sammy First and foremost on everyone’s minds: were there any signs of, uh, y’know, the lake mo- *sighs* I can’t.

Ben Did Kingsie make the body, bite the big one?

Rosenblum There was no evidence that a creature large or small had anything to do with the deceased.

Ben *sigh of relief* That- I knew Kingsie didn’t have it in her.

Sammy Now, Dr. Rosenblum, can you tell us if there was any foul play involved at all?

Rosenblum During our first autopsy we were not able to distinguish with certainty the cause of death. But there were no signs of foul play

Sammy I’m sorry, did you say “first” autopsy?

Ben [confused] Is that normal? Did you- find out the cause of death during the… second autopsy?

Rosenblum Indeed. It was six individual gunshot wounds to the victim’s head. Three shots to the temporal lobe, two to the mendulla oblongata—

Sammy What?! Six gunshot wounds?!

Rosenblum To the cranium, yes. One to the frontal lobe, another to—

Ben So the Lake Hatchenhaw John Doe was, murdered?

Sammy I can’t believe this! This is big! Why didn’t one news outlet report this thing yesterday?!

Rosenblum Well, the cause of death was inconclusive and with no signs of foul play, it was not exactly a juicy story.

Ben and Sammy Wait a second.

Rosenblum …yes?

Sammy I’m sorry, doc. I’m not in the medical orrr criminal fields but, how is six gunshots not foul play?

Rosenblum Well, that was between the first autopsy and the second. The gunshots were self-defense administered via Deputy Kreighauser at my behest.

Sammy Ben, we’re gonna wanna get Troy on the phone and see what he’s got to say about this.

Ben “Things Ben Arnold would never think under ordinary circumstances for 800, Alex.”[2]

Sammy Doc, while we’re getting Deputy Troy on the line, would you mind if we took a quick break to hear from one of our sponsors?

Rosenblum That’s just- Dandy.

[light bg music]

Greg Frickard After a long day’s work or a tough day’s play, you probably just wanna come home and relax. No need to slave over a hot stove for hours on end. Well that’s where we come in! Here at Granny Frickard’s, we know that the less time you spend doing the things you don’t like, is the more time you spend with the ones you love. So come get some of the best frog legs that money can buy. Granny Frickard’s French-fried farm-fresh never-frozen filleted-and-fricasseed fried-and-flambeed frog legs. Mm-mm-mm. So get on down to Granny Frickard’s Froggery at the corner of Main Street and 7th Avenue. We’ll put some pep in your step and some hop in your heart.

[KFAM intro music]

Sammy And we’re back on King Falls AM, here with King Falls County Coroner, Dr. Jeffery Rosenblum.

Rosenblum A Pleasure.

Sammy Do you have Troy, Ben?

Ben He’s booking one of the Williams boys for mooning. He’ll call us in a few.

Sammy I’m a little out of sorts here, doc. Can you explain what happened between the first inconclusive autopsy and the point where Troy filled the cadaver full of lead.

Rosenblum Of course. As I was finishing the initial post-mortem, it came to my attention that the deceased began to emit a hissing sound, fluctuating between the lower thorax and the larynx.

Ben Oh my God.

Rosenblum I called for Deputy Kreighauser and he entered, as I wanted someone else to see this- phenomenon. That’s when the John Doe began a slight, thrashing about the upper torso.

Ben Um… are you saying—

Rosenblum The deputy began to fumble for his sidearm while we both discerned that something was wildly- amiss. The deceased opened its eyes and instantly grabbed for the lapel of my lab coat with voracious tenacity.

Ben Wh- ah- go on.

Rosenblum It gnashed its teeth as I emitted a terrified, albeit, high pitched, scream. And that’s when Troy unholstered his sidearm and administered six lethal shots to the reanimated corpse’s cranium.

Ben A zombie.

Sammy Alright, is there- [fumbling] Let’s just say- is there-

Ben We’ve got Troy on the line.

Deputy Troy [in bg] I don’t care if he was only joshin’. You can’t show your G-D derriere out in public! [car door slams] [pleasantly] Hey boys, what’s goin’ on tonight?

Sammy You tell us, Troy, holy geez! Uh, we’ve got Dr. Rosenblum on the line here and—

Deputy Troy Is this about the zombie?

Ben Yes! So-so you’re confirming this story, Troy?

Deputy Troy Well, hell yeah I’m confirming! I had to do three hours of damn paper work from unloadin’ my pistola into a corpse! Sheriff Gunderson was not the happiest of campers.

Ben [excited and awed] This is amazing… This is unprecedented .

Sammy [skeptical] This is a little unbelievable, Troy.

Rosenblum It is a first in my profession. Believe you me. [still tonelessly] Wowzers.

Deputy Troy Honest engine[3] boys. I capped the all get out of that thing! It had the doc by the face ‘bout to start chewing!

Rosenblum You’re my hero, Deputy Troy.

Deputy Troy Shucks, wasn’t nothin’ special.

Ben [slightly sullen] Except killing the first instance of a zombie in King Falls since—

Sammy Don’t say “since”.

Ben … Well… Since that one time at the mall in the '80s.

Sammy No, that’s not a real thing, Ben. That’s a film.

Ben [worked up] Sammy? How many extraordinary things are gonna have to SLAP you right in the face to make you buy into this? KING FALLS, MAN.

Deputy Troy You know me, Sammy. I always shoot ya straight. But it was the craziest sh[bleep]t I’ve ever seen. I mean it was like my-ex-wife-needs-alimony-money crazy.

Ben See? Even Barney Fife[4] saw it.

Sammy *sighs* I just—

Rosenblum I don’t want to cause an uproar here, but since that exam, there have been, other cases.

Ben Of frickin’ zombies?

Rosenblum Of reanimation among corpses… yes.

Deputy Troy Doc, you just give me a call if you need. I’m more than happy to go Clint Eastwood if the situation arises.

Rosenblum Will do, Deputy. Thank you so much for your- assistance. Without you, there may not have been this- interview.

Deputy Troy [proud] To protect and serve.

Sammy I can’t take all this in right now, Dr. Rosenblum I- e- Thank you so much for your insightful information.

Rosenblum As they say, [still monotone] “you got it, duude.”

[click, dial tone]

Ben You okay, Sammy? You… don’t look so well.

Deputy Troy Ah, hell, boys.[siren whoop] I gotta go. I’ll call you back later tonight! One of the Williams boys is tryin’ ta saw through the bars outside the jailhouse? [sirens in bg] [through megaphone] Jacob Williams put your hands UP and the file DOWN.

[click, dial tone]

Ben Alright King Falls, you’ve heard our story, let’s hear yours. Have you or anyone you know experienced anything like what the doctor spoke of? Reanimation? The walking—

Sammy Don’t.

Ben You know what I mean. Give us a call or tweet us.

Sammy Looks like the board is lighting up!

Ben Um…

Sammy What’s up? Okay, it can’t be any crazier than what we just heard, Ben.

Ben Line One, Sammy.

Sammy Welcome to King Falls AM, you’re on with Sammy and Ben.

Line 1 [female, almost sounds automated] Good evening, Sammy—

Sammy Do I know you ma'am?

Riley — please hold for Mayor Grisham.

Ben He… Probably just wants us to— mark these tapes as, evidence. *nervous laugh* Right, Sammy?

Sammy Or burn them.

Riley Sammy Stevens, Mayor Grisham.

Sammy Mayor?

Mayor Grisham Sammy… Ben.

Sammy You’re on live on King Falls AM, sir.

Mayor Grisham [commanding] Take me off and go to break. We need to chat.

Sammy No can do. Ben says we aren’t scheduled for break for another- uh- at least ten minutes.

Mayor Grisham Ben. Cut. To. Commercial.

Ben Uh- uh- uh- the thing is- I- I- I can’t- do that. Sir.

Mayor Grisham [threateningly pleasant] You boys want to talk live on air? We can talk live on air.

Sammy [challenging] Nothin’ to hide on this end of the phone, Mayor Grisham.

Mayor Grisham I hear your snide remarks, Sammy. I’ve read the transcripts.

Sammy Which! let’s be honest, is pretty weird. We’re a late night AM talk show, why are you bothering with us?

Mayor Grisham Oh, I don’t bother with you. I try to keep up to date with all the local news and entertainment. I gotta say, I was really happy a big city radio guy decided to come play host at our little radio station.

Sammy Well, I’m more than happy to—

Mayor Grisham I wasn’t finished… But I have to say, I’m a little less than thrilled with [accusingly] all the excitement you brought with you.

Sammy I’d hardly call reporting the news “excitement”, sir—

Mayor Grisham It’s interesting to me that I don’t see Channel 13 breaking these crazy stories.

Ben [quickly] No offense, your honor, but those idiots don’t know their a[bleep]holes from their elbows.

Mayor Grisham And you boys being on site when these “events” happen? [softly, still accusing] It’s a little bit of a coincidence don’t you think?

Sammy Are you insinuating that we are staging these events, Mayor?

Mayor Grisham I’m stating facts. I’m sure your ratings are way, way up there since all these sensational events seem to coincide with your broadcast. Why do you think that is? Furthermore, I mean who’s up listening to you at this ungodly hour of the night?!

Sammy Seemingly most of the town, Sir. As well as whomever you’ve hired to keep an ear on us.

Mayor Grisham I’ve tried to be nice about this… And I tried to be civil… but I think it’s about time that you troublemakers changed formats. No more of this funny business. It’s not good for the listeners. It’s not good for the residents. And honestly? it’s not good for me. I don’t appreciated being painted in this light, gentlemen.

Sammy Oh! You mean the light where you as a public service,[sic] try to quell the voice of the people.

Ben It’s not your right to tell us what we can and can’t report on, sir. All due respect.

Mayor Grisham [rudely] All due respect, Ben Arnold. Just a couple of months ago you were digging up old records on eBay for Chet Sebastian to run on about. Now you’re a media star?? That’s worrisome! Seems you fellas have All the reasons in the world to fabricate these issues, and I have to say I’m not gonna sit here and listen to this, while you LIE TO THE GOOD PEOPLE OF KING FALLS.

Sammy Well, when we start “fabricating” and “making things up,” you can come throw the book at us. But until then- [click, dial tone] Whoops! Looks like you just got disconnected. I’d wait for you to give us a call back and all, but with it not being an election year I probably shouldn’t hold my breath.

Ben Line One iiis lit up again, Sammy.

Sammy [insincerely] Oh, sorry about that Mayor! I must have fabricated accidentally dumping your call when-

Esther Rollens [heavy metal music in bg] [voice old and wavering] Did you boys fund a lavender ball of yarn in there? Been looking for it all week! [click, dial tone]

Ben [shaken] Sammy, I think that commercial might do us some good right now.

[KFAM outro]

[CREDITS]

References

[1] Coachella - The Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival (commonly called Coachella or the Coachella Festival) is an annual music and arts festival held at the Empire Polo Club in Indio, California, in the Coachella Valley in the Colorado Desert.

[2] Reference to the TV game show Jeopardy!

[3] I honestly can’t tell if he’s saying “honest engine” or “honest injun” but i’mma go with the one that’s technically incorrect but also not super racist.

[4] Barney Fife - Deputy from the Andy Griffith Show. Calling a police officer or authority figure "Barney Fife" has become an American slang term for gross ineptitude or overzealousness.

#king falls am #king falls #kfam #sammy stevens #ben arnold #troy krieghauser #dr. jeffrey rosenblum #mayor grisham #kfam transcripts #kfam ep5

[youreinreality]

SUITE 0042

based on Dunkirk’s Screen Actors Guild Awards nominations

part 2 of the 2018 AWARD SEASON catch up on the 2018 AWARD SEASON HERE

a/n: thank you for all the lovely responses to this story! I hope you guys are having a good holiday :)

January 21, 2018

I’ve only been at the Screen Actors Guild Awards for about an hour, and I can already tell the difference between my experience here and my experience at the Golden Globes. The first major difference is my internal feelings about the situation. At the Golden Globes, I was petrified. It was my first big award show and I had no idea what to expect, which is why I was so eager to reunite with Saoirse. This time, I’m more comfortable than ever.

Right now, I’m talking to Ryan Seacrest, for E!’s Live at the Red Carpet Special. This is my last interview of the night, and I truly did save the best for last. I’ve never met Ryan before, but there’s a comfort in the way that he asks questions. It’s easy to forget that the conversation you’re having with him is being heard by people all over the world.

“I’m sure you’re not as nervous this time around, now that you guys have a Golden Globe under your belt, right?” Ryan reaches the golden mic over to me.

I clear my throat. “I’m definitely a little bit more relaxed,” I tell him, “But I think that has more to do with the fact that I have a rough idea of how the night will go, this time around. Last time, I had no clue how an award show even works, so I feel really good right now.”  

“Well, I imagine nights like this are fun when you have people like Harry Styles by your side.”

There it is. I was wondering how long it would take for the subject to change. I give props to Ryan because he actually had the decency to ask about Lady Bird and my friendship with Saoirse before getting to Harry. My manager warned me that his name would pop up in a couple of interviews, but that was a complete understatement. All the interviews I’ve been in seemed to somehow steer into my “relationship” with Harry.

“Um yeah,” I laugh nervously. I don’t know how to respond because Ryan didn’t really ask a direct question.  

However, Ryan’s a professional. He’s been doing this job for years, so he’s quick to notice that I’m at a loss for words. So quick in fact, that he comes up with a follow-up question immediately. “Are you expecting to see him again, tonight?”

“Hopefully,” I answer.

As far as Harry goes, he and I haven’t spoken to each other since that night, not counting the messages we shared the morning after. I replied when I saw his messages, congratulating him and also telling him how great of a night it was. He sent a simple smiley face back, and that was it.  So, that’s why I try to tell the journalists that are pestering me with questions about him. There is nothing to explain because there is no relationship.

I’m a big fan of his. We got along really well, that night. That’s it.

Who knows if we will even interact tonight? As far as I know, the only reason why we had such a good time with each other’s company is that Table 42 seated us right next to each other. I’m sure the whole story would’ve been different if it was Saoirse sitting in my seat and/or Fionn sitting in Harry’s seat.

“We probably won’t be sitting at the same table anymore,” I continue. “So, I hope that I get the chance to run into him for like five seconds to say hi or something.” I try to tone my answer down, to show Ryan and his audience that I’ll have a good night anyway. It doesn’t matter if I run into Harry or not. However, it’s far from the truth because Saoirse and I’ve already agreed to try and find Fionn and Harry during the commercial breaks. I don’t feel guilty about it because even though Ryan Seacrest is a friendly guy, he doesn’t need to know every single detail.

“Those pictures of you guys at the Globes looked like you guys were enjoying each other’s company. Should we expect anything to come out of this friendship?” He’s very good at the job. Even that intrusive and forward question is worded in a way that makes it seem like it’s my grandmother asking, so of course, I’d want to tell him the truth.

I talk a little slower than normal, wanting to be sure of the words that are coming out of my mouth. “We literally just met, so I can’t even tell you if it’s even safe to call us ‘friends’, Ryan.” I smile at him sheepishly.

During the Golden Globes, I was completely unaware of the photographers taking pictures the whole night. When Table 42 turned out to be hosting the two big movie winners of the night, the photos of our table became the ones that people were talking about the most. Most of the photos were quite innocent and actually very cute of the four of us all laughing at each other. However, the most popular photo was of Harry and I. It’s a simple photo. We’re leaning into each other. My mouth is open so I must be in the middle of telling him something, and he’s sitting there, listening. I can see why people suggest that we have feelings for each other because, in the picture, our eye contact is impeccable. However, people are reading too much into it because from what I can see, it just looks like he and I are sharing an enjoyable conversation.

“The pictures are very convincing that you guys get along pretty well.” Ryan Seacrest is a killer. If he continues at this pace, I’m going to end up telling my whole life history.

“All I can say is that there’s definitely something special about him,” I say that because it’s the truth, and it shouldn’t be a surprise to anybody. I remember watching other celebrities talk about their interactions with Harry Styles and they’ve said very similar things, so I repeat them. “I don’t really know what it is, but it’s hard not to be smiling when you’re in his presence. I’ll leave it at that.”

Ryan’s smiling, but I can tell from his eyes that I didn’t give him the information he wanted. I merely repeated something that the whole world already knows. “Thank you for your time, Corinna. Have a great night! Corinna Duval, everybody!” He gestures me to the camera, and I wave goodbye to it.

“Thank you for having me!”

To no surprise at all, Saoirse’s already at her seat when I enter the auditorium. She’s been known to be an early bird. She’s easy to spot because this time her dress is a vibrant red gown. When I sit down next to her, I’m not greeted with her usual brightness.

“Babe, you’re late.” she says with a scowl on her face.

“The show starts in two minutes, Saoirse. I made it just in time. Hey, guys!” I wave at Greta and the rest of the Lady Bird crew. It’s then that I notice that our table seats only seven, just enough for the seven representatives of our film to sit down. I’m sandwiched between Greta and Saoirse.

“You look pretty tonight,” I say to Saoirse. She ignores me. “Saoirse, I’m not late.” Suddenly, the lights around the venue dim, and the lights on the stage get brighter. The show’s about to start. “These people are late.” I point out the few people that are running to their seats in the dark. I spot Ryan Gosling as one of them. “Even Ryan Gosling is late. You can’t be mad at me because Ryan Gosling is later than I am.”

Saoirse still has an unhappy look on her face. “I wanted to find Harry and Fionn’s table before the show started.” This time, she’s talking in a whisper because the show has already begun and Kristen Bell, tonight’s host, is already starting her opening monologue.

“Babe, we have the whole night to find them. Why’re you in such a rush?”

“Quiet down, ladies.” Greta jumps into the conversation. Suddenly, I flashback to the times she had to say the same thing to us while we were filming the movie. Both of us glance at her apologetically, and it’s a mutual but silent agreement to continue the conversation later.

During the first commercial break, Saoirse explains why she’s so eager to see Harry and Fionn again. It turns out that she just landed a role in a movie, filming later this year, and they’re still casting some of the male leads. She insists that two of the male roles are perfect for Harry and Fionn. Saoirse only gives me a brief description of the plot, because she’s contractually obligated to keep it a secret. When she explains the potential characters of Harry and Fionn, I can immediately picture them fitting the roles nicely.

“Well, that’s awfully nice of you,” I tell her. I don’t tell her that I doubt Harry will be able to commit to the project because he’s signed on to do a world tour for the rest of the year.

“If I can just get one of them interested in it, that’d be fine,” she adds, almost as if she’d read my mind.

“Wait a minute, where’s my role? You can’t just invite those guys to do a movie with you and leave me out! I’m also a member of Table 42!”

“Films always needs extras, Cori.” Saoirse grins an evil grin. “Now, come on. Let’s go find them.”

Our mission to find Harry and Fionn during the first commercial break is a complete failure, just because Saoirse took up the majority of the time explaining this “project” to me. By the time we got up off of our seats, the one-minute warning is announced. We only have time to wander around the tables surrounding ours. None of the people sitting in the seats look familiar. Well, they do because they’re famous. I accidentally shared eye contact with Meryl Streep, and I may or may not have cried. No one around us seemed to be from Dunkirk. We didn’t see any of the boys that shared Table 42 with us, nor Christopher Nolan.

When it’s time for the second commercial break, our determination to find them is even stronger. However, it quickly disappears because Ryan Gosling comes bouncing up to our table unexpectedly. “Hello!” He pokes his head right in between Saoirse and me.

“Oh my goodness, Ryan.” Saoirse seems unfazed by his appearance, which is the opposite of my reaction, as I’m struggling to breathe with his head right next to mine. “We were going to go do something, so go away.”

“Relax, Saoirse. I just wanted to introduce myself to all the lovely people on this table because they’ve made my favorite movie of the year.” He smiles at us the same way that Noah smiled at Allie in The Notebook. It’s difficult not to swoon. Saoirse rolls her eyes at him, as Ryan turns to me. “Corinna, it’s a pleasure to meet you. You were my favorite part of this movie.”

“T-Thank you.” I’m struggling with what to say because I never really imagined that Ryan Gosling, would be talking to me, let alone, giving me a compliment. So, I say the only sentence that’s floating on my mind, “You’re my favorite part of life.”

“Cori!” Saoirse screams and reaches over to cover my mouth. “Excuse her. She tends to say really stupid things when she’s nervous.”

Ryan’s laughing, but it sounds like it’s from genuine pleasure. “Even my wife doesn’t say nice things like that to me. Thank you, Corinna.” He pats my head and moves on to greet the rest of the table. Saoirse doesn’t remove her hand from my mouth until Ryan leaves. He waves goodbye to me as he leaves, which makes me want to die even more. As soon as he’s out of sight, Saoirse lets me go.

“Are you out of your mind, Cori? You can’t say that to people you’ve just met.” She sounds frustrated. Half of the reasoning could be that I just embarrassed myself in front of her good friend, and the other half could be the fact that we wasted another commercial break and still have no idea where Fionn and Harry are.

“You don’t think I know that?” My tone sounds equally frustrated. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Saoirse. I swear it just came out. This is exactly why I can’t meet people like that without a warning.”

“I didn’t know he was coming either, so don’t blame me. He just really likes the movie for some reason. I don’t even know what he’s doing here. He’s not even nominated for anything.”

“Saoirse, I’m sure when you’re someone like Ryan Gosling, you can come to these things just because you want to.”

“How come you didn’t act like that when we met Harry at the Globes?” She surprises me with the subject change.

I shrug because I don’t even think I know the answer to the question. “That was different.” I pause. “He’s different.”

Saoirse looks at me with her eyebrows raised. “Do you like him?”

“Ugh,” I groan. “You sound like an interviewer.”

“Fine, don’t answer it.” Saoirse never pushes anything, which is a nice quality to have. If the roles were reversed, I would be questioning her until she gives me an answer I’m satisfied with. “Can we please just promise to find them by the next commercial break? I want to talk to them about this movie before anyone else offers them anything.”

For the first time since the night started, my phone lights up. The first thing that comes to mind is that’s it’s a notification telling me that Harry sent me a message, probably wondering why Saoirse and I have yet to come over and say hi.  I feel Saoirse look over my shoulder, which tells me she’s thinking the same thing. I pick up my phone to get a closer look, but it’s just a text from my manager, telling me that he’s pleased with all my red carpet interviews.

“You could just message him and ask him where they are, can’t you?”

“What’s the fun in that? I like this little mission that we have.” I put my phone back down on the table. “We’ll find them during the next break.”

“Can you just message him and asks if he’s interested in a movie?”

I roll my eyes at her desperation, and at that same time, the lights dim, and the show continues, and the conversation abruptly ends. I’m glad the conversation finishes because I know that Saoirse would’ve found a way to persuade me to message him. It also goes both ways. Harry could easily message and ask me where I am, but he’s also chosen not to. I hope it’s for a good reason too.

When the third commercial break happens, Saoirse and I don’t even need to look at each other. We’re out of our seats, and we join the madness of people that are wandering around as well. I start weaving myself through the tables, trying to remember the faces that sat with us at Table 42. I’m about to give up when I see Christopher Nolan also walking around. I move towards his general direction, the opposite way that I’ve been searching, and I’m so focused on keeping my eye on him that I don’t even notice that I’ve led myself to where Saoirse is.

She seems unaffected by my random appearance. “Perfect timing Cori. Look who I found.”

Fionn Whitehead is out of his seat and I’m tucked under his arms within seconds. “Cori!” I’m amazed by his quick display of affection since we didn’t talk that much at the Globes. If anything, we only ever talked when Harry put us in the same conversation. “Harry and I have been looking for you guys for ages. How’d you find us?”

“Just had to look for a table with a sea of men.”  Saoirse shrugs as if it was the simplest task in the world. I look at their table and it’s a true statement. It’s also a seven-seater, with a bunch of beautiful men surrounding it. I notice the empty seat next to Fionn and assume that it’s Harry’s. I unwrap myself from Fionn’s arms to ask him where Harry is, but Saoirse beats me to it. “Where’s the curly haired one?”

“Bathroom, I think. Or backstage. I don’t know. He mumbles a lot, so sometimes I can’t even understand what he’s saying. Something with a ‘B’!”

I can’t help but smile at his response because it’s true. The only reason why I can understand what Harry’s saying is because I’m giving him my full attention. If I were to only be giving him 90% of my attention, I’d be completely lost in what he’s saying. Luckily, his voice and his face make it kind of easy to not pay attention to anything other than him when he’s speaking. I imagine that it’s a different feeling for Fionn, and he dozes off with his conversations with Harry sometimes.

“You should go find him.” Saoirse nudges my shoulder. “I have to talk to Fionn anyway.”

Fionn’s eyes widen. “Did I do something at the Golden Globes? Listen, Saoirse. I was really drunk, so please forgive me if I did anything stupid.”

I don’t get to hear Saoirse’s response, even though I want to because I’m already trying to find the bathrooms. Since it took us so long to find one member of the second half of Table 42, I expect that finding the last member will take even more time. I exit the venue and walk around the hallways, trying to find the bathrooms. My assumptions are immediately proven wrong. It seems that the world actually wants me to finally find him. I turn the corner to the next part of the hallway, and I run into the chest of the one person I’ve been waiting to see all night.

“Oh sorry about that.” His deep and monotonous voice leaves me breathless once again. His head is down, so he doesn’t recognize me just yet. When he raises his head, the smile that I’ve been looking forward to seeing finally appears. I don’t understand how it can even be any more beautiful than what I had envisioned in my mind. “Actually, I take that back. I’m not sorry at all.” He points at me. “You’re the one that actually ran into me, Cori.”

Just like that, the fangirl side of me disappears. I’m glad that side of me doesn’t last long because I much prefer being with Harry when I’m calm and normal. I notice that the fangirl side of me only appears when Harry is silent and I’m doing nothing but stare at him. It immediately disappears once he says something silly to me.

I cross my arms. “The rule is to always walk on the right side of the hallway, Harry. I know that in England, you drive your cars on the left side of the road, but you’re not a car.” I pat his shoulder because it takes less effort to reach his shoulder than his head, almost like how a mother would pat a child. “So stay to the right, please.”

There are crinkles around his green eyes, he’s smiling so much. “You win this one, Cori. Can I give you a hug now?”

“Harry Styles is accepting defeat. What a rare moment.” I let out a dramatic sight. “Hold on, let me savor it for a second.”

“Yes, he’s giving up because he missed his friend and has been looking for her all night. And now he still doesn’t understand why he’s been talking to her for at least thirty seconds now and he still hasn’t hugged her.” His arms are wide open, inviting me into his warmth.

My fangirl side makes an appearance as soon as I hear the sentence and all of a sudden I accept defeat too. I step forward and land in his embrace, and even though the night is still not over, I already know that hugging him is going to be the thing I look back on when I remember my first SAG Awards Experience The feeling of his hug is hard to describe because it’s a feeling that I’ve never really experienced in my life. His body automatically molds to fit mine. His arms lock me in tightly to his chest and he’s tracing his fingers along my back. His chin is tucked right in the crook of my neck, and I feel him breathe in “Nice to see you again, Cori.” He says it so delicately that I feel goosebumps all over my body.  “You look beautiful.”

“So do you,” I whisper back. Although, the truth is I haven’t even given myself time to stare at the suit he’s wearing tonight. All I’ve been staring at is his face, but the statement still rings true. He looks impeccably handsome tonight.

I wonder what we look like to the strangers who are sharing the hallway with us. We’re holding each other so close and so tightly that I imagine we look like a couple to anyone who’s passing by. We’re not though. We’re merely two people that have missed each other’s presence. We’re holding on to each other so tightly that I never want to let go because it would mean losing the warmth his body is giving me

“Wait a second.” I pull away from him and held my hand with his. If people were to look at us now, it would have looked like we were exchanging vows at our wedding alter. “Your hands.” I look down and play with his fingers. They feel warm. The only cold thing I feel is the metal from the rings that are placed on his fingers.

“I washed them after I went to the bathroom, I promise!” He doesn’t seem to realize what I’ve realized.

“No, no. Your hands,” I repeat. “They’re not cold anymore. They’re so warm.”

Harry seems happy with my observation, and he lets go of my hands and reaches for his pockets. He takes a second to grab whatever’s in there. When he finally has it, he shows it to me. A tiny cotton bag is in each of his hands. If it weren’t for my younger years spent in the northeast, where winters are pretty brutal, I wouldn’t have recognized them.

“You got hand warmers?” It’s hard to contain the smile on my face.

The look on his face is one to remember. Nothing but glee. It’s a smile that I’ve seen in pictures, and I never thought I would be lucky to see in real life. I don’t know how long we stay staring at each other with some of the happiest looks on our faces.

Harry breaks it. He looks down and clears his throat, probably realizing the intense moments we’ve been sharing for the past few minutes. When he looks up again, there’s still a smile on his face, but it’s not as big. I like to think that he told himself to tone it down. “I got them that way you wouldn’t have to complain about how cold they were every time I poke you.” His fingers poke both of my cheeks. “See?”

The gesture is sweet and one to remember. For a second, I feel uncomfortable because it seems too romantic to do for someone that you’ve only met twice. “Please tell me you didn’t do this just for me.”  

“Don’t worry, I didn’t.” He’s quick to answer, but his tone is honest and trusting. The worry I have goes away immediately. “Ever since you pointed them out, I started to get self-conscious about them. I shook a lot of hands at the Globes and I was wondering how many hated my cold fingers as much as you did.”

“Harry, I-“

“Relax.” He notices the panicked expression on my face. Truly, the last thing I meant to do was make Harry Styles insecure about himself. “All is well, Cori.” The genuine tone of his voice assures me that I have nothing to be sorry for. All of a sudden, he perks up. “I’m sure if the press finds out about this, they’ll make it sound like I did it just for you.”

It isn’t until now that I notice that we’re walking. There’s a comfortable distance between us. Not too big that we’re leaning against the hallway walls, but not too close where I feel our hands and shoulders crash into each other every time we take a step. Harry’s slightly in the lead because of his long strides, but I don’t even know if he knows exactly where we’re headed. All I notice is that we’re walking in the opposite direction of where the award show is happening. The sound of the award show is carried throughout this whole building, but as we continue to walk, it gets harder and harder to hear what’s being said. The show must be continuing without us.

Harry looks back at me, probably noticing my silence. I clear my throat. “I hope they don’t find out about it then,” I tell him. “I’m already getting enough hate comments as it is,” I say the last sentence without even thinking about the effect it would have on him.

Harry stops walking so suddenly that his shoes make the floor squeak. This time when he looks at me, sadness is written all over his facial features. I instantly regret bringing it up. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know that there were going to be pictures and-“

I interrupt him because there’s no point in apologizing for something that is out of his control. “You don’t need to apologize, H.” Again, calling him by that letter comes without any thought on my part. The only reason why I notice I did is that a faint smile appears on his face when he hears it. “I think you’re forgetting that I’m a fan. So I’m aware that all this crazy stuff comes with the territory of knowing you.”

“And you don’t mind?” His eyes dig into mine, looking for the truth.

“If I did, I wouldn’t be here.”

He’s satisfied with my answer, and we continue walking. “I just wouldn’t want your boyfriend to freak out or anything.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Good to know.” He looks back at me, this time with no trace of sadness on his face. There are crinkles around his eyes again, and his dimples have resurfaced. He’s such a flirt. He pokes my cheek again.

I roll my eyes at him. “Why? Is your girlfriend getting upset?”

“I’m actually single.”

“Good to know.” I mimic his tone of voice. I hear him chuckle and it makes my heart smile, knowing I’m the reason for it. The mood between us is already lighter. Then, nothing but silence is in the air. Unlike at the Globes, I don’t feel uncomfortable with the quietness, so I don’t make an effort to say anything. I’m happy to see that Harry lets the silence continue too. If anything, it emphasizes even more how comfortable we’ve gotten with each other within such a short amount of time.  

We speak again when the hallway we’ve been walking in reaches a dead end. By this point, I don’t know how far we’ve ventured off to. The only reason why I know we’re still in the same building as the award show is because the end of the hallway has a table holding replicas of the actual SAG award. Right next to it is a door that looks like it leads to a room with a big leather sofa.

Harry reaches the table first and immediately picks one up. “So that’s how it feels to hold a SAG award.” He hands one for me to feel.

“You’ll probably get to hold it again when Dunkirk wins tonight,” I remind him.

He sighs. “I don’t think Dunkirk’s winning anything tonight, Cori.”

“Why not?” I’m confused as to why he sounds so sure.

He then goes on to explain to me that Dunkirk’s chances of winning a SAG are much smaller since there is only one Best Movie category tonight. At the Golden Globes, they split it into two categories, which is why both of our movies won that night. Apparently, it’s been expressed by a majority of influential people that Lady Bird will win tonight. I wondered why no one told Saoirse and me anything about this, but then Harry explains to me that it wouldn’t make sense to tell us since we’re in the movie and our reaction wouldn’t be as genuine.

“Yeah, we were told we didn’t even have to come tonight because we might only be winning Best Director, and Chris is the only one that needs to accept that.”

“So, why did you come?” It seems like a waste of a night to me. The best part of these award shows is the anticipation of whether or not you’ll win. The show seems quite boring if you already know the results.

He puts his award down and reaches for mine to put it back too. “Table 42, of course.”

I shake my head because I don’t know why I didn’t guess that that would be his answer. Of course, he says that. Of course, those words make my heart flutter. “You always know what to say to make a girl speechless, don’t you?”

He shrugs and runs his hand through his hair.  “It comes with the territory.” The amusement in his voice is crystal clear as he repeats what I said to him before.

“You’re unbelievable.” I walk past him, my shoulder brushing against his. I decide to go into the room next to the table. The only things occupying the room is the brown couch that I saw from the hallway and another brown couch across from it. I sit down on the one furthest from the door, and Harry sits on the other one.  

“Cori, you know I’m kidding, right?” he asks as soon as his butt lands on the sofa. His legs are crossed and his arms are stretched out on the back of the sofa.

I’m shaking my head at him. “You’re not though. It’s ridiculous how compelling you are.”

“Compelling?”

At first, I think making comments about his character would be something that would make him uncomfortable. But the look on his face isn’t telling me to stop talking about it. Instead, it’s of curiosity. As if, he wants to hear more of what I have to say about him.

So, I continue. “There’s just something about you, Harry. I don’t know what it is but you just make people feel so comfortable around you. It’s like it’s your superpower or something.”

His face is hard to read, but he stays silent. I interpret it as a sign telling me to clarify. “For example, when I met you at the Globes, I was so nervous. I looked at you and I couldn’t believe that someone I’ve supported for years was right in front of me. I didn’t know what to say.”

“You told me that it was fun watching me go around the table for no reason.” I like that there’s a smile on his face as he replays our first interaction in his head.

“Exactly. Do you know the first thing I said to Ryan Gosling when I saw him earlier?”

“Do I even want to know?” He’s covering his eyes, fearful of what I’m about to say to him. I don’t have the strength to tell him that covering his eyes will not help him avoid hearing my embarrassing encounter.

I decide to not tell him, just to save the cringe of having to relive that embarrassing moment. “The point is, I just want to thank you for having whatever quality it is that makes me really comfortable with you, even though I just met you and you’re one of the biggest stars in the world.”

Harry surprises me when he stands up from his couch and walks over to the couch that I’m sitting in. He takes the empty spot next to me and presses his finger to my cheek. “You do realize you do the same thing to me, right?”

I rub the part of my face that he poked, trying to cover up the blush that may be appearing. Now it’s my turn to stare at him with curiosity. “How so?”

He leans in to get closer to me, and his green eyes are enchanting to look at. He whispers softly, “I don’t know how obvious it is, but I’m very new at this acting thing.”

Then, the intimate moment disappears. I can’t help but roll my eyes because it’s very obvious and he knows that.

When he sees me do it, he pokes me again. He clears his throat and continues. “Then I meet you, Cori. Then, I’m immediately at ease. At first, I don’t understand why. Then, I realized tonight that it’s because you’re going through the same emotions that I am.”

“What about, Fionn?”

He shakes his head. “Fionn was born to be in this world. He’s so good at talking to these people. Meanwhile, I can’t even stay in my seat during the commercial break because I’m so nervous to see who might come up and talk to me.”

“Well, that’s relatable.” It’s funny how he’s describing his situation and it perfectly mirrors my experience with Saoirse.

He continues, “That’s why I’m clinging on to you so much. We’re both out of our elements. So, it’s an honor to be experiencing all this shit with you.

“Whenever you need me, H. I’m here.” I reach for his hand and squeeze it, just to assure him even more.

A smile creeps on his face as he looks at our interlocked hands.  “So I’ll see you at the next one?”

I assume he’ talking about the Academy Awards, scheduled in two weeks. “We’ll get through this season together,” I promise him.  

I don’t know how long we end up staying in that room for. Our conversations come so naturally, it seems like time freezes. I can’t even count how many times Harry’s poked me or the number of times I’ve rolled my eyes at him. We get stuck talking about One Direction. Harry’s intrigued to know how I heard about them and why I chose to stick around and support them. As I tell him my answers, I can’t help but reference iconic moments during the five years of the band. He lights up when I talk about how much I enjoyed watching the cooking videos and challenges they did during the X Factor days. He’s completely lost when I try to get him to understand the importance of fanfiction. He’s disappointed when I tell him that I’ve only seen them perform live twice.

I’m about to tell him that Liam was and still is my favorite member of One Direction when we’re interrupted by someone at the door. We’re so captivated by our conversation with each other that neither of us notices that Saoirse has peeked her head into the room. I see a SAG award in her hand, which means that she must’ve won Best Actress already.

Before I get a chance to congratulate her, she’s screaming at us. “THERE YOU GUYS ARE!” Her head disappears for a second. “FIONN, THEY’RE IN HERE.”

A moment later, Fionn appears alongside the doorway as well. Both of them are panting heavily as they look at Harry and me with the deadliest glare. It feels like our parents have just caught us after sneaking out of the house.

“You’re coming with me.” Saoirse grabs my arm and drags me out of the sofa. “Don’t even try, Styles,” he says to Harry, who started to reach for my other arm so he can pull me back down. “Our categories are up next. We have to go.” Saoirse is pulling my arm with so much strength that I don’t even get the chance to say goodbye to Harry and Fionn. As Saoirse is dragging me down the hallway, I try to protest and ask for a chance to say goodbye but she doesn’t budge. Within minutes, we’re back at the table and I've immersed in the craziness of the SAGs again.

To everyone’s surprise, except me, we end up taking home the SAG award for Best Film. Similar to the feeling at the Golden Globes, the next few minutes are nothing but a complete blur. Lots of excitement and screaming and tears, as once again, we get recognition for the hard work we all put in to make the movie. I expect the night to end the same way it does at the Globes, without a chance to even say goodbye to Harry.

As we finish the press line, I’m surprised to hear my phone buzz. I clutch the award into my chest as I reach for my phone. I smile when I see the notification.

Direct Message from @Harry_Styles: I’m hoping you’re still hanging around here somewhere. I’m still in the little room. xx H

It takes me about five seconds to quickly resign from the Lady Bird crew. I get away so quickly that Saoirse doesn’t even have a chance to question where I’m headed. I retrace the steps that Harry and I took to get to the room, and I find myself back in the hallway with the dead end in less than ten minutes. I expect Harry to be waiting in the room for me, but he isn’t. Instead, he’s leaning against the door with his arms crossed and a smirk planted on his face. He looks like a masterpiece.

When I reach him, he’s eyeing the SAG award in my hand. “I told you,” is all he says to me, before pulling me into his chest. “Congratulations, Cori.” he breathes into my ear. He’s squeezing me so hard that I find myself losing my balance. Before I know it, both of us are swaying back and forth as we’re holding on to each other. I have to be the one to pull away after a few minutes because I’ve come to notice that Harry doesn’t break the hug first. He notices that I’m starting to back away from him and he secures his arms around my waist, stopping me from pulling away any further. I’m out of his chest, but now we’re latched on to each other’s waists.

“Why’d you come back here?” I have to look up at him when I ask the question.  “I could’ve gone back to your table to see you.”

He smiles. “I’m glad you asked.” He lets go of me and walks over to the door of the small room. He’s pointing at the little plaque that has the room number in it.

I gasp when I see it.

Suite 0042

“You want to know something, Cori?”

I look up at him, awaiting his answer.

“I think 42’s my new favorite number.”

I say nothing because I have no idea how to respond to something like that. I find myself stuck in a situation I’ve been in a few times now: completely transfixed and compelled by Harry Styles. He’s smiling at me, probably pleased with himself for leaving me at a loss for words once again. I reach up and poke the two dimples that are beaming down on me, just to remind myself that this moment is real.

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[fashiontrendin-blog]

How I Learned to Make Friends With My Anxiety

https://fashion-trendin.com/how-i-learned-to-make-friends-with-my-anxiety/

How I Learned to Make Friends With My Anxiety

T

he first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is check my email. I sleep with my phone under my pillow, and every morning, I hold my breath and scroll for anything important. It’s almost always your standard deluge of morning messages, but sometimes there are emails about exciting project opportunities like writing jobs or speaking gigs — the kinds of things I should be thrilled about given they’re how I earn an income. But in reality, they’re yet another entry on the list of things that make me anxious.

When you’re an anxious person, even something good can fill you with dread and panic: How will I deal with this important thing?

I work for myself, which means I’m in a perpetual state of semi-panic. My mind is filled with constant nagging worries that any self-employed person will easily recognize: What if my tax bill is huge? What if I fall and break my arm on the Metro? Should I have never quit my 9 to 5? Throw my anxiety into the mix, and most of my days are spent with a low-level fear that something bad will happen and that once I go through the internal whodunit in my mind, I’ll realize that I was to blame the entire time. The call was coming from inside the house; I am ruining my own life with my own behavior.

As a full-time creative professional who writes, hosts a podcast and designs social media content, a lot of my daily work involves staying on top of the kinds of tasks that get more difficult to deal with the longer I put them off. And they’re the kinds of tasks that feel so good to put off: answering that email, tracking down those forms, scheduling that appointment, booking that flight. I tell myself I deserve to put them off for a day, so I do. And then I do it again and again and again. Then it becomes habit. But in my line of work, putting off an email could mean missing out on a big gig or a deadline and rent money.

I was recently offered a dream opportunity: to produce a live episode of my podcast at South by Southwest in front of a sizeable audience. It was the perfect launchpad for a budding creative like myself, but it was also a perfect storm of things that make me anxious.

As soon as the opportunity landed in my inbox, a familiar a chorus line of anxiety was set in motion. Would I overthink the confirmation email reply and never send it? Would I be too nervous to cold email people? Would I stress about booking the last-minute flight and put it off until it was financially prohibitive? How would I ruin this golden opportunity? How much would I hate myself for it if I did?

While I voiced all these anxieties aloud to a close friend, I realized I sounded like a pessimistic broken record and that I wasn’t even giving myself the chance to imagine it would be a success; I had already decided the outcome would be a negative one. It was a moment of clarity.

Wendy Wood, a social psychologist who studies the neurology of habits and how to break them, writes that a key component of breaking habitual behavior is giving yourself space to do things differently. “First you must derail existing habits and create a window of opportunity to act on new intentions,” she says. The way someone who’s trying to quit soda might have to train themselves to stop wandering down the soda aisle when grocery shopping, Wood says that disrupting your old cues is one of the keys to breaking bad habits. In other words, if anxiety has me feeling like a broken record, I need to actually do something — anything! — to break the repetition. Stop sleeping with my phone under my phone under my pillow. Delete the Instagram app. Have a friend change my Facebook password. Work from anywhere other than my apartment and vow to not return until I’ve finished. (If you already have a great tactic, add it in the comments.)

Wendy Wood’s words really spoke to me. I don’t have to play this the way I always do, I thought to myself. I may have anxiety, but that doesn’t mean anxiety has me. 

Bolstered by the notion that I could break the pattern, that I was in control, I took a deep breath and began. I listed out the steps I needed to take in descending order and gave myself an hour to complete them. I emailed the important people. I booked the guests. I bought the last-minute flights. Instead of dwelling on the dread these kinds of tasks often elicit in me, I rolled up my sleeves and did them before I had the chance to procrastinate. And you know what? My last-minute flight to Austin didn’t bankrupt me or crash into the ocean. The important guests confirmed their attendance and then showed up. People came and enjoyed themselves. The live show went mostly as planned, and I was elated. And even though there were some tiny snags (like when a guest showed up so close to showtime I could only assume I’d given her the wrong address), it was okay. Nobody got fired. Nobody died. Nobody got screamed at. Even if things don’t go 100 percent smoothly, they went, which is better than not going at all.

This whole experience showed me is that I am not my anxiety and that I can break out of the cycle of feeling unable to tackle things that I’ve deemed “hard.” If any of this sounds familiar to you and your creative process, here are some tactics I’ve found helpful while tackling the biggest anxious hitch in my own.

Spend Some Time Thinking About Why Things That “Should Be Exciting” Feel Stressful to You

In an interview with the Creative Independent, sociologist Eve Ewing explains how she handles that all-too familiar feeling of really, really not wanting to do something.

She says: “I’m a big believer that when you don’t want to do something, there’s a deeper reason. When I find myself dragging or having a hard time, I step back and ask, ‘Why aren’t you doing this? Is it ‘cause the project isn’t important? Why’d you do it then? Is it just for money? Like you agreed to do this just for money or you said yes because the person seemed important?’ And I’m like, ‘Maybe you shouldn’t do that again.’”

I first read that when I was in a tailspin of writer’s-block-induced self-loathing, and it sparked another moment of clarity. If I don’t actually want to do something I agreed to do, acknowledging my reluctance can help me decide next steps.

I know it’s easy to ignore those feelings and struggle through the associated tasks instead, but next time you find yourself filled with dread and anxiety about a project, ask yourself: Is it early enough in the project that you can responsibly pull the plug? If you can’t bow out, who can you ask for help? Can you ask for a deadline extension? Even if none of that is possible, spend a little time ruminating on the why of this anxiety and remember its source; this can give you clarity when faced with a similar decision next time. It will give you a lot of insight into how you work.

Be Like Nike and Just Do It

According to a Lifehacker piece about procrastination, we start feeling anxious about tasks the moment they plop onto our plates (no sh*t), and that anxiety worsens the longer we put tasks off. If you’re not actually making progress, then nothing happens during this phase other than the accumulation of bad feelings. So, if you want to save yourself weeks of feeling like an unproductive piece of crap, the only logical thing to do is just start.

Easier said than done, I know. Here are some tips I use: Try setting a timer and writing nonstop for five minutes. Or break your project down into small, easier-to-manage tasks. If writing and sending a two-minute email will get the ball rolling on a project, start there and use the momentum it creates to fuel your next steps.

At Harvard Business Review, economist and executive coach Caroline Webb writes that zeroing in on the smallest step is a good way to dive into a daunting project. You know how procrastinating feels so good? That’s because research shows your brain is pretty much always biased toward feeling good now over feeling good later. To combat that, Webb says you should identify that easy-to-accomplish first step, “something that’s so easy that even your present-biased brain can see that the benefits outweigh the costs of effort.”

Make an Accountability Pact

I’m lucky to have friends in my life who hold me accountable; they recognize my patterns (when I go MIA, it means I’m stressing) and they help get me back on track. Having an easier time staying on track when friends are involved isn’t unusual: A study from the Institute of Applied Health Sciences at the University of Aberdeen asked a group of participants to find a new “gym buddy” while a different group worked out solo. In the end, the group who leaned on supportive workout pals worked out more.

Asking a friend or roommate to keep you on track requires vulnerability and clear communication. This can feel scary, so offer to make it a two-way street. Maybe your friend helps you beat procrastination while you help her get to the gym more. Maybe you both text one another when you want to stray from your paths. This way, you’re both sharing in the vulnerability while offering mutual support.

Treat Yourself

Once you’ve completed the project that caused you anxiety, reward yourself! Getting a handle on anxiety isn’t easy. Celebrate small victories. You train a puppy by giving her a treat when she exhibits behavior you want her to repeat, right? Think of yourself as a more complex version of a puppy and reward yourself for completing tasks.

When I finally tackle a handful of things I’ve been putting off, I celebrate by watching “bad TV.” And while I’m still in the middle of the work, knowing that I get to watch whatever I want (for as long as I want) once I finish keeps me going. It’s a literal light at the end of the tunnel.

Webb says treating yourself is effective because it helps take the edge off having to do things we don’t want to do. “We can make the cost of effort feel even smaller if we link that small step to something we’re actually looking forward to doing. In other words, tie the task that we’re avoiding to something that we’re not avoiding,” she writes.

For me, anxiety is like that mean girl from junior high who was always there to point out my flaws, only she lives inside my head. While I may never fully silence the inner monologue that drives me to obsess on the scary “what ifs” of any given situation, I’ve learned that I don’t have to let it stop me from doing the things I want to do in life — starting with my to-do list.

Bridget Todd is writer and digital strategist who lives out of a suitcase. She is the cohost of the podcast Stuff Mom Never Told You. Her Twitter is @BridgetMarie and her IG is @BridgetMarieinDC

lllustrations by Gabrielle Lamontagne.

[vthiker09]

“Rehab”

On January 16th, I was freed from my non-weight bearing status.  It felt similar to the day I turned 21.  On March 28th, it was illegal for me to consume alcohol and the next day, it was okay.  Similarly, on January 15th I couldn’t stand on my leg and on January 16th I could.  My elation for my newly found freedom was also paired with much anxiety.  I had no idea what it would be like to rehab an injury like the one I had sustained and I had been given little information about what the next months would look like.

My directions were to put up to 15% of my body weight on my leg and use the crutches to do the rest.  Here’s a fun fact: 15% of your body weight is pretty much your leg and maybe a little bit of pressure.  Over the next month, I was allowed to increase the percentage “as tolerated.”  This was the first of so many vague directions I was given by doctors I now know probably prolonged my healing.  Pain is a perplexing feeling.  It’s perplexing because in one sense it’s quite clear - pain creates very clear sensations in your body and being in pain is not pleasant.  We can thank our friendly nervous system for this. At the same time, it’s a feeling I have never been quite able to fully grapple.  I can feel when something hurts and I’ve become a professional at ignoring it.  Remember my hockey player parent?  Well, probably the least helpful lesson I ever learned from them is to ignore pain and if you acknowledge you are in pain, you are weak. 

When you come from the belief system, pain is something to be worked through and if you are tough enough, you can manage any nasty feeling your body can throw at you, it makes directions like “as tolerated” nearly impossible to comprehend.  To this point in my life, I had been able to tolerate all the pain.  This included countless sports related injuries, many of which took many months to be pain free, and a few which still hurt today.   Thus, something like “as tolerated” gave me the green light to pretty much do whatever I wanted with the confines of still being in a boot and on crutches.  

What this created was an aggravation cycle I would cope with for the next nine months.  Regardless of the limitations I was working with, I would push until even I could recognize it hurt and then I would spend the night on the couch with several ice packs wondering what I had done wrong.  Sometimes, depending on how stubborn I was feeling, the pain wouldn’t even stop me.  One more mile of walking couldn’t do that much damage, right?  

After my month of partial walking, I was given these instructions on February 27th: Over the next two weeks, transition from using the crutches and boot to a shoe and full weight bearing as tolerated.  Follow-up with a physical therapist.”  What I heard: “No more sadness sticks and no more foot prison!!!!!” My spooky movie night friends came over that night and shared in my elation over my ever growing freedom.  They also, like many would, shared their concern over perhaps I was doing too much.  They were concerned because when they came, I didn’t have the crutches or the boot.  My two weeks became until I walked upstairs upon returning from my doctor’s appointment on the same day.  At the same time, I’m tough, and tough people can deal with pain.  I realized many months later, tough people don’t “deal with pain.”  Tough people are able to acknowledge reality and have the ability to cope with reality and improve the situation.  We’ll talk more about this later.  

The second half of my instructions were to follow-up with a physical therapist.  Have you ever googled “physical therapists in x or y place”?  Well, if you haven’t, you should, because you will be amazed at the sheer number available to you.  This to me was a medical nightmare.  When it came to my surgeon, the dashing ER surgeon had referred to me an ankle specialist who mainly worked with active people.  I didn’t have to do anything and the match made sense.  Now, I had to figure out who could help me get back to the activities I missed so badly.  The reality of my situation was I could walk maybe fifty feet and the fifty feet was not pleasant.  I had a long way to go to get back to my ten plus mile hikes over a couple thousand feet of elevation and picking a PT to help me do this, seemed like an impossible decision.  

I did what made sense at the time: I picked a PT practice somewhat close to me, associated with a larger hospital, who had people who focused on sports related injuries.  I promptly called them and somehow ended up with an appointment for 7 am the following morning.  Medical providers tend not to be prompt in their scheduling, which is where the “somehow” comes from.   At 6:30 am the following morning, I loaded myself into the car and drove to PT.  Oh, I should mention: I wrecked my right leg and this was the first time I had driven a car in nearly four months.  Driving never really caused me problems until my third surgery, it was more a wahoo!! moment and this probably was the only aspect I fully listened to the doctors about.  When it came to the safety of others, I was sure to take my car to a parking lot and ensure I could stomp on the break in case of an emergency.  

When I got to my very first PT appointment ever, they had no idea who I was.  I’ve learned this to be true many times since and apparently medical providers have an army of per-diem staff who lack training and rarely actually get it right - through no fault of their own.  After fifteen or so minutes they figured out who I was and we sorted through why I was there.  After another five, I was called in.  I now know this and if you’ve never been to PT: they watch everything you do and a good one will be able to tell if something is different within a few steps you take.  This PT, although I only saw them once and really didn’t like them, within two steps I took said: “you should be using crutches and if you keep limping like that, you’re going to create many more problems for yourself.”  In true Erin style, my response was “It’s fine.” 

The next hour was a painful collection of evaluation exercises, which were mainly disheartening.  No one wants to start their day by realizing they can’t stand on one leg. At the same time, I was still in camp “pain won’t stop me! stubbornness” and wouldn’t let my body slow me down.   When they were done with their evaluation, I was given a slip of paper with another PT’s name on it and was told to schedule two sessions per week for the next two months.  I was also given a set of home exercises.  I, perhaps like a child on their first day of school, was pretty happy to get my set of stretchy bands and exercise photos, because at least it meant I got to move.  Remember- I really like to move.  With no expectations around how long it would take to go back to the mountains or what I was looking at over the next several months, I blindly made my appointments for the following months.

A few days later, I met the PT I would work with for next few months.  They were on the younger side, liked many of the same activities I do, and specialized in lower body sports injuries. It seemed like a good fit.  Over many sessions we did what seemed like every balance exercise you could make an ankle do.  There were balance pads, tennis balls, weighted balls, mini-hurdles, wobbly boards, and probably a few other devices I have solidly blocked out of my mind.  For a few weeks things seemed to be improving.  I got to a point where the PT finally said I could walk without crutches and my fifty feet of painful walking turned into a few miles of still painful walking.  At the same time, new messages started to come out “I don’t know why you are still struggling with this” or “I can’t explain why your leg still shakes” or “your range of motion still isn’t functional” and my favorite “I don’t understand why you aren’t doing better.”  

There was a point around March where things changed.  The conversation was no longer about when would I get better.  It was about what was still wrong.  This, in many ways felt more crushing then my initial injury.  When I was first injured there was a clear reason why, a clear solution, and a time frame I could hold onto when things were tough.  It was supposed to be okay because like dashing ER doctor had said: “you’ll be hiking by the spring.”  In reality, it was dangerously close to the spring and I couldn’t walk up the paved hill to my house, let alone a mountain.  Suddenly, I had no idea when I would actually hike again and the uncertainty, was in mainly ways, harder to deal with then the physical issues I was experiencing.  

Over these months, I had several follow-up appointments with my surgeon.  As I became more worried and my PT also became more worried, my tone with the surgeon changed.  There were several appointments where I would go in, describe the host of challenges I had, and would hear “I don’t know what’s wrong” or “It takes time” or “It’s all healed, I don’t know why it still hurts.”  The “I don’t know” piece is both relieving because at least the surgeon’s ego is in check and immensely frustrating.  I thought: “You must know!  you’ve literally seen my guts and have looked at probably thirty x-rays at this point.  What in the world could be so different about my case, you can’t figure it out?”  Then there was what I would like to call my niceness breaking point.  

At this point my PT had told me to spread my appointments out to monthly because “you aren’t getting better fast enough,” I was in constant agony, and nothing I did seemed to making anything better.  I rolled into my surgeon appointment determined to get something better than “I don’t know.” During this appointment, the surgeon brought a student in with them.  When the hospital has a medical school associated with it, this is pretty common.  What wasn’t common, or I hope isn’t common, is my pretty pleasant surgeon all of a sudden turned into a bro monster who really pissed me off.  After joking about intentionally breaking my leg to improve my range of motion or just cutting it off entirely, he busted out the “It’s all healed, there’s no reason for you to be struggling this much.”  

This was probably the lowest point of my recovery.  My PT basically quit on me and my surgeon thought a) there’s nothing wrong and b) my struggle was something to make fun of.  I left that appointment and promptly burst out into tears once I reached my car.  You may have gleaned this at this point and I don’t like doctors.  I didn’t want to see them much more than they probably didn’t want to see me and all I wanted was to be able to move.  I wanted to follow the timeline I was given on day one and just go back to normal.  Most of all though, I wanted someone to help me.

I realized soon after I needed to help myself.  I needed to make things so crystal clear to the medical providers involved, that there was in fact something else wrong, they should pay attention, and if they didn’t do so, it would be nothing short of negligent.  I promptly got a new PT and I rolled into my next surgeon appointment ready for a fight.  During this appointment I brought a list of questions my new PT had helped me develop to accurately express my concern and get some answers.  The surgeon didn’t appreciate this and certainty didn’t appreciate the “should she see an ankle specialist” question.  At the same time, I wasn’t there to stroke his ego and I really didn’t care.  Having a functional limb was much more important to me.   I think it finally struck the surgeon perhaps I wasn’t exaggerating or fabricating what I was experiencing and maybe he should try harder than just “it takes time.” 

This appointment set the stage for my second surgery, or as I would like to call it: “operation break those screws.”  

[thedeadshotnetwork]

A Week In Oakland, CA, On A $52,500 Salary Welcome to Money Diaries , where we're tackling what might be the last taboo facing modern working women: money. We're asking millennials how they spend their hard-earned money during a seven-day period — and we're tracking every last dollar. Today: a project manager who makes $52,500 per year. This week, she spends some of her money on a large order of Jack in the Box curly fries. Occupation: Project Manager Industry: Science/Biotech Age: 28 Location: Oakland, CA Salary: $52,500 for working 30 hours per week. I requested a part-time schedule so that I could focus on my side project, Project Tater Tot. Paycheck (2x/month): $1,198 after health insurance, HSA, and Roth are deducted Monthly Expenses Housing: $650. I rent the living room of a one-bedroom apartment. My one roommate uses the room and he pays for all the utilities and bills. I was worried about privacy, but it hasn't been an issue and I lucked out with this place. Loan Payments: None. I'm grateful to have graduated with scholarships, grants, and my parents paying the remainder. All Other Monthly Expenses Cell Phone: $21 Gym Membership: $79 Car Insurance: $45. (I pay $270 every six months.) Health Insurance: $24. I pay partial because I'm not full-time. I don't actually know how they got this number; my company puts $108 into my HSA because I chose the high-deductible plan which is cheaper for them, so they put the extra money into my HSA. HSA: $83, my contribution Roth: $939. The company matches 4% (or $375). I used to do a mix of 401(k) and Roth, but I'll be making more when I go full-time. (I don't know what I'm doing.) Investments: $910. I auto-deposit this into pre-selected Vanguard funds, in two installments. I only started investing a few months ago and previously held all my savings in a savings account. I save a lot because I don't know what my future self will want, but I know I'll need money to make it happen. I plan to use some of it for Project Tater Tot. I have $97,000 in investments, $45,000 in retirement, and $7,000 in savings. Day One 6:30 a.m. — It's been two days since the fires in Sonoma and Napa Counties started. I wake up and check the fire map. Some sections have grown but the largest ones have stalled a little. I'm a little relieved, there are also no new fires near us. I read all the news and check websites for volunteer needs. I know a lot of people who live in Santa Rosa and Napa, and my friends have a messaging group to update each other on our situations. I drove up last night to stay with my boyfriend in Petaluma. I check my work email, but everything is okay for now. 7:30 a.m. — My boyfriend gets back from work and surprises me with breakfast burritos in bed; he is so sweet. He starts work at 7, but came back because a bunch of jobs were canceled (construction) and he wanted to volunteer today. 8:40 a.m. — We get to the volunteer center early; they open at 9. We registered online yesterday, and now fill out a health form and sit around until we get called for an interview. They ask about our health, ability to work 12-hour shifts, and what kind of volunteering we'd like to do. Then we wait for a group training at 11. It's a long time to wait and I wish I'd brought a book! We see a bunch of staff from my boyfriend's climbing gym. All the younger folks in the room are trying to crack jokes and be silly, myself included. It's nice because otherwise we'd be sitting in a room worried about the fires. There is a good mix of people of all ages in the room waiting. 10:30 a.m. — We run out to get a veggie patty sub to split from Subway for lunch later. Everything goes in except pickles and pepperoncini. I love pickled things, but only in isolation. I pay, since he bought our burritos yesterday. $7.93 12 p.m. — I find the group training presentation useful but my boyfriend thinks it's pretty common sense. Oh well; we get laminated name tags at the end and a link to volunteering opportunities at different shelters. We sign up for the next shift at 12:45 p.m. to 7 p.m. in Santa Rosa. 12:50 p.m. — There has been an outpouring of donations and volunteers in the area, so they tell us we might be sitting around a bit. Undeterred, we go off to try to help. We bounce around helping serve food and cleaning chairs, doors, rails, etc., but everywhere is well staffed and we feel a bit useless. We do see the donation section overflowing, and decide to get to work helping to sort clothing into different sections. After wearing masks for a few hours (since we're working outside), I tell my boyfriend that I've gained an intimate understanding of how my breath smells now. He replies that he loves me. (I love him too.) A few people come by to get clothes and we help them out. We listen to their stories, as much or as little as they want to share. Interacting with the folks affected makes it feel so worthwhile. I used to want to be a counselor growing up, and this makes me think I should do more regular volunteering. 6:30 p.m. — We leave a little early; there seem to be plenty of volunteers and we've sorted the majority of the clothing donations, so we don't feel bad. My boyfriend tells me he wants to get chili from Amy's Drive-Thru and animal fries from In-N-Out (they are next door to each other) to combine into the ultimate chili cheese fries. We discuss it, but laziness wins out and he agrees to just get chili cheese fries from Amy's. $4.66 8 p.m. — When we get back to his place, we eat it with all the leftovers we have and watch American Dad . Leftovers include half a burrito, roasted veggies, black bean burger mash, and smoky baba ganoush with crackers. (I cooked the last three and he bought the burrito.) 9 p.m. — My boyfriend's parents tell us we'll be hosting evacuee friends tonight, and we help clean a little. They're bringing cats with them but there's already a refugee kitty in the computer room; the outdoor shed is prepped for the new cats though, so they won't need to be in the same space. I debate going home or staying over tonight. Instead of deciding, we cuddle up for the next few hours, and pass out early, before 10 p.m. Daily Total: $12.59 Day Two 6:05 a.m. — I wake up feeling very tired, and check all the updates again: news, friends, fire map. I also check my work; nothing new. Everything is okay, the Napa fire has grown a lot, but thankfully not in the direction of town. I try to go back to sleep but I can't for the next hour. At some point, I fall asleep. 10 a.m. — Omg, I wake up and it's 10. How did that happen?! I decide not to volunteer today and focus on resting and getting a bunch of work done. Before leaving, I snack on tomatoes that are about to go bad and baba ganoush. Petaluma was sent a warning notice this morning, which wasn't an evacuation zone, but which we took to mean, “Get a bag ready in case a fire starts somewhere near you.” 11 a.m. — It's smoky everywhere, but as I stop for gas in Novato, I can see that the sky to the east is distinctly orange. $41 11:30 a.m. — A quick stop at the 99 Ranch Market (big Asian market) because it's on the way. I decide to grab some yam greens, small head of Napa cabbage, sesame mochi balls, and a big bag of Calbee seaweed chips. I've never tried the last two, but they're on sale and I like snacks when I'm stressed. Also, grab a fresh-baked pork sung and green onion bun ($1.75) from the bakery next to the store. I haven't had pork sung (I call it pork floss) in years and so I'm curious if I still like it. I do. It's nicely salty and savory and just what I want for my drive home. $9.04 12 p.m. — I check on the status of everything once I get home. (I am constantly checking so I'll stop mentioning it.) There's not much I can do right now, so I start working. I'm luckily at a bit of a lull in my main work project and nothing crazy or time sensitive is happening this week. My workplace, based in Petaluma, sent out a notice that they'll be paying full wages for this week while the site is closed because of safety and air quality concerns, which I think is nice. Work feels really weird, like I shouldn't be doing normal activities while the world is literally on fire around me. Email is eerily quiet, and it feels like I'm sending out emails into the void since some of the people I work with are not working right now. Why am I working? Should I be volunteering right now? I feel conflicted. I eat a lot of chips and then sesame mochi balls. I also submit 16 hours of sick time for this week, since I haven't been productive this week. 3 p.m. — I start texting my friends who are in the fire-affected cities to see if they want to come over for dinner this weekend. I've got a few takers, so I'm excited to see them and give them hugs. 6:30 p.m. — I am very tempted to make ramen for dinner. The things is, I love ramen, but my body doesn't. I do want greens, so I stick with the plan and make a soup with the yam greens and Napa cabbage. Something about the hot savory broth and silky green leaves is comforting and fills me up with goodness. I make a huge pot, and eat a huge bowl. 9 p.m. — Damn, I have missed the past two days of my pill; this is unfortunate. I must also report that I finished the bag of chips. Daily Total: $50.04 Day Three 7 a.m. — I'm out and at the gym for climbing with my friend. My friend is very stressed about work, but venting and hard climbs make us both feel great. I also find out some good news about the fires, which have gone from being around 3% contained to 18%-24% contained. It's a relief to hear that there is progress. 9:30 a.m. — When I get home, I start work and eat breakfast: soup and an open-faced sandwich with black bean patty and vegan cheese melted all over it. 12:40 p.m. — I snack on a piece of toast with vegan butter. I'm planning to volunteer for the overnight shift tonight, but haven't decided on Napa or Petaluma. My boyfriend says he's down to help, so Petaluma it is. I read an article about a man and his wife surviving the fire in a pool, only to have his wife die in his arms. I burst into tears; the perks of working remotely. 2:15 p.m. — Lunchtime is the same leftovers. I don't mind. 5 p.m. — I'm done with work but I forgot about the rush hour traffic and need to wait it out a bit before I leave. I bring my sleeping bag just in case. $5 bridge toll on my FasTrak account. $5 7:10 p.m. — When I get to the shelter, most of the volunteer work is with donations. There are so many, it almost seems like too many. We make gigantic piles of diapers sorted by size; there's also work unloading donations from cars; and always work sorting and organizing donations. A supervisor tells me that since the Coast Guard is here, it's better for them to do the overnight shifts instead of volunteers. As it becomes dark, it's heartening to see so many folks hustling late. Some parents have brought their elementary school children, who are kicking butt. 9:15 p.m. — By this time, most of the work is done; I head to my boyfriend's place to crash. Daily Total: $5 Day Four 9:15 a.m. — We sleep in because we're a little too tired to do the breakfast shift, 6 a.m. to 10 a.m. 10:15 a.m. — So many more people volunteer when it's daytime! There is tons to do. It's mostly physical, moving stuff everywhere, but much better than staying in one spot folding clothes. 12:30 p.m. — We grab free food at the shelter that will go bad if people don't eat it: bagels, hard-boiled eggs, fruit, salad, and mashed potatoes. 3:30 p.m. — On the way back to Oakland, I grab groceries for the dinner tonight: two cans chickpeas, yogurt, parsley, cilantro, plums, lemon, limes, corn meal, onions, and wine. It's later than I anticipated when we start cooking; my roommate is also cooking for a party tonight so it's a lively scene. I take a shot of whisky because cooking while buzzed is really fun. The air seems good right now so we open the windows for fresh air. It's the first time we've opened the windows since the fire started. $24.93 6:15 p.m. — Some friends come over, and we have a good time chatting and eating dinner. I was expecting more people to show up but it works out well with a few people. We somehow manage to finish most of the food I made (probably because we all continue to munch at the dinner table as the night goes on). Dinner tonight is roasted spiced cauliflower, falafel with an herby yogurt sauce, and polenta. 9:45 p.m. — Our friends head home and there are hugs all around. We clean up and relax until it's time for bed. Daily Total: $24.93 Day Five 9:15 a.m. — Sleeping in is so nice. I'm not sure why I'm sleeping so much these days. 11:30 a.m. — We're going for a hike in the Redwoods. One of the major perks of living in Oakland is that you're generally only a 10-minute drive away from hiking trails and serious forests. It smells like eucalyptus and redwoods so we hike without respirators. 1 p.m. — Back at the house, I start working on Project Tater Tot and eat a snack of yogurt with lemon curd. 2 p.m. — Time for a plum and reheated polenta. I add more bouillon, salt, and a bit of miso, then pour it into a cake pan so I can chill it for later. 3:30 p.m. — I find a group and conference for women in clean tech and sustainability — the membership costs about $150, and the conference is roughly $100. I don't go to any events, but I feel like I should start looking into professional and grassroots communities. I pass on buying anything for now. 4 p.m. — We take a stroll and grab slices of pizza at Arizmendi (fennel, bell peppers, feta, other deliciousness on top), and then decide to also try a slice at Lanesplitter (pesto, olives, tomatoes) before going to see Bladerunner . Boyfriend buys the tickets ($12) since I bought the pizza. $11 7:45 p.m. — Bladerunner was amazing! It's one of those movies that puts me in a contemplative and mischievous zone after. We walk around a bit in the area before we walk home. I read a little bit of a new book ( A Personal Matter ) and then pack up to go back to my boyfriend's place. I always feel like I carry too many bags for a simple overnight trip. I always bring work stuff, project work stuff, a change of clothes, and homemade food so I won't have to buy anything. Bridge toll again. $5 10:30 p.m. — We're both energized but can't stay out too late because there's work tomorrow, so we decide to go inhale junk food. He gets animal fries from In-N-Out and I get curly fries from Jack in the Box. I honestly don't like the In-N-Out fries very much and I haven't had curly fries in years. Sooo good. $3.23 Daily Total: $19.23 Day Six 9:30 a.m. — Head into the office, which feels very normal even though we've been out for a week. The water cooler talk, as expected, is all about the fire and how we've been affected. On the way to work, I take a longer look at my hair, which I thought was in good shape; in reality, it is dying at the ends. I'm seriously overdue for a haircut so I make an appointment when I get to work. It's been a year and a half, and I cringe about having to explain the state of my hair to my hairdresser later. 10:30 a.m. — I eat the yogurt and granola that I brought from home and a plum an hour later. There's also nut mix around the office. Mmm, cashews. 1:45 p.m. — For lunch, there's a bunch of leftover cheese pizza in the work fridge which I know will get thrown out if people don't partake. Free food! (Even though I do feel a bit of pizza overload coming on.) I get into a good groove after lunch and it's a productive day. I chat with a friend at the company about a new role I would possibly take on in a few months. I'm always conflicted between wanting to pursue my Tater Tot Project and my professional career at this company. For now, I feel lucky that I'm able to do both, but I know that if I don't push for career opportunities at my company, I won't get them (when you tell people you want to work part-time, they know you're half out the door). 5:15 p.m. — Head over to chop off some dead hair! It's $30 and I give $9 tip (exactly how much cash I have left). She's really nice and says my hair damage isn't too bad (phew), and proceeds to give me the quickest haircut I've ever had. I get in and out in under 20 minutes. $39 6:15 p.m. — Oh no, my hair is flaring out because it's about shoulder length, which I hate. When she asked if I want layers, I said, “Uh, sure. Why not?” Wrong choice. Why did I do this to myself? I visit my boyfriend before I head home. He does not understand why I'm grumpy about my hair or why I spend five minutes staring in the mirror. 7:20 p.m. — He offers me chicken curry to go with my polenta, which I happily eat for dinner. We listen to an interesting NPR Fresh Air episode about the importance of sleep. By this point, I'm done being upset about my hair. There's nothing I can do about it since my goal other than grow it out. 8:40 p.m. — My boyfriend convinces me to stay a bit longer instead of leaving, so I start working on Project Tater Tot while he reads and makes weird noises on the foam roller. I get in a good two hours of work, hang out a bit, then make the drive home. I am SO happy to be in my own bed, and look forward to staying put for a few days, having some alone time, and getting some work done. Daily Total: $39 Day Seven 8:45 a.m. — I cannot make myself go to the gym in the morning unless I'm meeting someone. So I sleep in until my first meeting starts. I like my job, there's a lot of odds and ends I take care of today, before I do more technical work. It can be hard for people with a bachelor's degree in science to get more interesting jobs, and I think project management is something to keep in mind if it sounds interesting to you. 10:20 a.m. — I make crispy seasoned bean curd, a fried egg, yam greens and Hong Kong noodles with oyster sauce and sesame oil for breakfast. I drink the rest of my soup too. I eat a plum an hour later. 1:45 p.m. — For lunch, I add different seasonings to my polenta to change it up and eat a polenta bowl with garlic, parmesan, and a boatload of fresh parsley. My fridge is out of vegetables, so I'll have to make a trip later today. My friend left me a small green tea ice cream encased in chocolate waffle. I try it and it's really good. I've never had the chocolate and green tea combination before, I tentatively like it. 3 p.m. — Snack on yogurt with lemon curd. 5 p.m. — I do a 20-minute cardio kickboxing workout at home after work is done. I feel disproportionately proud of myself. 6:30 p.m. — I decide to walk to the closest grocery store because I only need veggies. It's nice to get out of the house and keeps me sane. As it turns out, this store is really expensive; I hone in on the sale stuff and grab three zucchinis, two carrots, and a pint of Straus cookies and cream ice cream, which is my current obsession. For dinner, I make pan-fried tofu slices with a Vietnamese marinade, a bunch of veggies (onions, carrot, zucchini), and use some leftover polenta. I share dinner with my roommate, and he shares the cherry kompot (Russian fruit drink) he made. It's really refreshing. I'm happy I've got enough leftovers for the next three meals. $7.84 9 p.m. — I read a few chapters of my new book and mess around on the internet for a while. I do a little bit of research on training classes that would be helpful for my project and might also be helpful for my job. I wonder if I can convince them to pay for it... 10 p.m. — Ice cream break. I wonder if someone who wanted some of the pint would be able to tell that I seek out the cookie bits. Daily Total: $7.84 Money Diaries are meant to reflect individual women's experiences and do not necessarily reflect Refinery29's point of view. Refinery29 in no way encourages illegal activity or harmful behavior. The first step to getting your financial life in order is tracking what you spend — to try on your own, check out our guide to managing your money every day . For more money diaries, click here . Have a money diary you'd like to share? Right now, in addition to our ongoing diaries, we're looking for potential diarists along the following theme: Holiday Spending : We want to know how diarists are prepping for the holiday season, one of the most expensive times from year. Paying for last-minute travel and accommodations? Gifts for family and friends? Let us know here . We're also looking to hear from single women about money! Take our quick survey here ! Have questions about how to submit or our publishing process? Read our Money Diaries FAQ doc here: r29.co/mdfaqs Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here? I Practiced Being Assertive To Men For A Few Days Here's What Happened No Costco Membership? Here's A Hack That'll Let You Shop There Anyway 11 Crucial Questions To Ask Yourself — And Your Employer — During Open Enrollment November 24, 2017 at 12:15PM

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[smartworkingpackage]

Making the Most of Working from Home

It wasn’t that long ago that telecommuting was considered a rare setup for an employee or contractor. That’s no longer the case. A significant number of US workers (37 percent, by some estimates) fulfill their job duties from somewhere other than an office. But how is it possible to work from home and be productive with so many distractions and temptations? Your mindset and environment are just as important as good old-fashioned self-discipline as a recipe for remote work success.

Research shows that productivity is generally not an issue for most off-site workers. A U.S. News & World Report found that offsite workers tend to be productive even when they’re sick, and typically work five to seven more hours per week than their on-site counterparts.

Still, there are times when even the most well-meaning among us might accidentally ignore our co-workers or forget for an afternoon that “off-site” doesn’t mean “off the clock.” Here‘s how some successful telecommuters live the dream.

“Go” to work: symbolically, it’s effective

One of the biggest perks of working alone in your home is boundary blurring. Wearing your jammies all day, keeping the television on for company, hosting breakfast meetings for you and your cat—you get all that and more. Starting your work day should mean more than nudging aside the cereal bowl. Your mentality may be affecting your job performance, and ultimately, how you feel about your role.

Though many of us don’t have an extra room in our homes to use an office, a dedicated workspace helps keep you focused. Working in a chaotic house full of teens or kids, or just an elbow’s length away from a sink full of dirty dishes are both distractions you don’t need. Some telecommuters shower and get dressed as if they’re heading into an office and then march into their office or guest bedroom. Others park themselves at the end of the dining room table they only use during work hours.

“I’m a very big believer in having an office that is separate from your living space, although not everyone can do that,” says Julie Francis, BellaVia Research UX research and strategy founder. Francis has maintained a home office for more than a decade. ”For me, the second I walk in my office, I’m in work mode. There’s no transition.”

If you can’t carve out a physical space just for you and your laptop, you can at least do so mentally. Invest in good noise-cancelling headphones, if that helps you shut out the outside world. Ignore the dishes until you’ve hit a project goal. Tell your kids to knock on your door at their peril. Your personal “do not disturb” policy may be your only way of treating your home office as a “real” office. If getting ready for each day is nothing more than showering and pulling on your “day jammies,” that’s up to you.

Set your pace: sprint or marathon

What keeps your engine running? To be successful, you need to be honest about what keeps you productive and work with, not against, your style. Are you a sprinter, or a marathoner?

Sprinters:

Work in small, intense periods of time, and can get work done in significant chunks.

Need little breaks now and then in order to catch their breath.

Might need five-minute mini-breaks every hour?

Marathoners:

Like to stay focused for longer stretches before coming up for air.

Work best with long, uninterrupted blocks of time to get into the zone

Some people are a mix of the two: long blocks of time in the morning, with short bursts throughout the afternoon. There’s no wrong approach, so work with your natural rhythm. If you’re a sprinter, breaking up your larger projects into discrete segments is going to make your day a lot more pleasant and keep you more effective.

Bend with it: Being  flexible is how you don’t break

Flex time is how many high-intensity employees are able to meet all of the demands on their time. “I work from home three days a week and am able to keep work and home separate simply because I have a six-year-old that demands my attention once she gets home from school,” says Beth Faris, Senior Marketing Manager at O’Reilly Media. “However, I may work some more after she goes to bed in the evening.” Keeping flexible hours even part-time can be a way to maintain some semblance of work/life balance.

Many off-site workers stay glued to their work space all day, even when they can take breaks. If you’re telecommuting and can take care of your other pursuits around that scheduling flexibility, all the better. Block out your lunch breaks to hit the gym or work on your Great American Novel. Can you call into non-essential meetings while walking the dog (with your phone on mute, of course), or getting your steps in on the treadmill? What can you do to make the job flexibility work for you?

Mission Possible: Stay focused even away from your desk

Whether you step away from work during the day, or power through your hours, you need to find some way to maintain your focus. “You do need to get out of the house,” says writer and editor Sandra Miller. “You need to mix it up a little bit to avoid cabin fever. Run out to the local deli to grab lunch, but don’t also wander into the bookstore down the street. Grab coffee with a friend, but keep an eye on the clock. If it’s still your work day, outings should have some sort of goal, and your goals should have time limits.”

Breaking up the day doesn’t work for everyone, however. “I do not run errands during work hours,” says sales coordinator Lauri Lerner. “I don’t want my work day spread out over 12-14 hours. I focus on work during my eight, nine, or 10 hours, and only after that will I go out and do errands.”

Ditch multitasking: Don’t do more just for the sake of more

“Multitasking” has long been a corporate buzzword, as if it’s desired state for ultimate productivity, but according to the American Psychological Association, doing more than one task at a time takes a toll on productivity. Not all of us are designed to be natural multitaskers. Some telecommuters prefer to limit how often they check their incoming emails to once an hour, rather than looking at each message as it arrives.

Communication is key: Touch base early and often

Though it can be frustrating to admit, if you’re not physically visible, you run the risk of being perceived as unavailable. It’s up to you to show ‘em you’re on top of tasks and dedicated to those deliverables.

“Communication is key for me,” says periodic telecommuter  Martha Garcia, an executive assistant at Logitech. “When I’m offsite, I’m still visible and reachable at all times. I make sure I remain in a position to reply immediately when someone needs me, even if I’m not actually sitting in my home office.”

“Schedule video meetings instead of phone meetings as often as you can,” suggests Francis. “As much as we all hate to be on a webcam, it really does make meetings more efficient.”  If you use Slack, Google Hangouts, or any other type of chat tool, make sure your status is updated to indicate your availability. If you do go offline, leave a status indicating when you’ll be back. If you just need focusing time, put that into your message, don’t just say you’re away, or it will send the wrong message.

Goals and deliverables: Be the boss of you

Ultimately, working off-site is best if you’re disciplined. Francis firmly believes in what she calls “the golden rule of procrastination.” “Always do the thing on your to-do list that you least want to do. It’s often the hardest thing, and once it’s done, it’s a huge relief.”

Always do the thing on your to-do list that you least want to do.  –Julie Francis

How successful you are will always depend on how well you and your company manage your physical absence. “I work at a very flexible company that favors telecommuters,” says Garcia. “We use phone, email, text, and Google Hangouts—so you can literally work from anywhere as long as you have access to the internet and a phone. Not every company is like this, so I think it is much easier to be an effective telecommuter if your company gives their employees the flexibility and the tools to be one.”

from Evernote Blog http://ift.tt/2tqjML9 via IFTTT

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[thisthinghappened]

An Account of My Year With Orlando

This is not a story that I relish writing down, but the time has come for me to finally do it. I have attempted to simply turn my back to the details of this experience in the hopes that it would fade, but time and time again history has proven that it is not going to just go away, and I need a resource both for my own catharsis as well as something to have to refer people to so that I don't have to keep telling it over and over again.

Almost all of the names in this story have been changed to protect absolutely everyone. The only name unchanged is that of my accuser, Orlando. There are racial epithets and other hate speech used without censorship in this story when directly quoting the individuals who used them, which can be triggering, or be an unintentional microaggression. There are upsetting depictions of abuse and violence.

Somewhere in the range of eleven years ago I first moved to Philadelphia from New York City. I'd just come off of doing a television show for the LOGO network. I moved here on a whim, living briefly in a hotel while I searched for a room to rent. I found one in a brownstone in West Philadelphia.

The home was owned by a blind musician named Orlando in his early 30's. He lived there with his 21 year old girlfriend Katie, also his caretaker. He was an odd character with a lot of loud opinions. At first it seemed like it might be entertaining to live with such a quirky guy. I also formed a fast bond with Katie, an intellectual who was really only a few years younger than I.

However it became clear that something was a bit off with Orlando. He was extremely demanding of everyone around him, and had some questionable feelings about women and minorities that made me uncomfortable, so after living there only a few months, I moved out to my own apartment. I stayed in touch with Katie from afar but 6-7 odd years passed and that was that.

...until I found myself renting an apartment where the landlord let the water get turned off, and the city refused to turn it back on. I had also fallen ill, and wasn't making any money to move into a new place. So I reached out to Katie to find out if Orlando happened to have any rooms for rent. She said he did.

I went to meet with him, and the first thing he did was hug me and then exclaim: “Oh! You got fat.” Really, I should listen to the warnings the universe gives me, but I was desperate.

Orlando explained his current situation to me. Hold onto your butts, by the way, because this is where things immediately begin to devolve into a chaotic bit of insanity that gets worse and worse literally every day.

Orlando said that he and Katie had stopped being in a romantic relationship years earlier, but she continued to live with him as his caretaker. He explained, however, that over the last year she had stolen/embezzled nearly ten thousand dollars from him. She was in charge of his finances entirely, and there was a bank account in his name as well as one in both of their names.

In addition, he had just moved a 19 year old girl from the Caribbean to be his girlfriend and new caretaker; but he said that he was afraid of her, and that she seemed volatile and he feared it could blow up at any minute.

Thus it was that I moved in a few weeks before Christmas of that year. It had become clear that Katie had devolved into alcoholism, getting drunk every single day and barely holding down a part time job. She had unquestionably utilized household funds for a variety of personal things, but Orlando admitted that after they broke up he had offered her ten thousand dollars to do with as she pleased, so whether or not these funds were appropriated or accepted was questionable.

What was not in question is that Katie had let the ball drop on paying the mortgage for the home, which had fallen into arrears by nearly a year. One of the responsibilities Orlando passed to me was to get his mortgage situation back in order. I offered to help as best I could, but being that I have never had a mortgage and also am not an accountant, I had no real clue what to do.

I made Orlando sign a document outlining my responsibilities as well as our personal arrangement. It was clear he expected me to be a live-in caretaker on numerous levels, a full time job for which payment would far surpass the cost of renting one room in a six bedroom home. He wanted me to cook, clean, run errands, help with his personal and romantic life (more on that below,) and essentially be on call 24/7 for whatever whim may come up at any given moment.

Our agreement, of which I have provided a scan at the link below, stipulated among other things:

sign documents on his behalf

authorize checks on his behalf and deposit them into his bank account

use his debit card to pay household bills, withdraw cash, pay for Katie's gas (she often ran errands for him,) and any other use at my discretion

use his bank account to pay for things for myself including my World of Warcraft account, my mobile phone bill (he demanded I get a plan on his account so he could always reach me,) my web hosting, my personal fees for various online services like Amazon or eBay

to open and manage eBay/Paypal accounts in his name for selling items of his own that he wanted to get rid of

to withdraw or otherwise utilize $500 cash from his bank account/debit card as payment for my personal services throughout the month as well as the waiver of a rent payment

to use his bank account to deposit and withdraw my own money and access that money at will, rather than open my own bank account

Link to document is here:

http://imgur.com/a/g02G0

Last names have been redacted.

Orlando signed this agreement in the presence of the 19 year old girlfriend who read it aloud to him to make sure he understood it's contents. It's important to note here that even if she had not been present to read it to him, being blind does not absolve one from being obligated to honor a contract one has signed. It is up to the party who is blind to make sure they understand what they are signing before signing it.

I made sure to get this agreement in writing because it was clear that Orlando had put Katie through the wringer, and I didn't want to end up in the same position she was in, being accused of defrauding him after working for him for a length of time. Note that despite this allegation she continued living with him. He used the threat of having her arrested to keep her there.

After living in the house for just a few weeks it became clear that Orlando was being honest about his situation with the new girlfriend, though they were equally to blame for the violent nature of their relationship. She drank heavily, and every day there was a new blow-up over something minor. One occasion saw them arguing over the fact that she bought ranch dressing, resulting in the dressing bottle being swung around the kitchen with a lid, dressing splattering all over the walls/artwork/decor and ceiling.

The Christmas holiday came, and I was on a brief vacation that involved house/pet sitting for a friend. Orlando knew to only call me in an emergency, and the girlfriend was to take care of him for those few days. On Christmas Eve/Morning, Orlando called me to say that this girlfriend had accompanied him to a dinner party where she got extremely drunk. This lead to a fight during the cab ride home, and he alleged that she had physically assaulted him on the porch. As a result the police were called and she was thrown out into the street, leaving him with no one to take care of him for the Christmas holiday.

Despite the Jerry-Springer like circumstances around the situation, I gave up my holiday to return home and take care of Orlando. A dear friend who does not celebrate Christmas, Patricia, came over to keep me company. Orlando aggressively hit on her for the duration of his visit which was very uncomfortable.

Eventually Orlando informed us that a warrant had been issued for the arrest of his girlfriend, which we took on face value, though we never saw or hear from her again. He began aggressively pursing her by stalking her on the internet. Any information he had been given during their brief relationship about her relatives was used to track them down and call them, leaving aggressive and explicit messages about her sexual history and personal life. It was a gleeful act of revenge on his part, something he considered justice.

As time moved forward, it became clear that this was a very serious pattern for Orlando. He would, with my help, post ads on Craigslist seeking the companionship of women. These women would agree to come to the home, and he would IMMEDIATELY fall 'in love' with them. He would ask them to move in right away, becoming aggressively possessive and controlling straight out of the gate. Inevitably these women would see him for what he was and call it off, asking him to leave them alone.

He would not. Sometimes he would accuse them of breaking the law, saying that by agreeing to be his romantic partner they had entered into a “contract” with him that they were now violating. Sometimes he would accuse them of moral failings, because how could they leave a blind man to be alone and fend for himself in the world? Sometimes he would slut shame them. No matter what though he would find a way to aggressively pursue these women beyond their consent, always finding excuses as to why this was okay.

There was also a disturbing racial component to these situations. The women were often black women, whom he referred to as his “little nigs”. When using racial slurs of this nature, he justified it in different ways. “It's okay because I'm Latino,” or “I go to an all black church so I'm an honorary nigger.” Instances of questionable feelings around a variety of minority groups often came up. Orlando watched a documentary about the Holocaust and developed a theory that the only reason six million Jewish people died is because “those kikes were weak. If it were me I would have fought back and been shot waiting in line for the ovens.”

I could not begin to recount to you the countless women Orlando engaged over the year long period in which I worked for/lived with him. He would have me cook them romantic dinners, or help him buy them gifts.

One instance that stands out involved a platonic woman friend he had who made the mistake of mentioning she had a single friend she had. This friend of his explicitly told him setting them up wasn't a good idea and to please leave it alone, but she made the mistake of mentioning this woman's name. Thus Orlando had me find contact info for the friend-of-a-friend (without my knowing why,) and then stalked this woman by calling her suggesting they become romantic. When the full situation came to light (and his own friend cut him off forever,) he justified it to me as such: “Why should I deprive myself of an opportunity to potentially find my soulmate just because someone else asks me not to contact this woman?”

Entitlement around everything, but particularly access to women, was a constant theme. If a person was a woman, Orlando would pursue her romantically and always find justification for why it was okay. No amount of being told to stop would prevent his pursuit. One such woman documented the exchange on her web log, which can be viewed at this link:

http://annafromcraigslist.tumblr.com/tagged/orlando-fiol

There is also an accounting of his interactions with women in the polyamory community, seen here:

http://alt.polyamory.narkive.com/bVR9QdAt/orlando-fiol-is-a-creepy-creepy-stalker-if-you-already-knew-that-skip-reading-this-post.5

Another thing which was a constant was the coming and going of tenants. Orlando  had one long-term tenant, an older woman named Doris, who managed to avoid all of this conflict by simply not engaging in the household. Of the five bedrooms available, Doris lived in one, Katie and I occupied two more, which left two bedrooms available for rent.

Inevitably it was my job to find people to rent these rooms, usually younger college students or people who were otherwise desperate for somewhere to live. The rental of these rooms plus money Orlando was receiving for a research grant from a college were his only source of income.

Generally women who rented a room would leave in two months at best because of the creepy sexual vibe Orlando put out to them. Men would leave once it became apparent that they were not simply going to be allowed to rent a room, but in fact would constantly be called upon to assist him with whatever he demanded. One man moved out after Orlando broke the lock on his bedroom door to let himself inside because he wouldn't come help Orlando with something. A woman fled after just one month and then sued Orlando for her deposit and rent money back. This revolving door of tenants was constant, and became doubly desperate after some months when the grant money was discontinued.

It became clear that Orlando was not bringing in enough income to sustain his lifestyle. Shortly after I moved in, his mortgage was sold from one bank to another. I had worked out an agreement with the first bank for him to make some sort of a payment on his back-due mortgage, and in so doing they would take the remainder of the debt and apply it to the back end of his entire mortgage without penalty, allowing him to get out of arrears and start moving forward making normal payments. However the new bank refused to acknowledge or honor this agreement, and it became clear that he would need a colossal amount of funds all at once to prevent repossession by the bank.

I explained this to him numerous times, and conveyed to him that he needed someone more experienced to handle the mortgage situation because I was at a loss to fix it. He told me that he would have his mother, who lived in New York, handle the mortgage moving forward, and thus I left it in their capable hands. As letters from the bank continued to roll in month after month, it was clear that no one was actually doing this, but it was out of my hands. I was having enough trouble helping him to keep current with his normal bills.

You must understand that Orlando had absolutely no sense of money. For all practical points and purposes, he was bringing in around $1,000 a month from tenants, which barely would have covered the mortgage, let alone electricity, internet, groceries, prescriptions and doctor's co-pays, the $500 a month he had promised me, car gas for Katie, and then the money he was expending trying to woo various women. He was in arrears with so many different bills, and frequently his bank account would go into the negative by nearly $1,000 overdraft just to keep the lights on.

Around six months into this situation, it was clear that Orlando was getting worse. He met a woman who he got engaged to after a few weeks. She had several children of her own and he began talking about moving them into the house. Katie and I kept explaining to him that this was an impossible situation. If he moved a woman and her children into the house, there would be no rooms to rent and he would literally have no income. He was insistent, and the woman did begin to live part time in the house. He demanded that she be bought a ring, and even paid to have it inscribed. This woman remained for some months until we finally convinced him it was an untenable relationship, and then he went back to posting on Craigslist to find new women.

Orlando became more and more abusive towards me specifically. It had already devolved to the point where I was more or less a live in indentured servant. As I had no income, I had no way to save up money and move out. If I attempted to get any free time or have any kind of a life, Orlando would violently berate me for “abandoning” him or otherwise not being there for him; always framed as his being a desperate blind man who could not do for himself. Orlando did not leave the house for any reason other than the very rare musical performance (once a month at best.) He refused to even fill his own water bottle, screaming out for me to come get it and refill it at the sink when it was empty.

The various incidents that unfolded during the last three or four months I lived with him could fill a novel. One that stands out was an evening in which Katie was helping me prepare Orlando's dinner in the kitchen, and we had an ipod on shuffle. Orlando happened to come into the kitchen while the comedy song “Short Dick Man” was playing. It's a fairly harmless song in which the vocalist sings “Eeeny weenie tiny little short dick man.” It may not be grand opera, but it's hardly offensive. Orlando demanded we turn it off and went on a screaming tirade about how the song was discriminatory against men with small penises, and it should be banned and the singer should be arrested for hate crimes. He then went on a triade asking “How would you like it if I wrote a song and the words were “Kill all the gays! Kill all the fags! Protect the children! Murder the queers!” This chant/singing went on for some minutes and he proceeded to goose-step while Nazi saluting. It was his attempt at making some kind of point, but it was bone chilling.

In the last month that I lived with Orlando, my friends had all become extremely concerned for my well being. My mental health was clearly taking a toll. They all described it as a kind of Stockholm Syndrome. What had started as me posting humorous if disturbing stories on my social media about what went on in the house turned into frightening accounts that had them worried. I finally told Orlando it was time for me to move on, which got him extremely upset.

He moved a homeless woman into the house to be his live-in maid/caretaker, and was abusive to her from the start. It devolved quickly and frighteningly. In one instance, she bought him a new water bottle that was glass instead of metal. He was so enraged that he threw it at her head, narrowly missing her as it shattered on the wall behind her.

Katie, meanwhile, had devolved so badly that she was starting to commit crimes for thrill. She recounted that her current boyfriend (also an alcoholic with whom she drank) had her be the getaway driver when he went to his former place of employment, broke in and robbed the cash register. I found myself desperately trying to help he break free from a lengthy period of emotional abuse while also trying to extract myself from the situation.

One of my closest friends and her partner were moving into a new apartment, and they extracted me from the situation and moved me into their spare room for a temporary arrangement in which I would be safe.

For the first month that I moved out I continued to try and help Orlando from afar as he phased in yet another girlfriend, this time moving a woman in with her son. However this woman took an interest in his finances immediately, and as they went over the last year of transactions in his bank account, she convinced him that I had stolen from him. The magic number? Ten thousand dollars over the course of a year, an identical accusation that he had made toward Katie.

Around this same time the bank finally sued over the unpaid mortgage, which Orlando also blamed on me. Suddenly my worst fears started unfolding. Orlando accused me of fraud, of stealing his identity to use his bank account and debit card of the last year. He accused me of grand larceny, and began ruthlessly stalking me in emails, calls, texts and internet posts. Anything he could find to try and paint me as a criminal was fair game. He said that I opened a phone line on his account without his permission, something he DEMANDED that I do. He said that I got an internet connection installed in the house without permission, something he also demanded because the third floor tenants had trouble with the existing connection. Literally anything that could be fodder for an accusation, or any of his own failing that he could blame on me, came out.

My friends gathered around me to try and protect me. I went into therapy. I cut off all ties with Orlando. Katie had made arrangements to go and live with her parents in another state. We agreed that for our mutual protection we would cut ties forever, because that way if he found one of us he couldn't use it to his advantage to find both of us.

And find me he did. As the past 2-3 years have gone by, Orlando has repeatedly “found” me again and again and stalked and harassed me. It is a pattern I witnessed him devolve into with countless others in his life. He will forget about certain people until something triggers a memory of them, and because he is bored, it becomes a project to hunt them down and try to mess with their lives.

For six months I moved to another state to be with a man I'd met, and he found me there, calling and leaving frightening voice mails. This happened lots of times in various places I lived. However the absolute worst was an incident that still has me suffering from PTSD.

Around a year ago (this is being written mid-2017 by the way,) he seems to have met a woman and become “engaged”. I am not going to name this woman because even though she has played a role in his harassment of me ever since, I don't blame her for taking the word of someone she seems to care about. Be that as it may, she is active in social media and she saw a post I put up on a “Freecycle” style page. There was an address attached to this post – not my address – and later that day the two apparently drove by together and called me from outside. I got a 3 minute voicemail while they were there: “Come to the window, fucker...”

She also posted a lengthy message on that page detailing all of the accusations Orlando has made against me, and claiming there was a warrant out for my arrest. The posts were deleted and she was removed from the group, but I also left the group for my own safety. A day or two later, a group of men showed up at that address dressed in SWAT gear. A man who is a friend of mine and lives on the first floor apartment there came to the door, where these men dressed as police officers here to arrest me. Because I had gotten the voicemail I had let this man know of the potential that Orlando may continue to show up at the address thinking I lived there. This man also happens to be fairly anti-police, and is extremely educated on his rights and how to deal with them. He denied any knowledge of who I am and demanded to see a warrant and asked what the charges were. These men pushed their way into his apartment, refused to show any such warrant or give badge numbers. They mocked his clothing and nail polish, and eventually they left, leaving him pretty shaken up. He texted me to let me know this had happened, and said he was absolutely certain that they were not real police officers and that Orlando had sent them there to intimidate me (or worse.) No “police” have returned to that address since.

At this point I was living in complete terror. Friends were sheltering me from the situation by keeping me distracted, but no one knew what to do. Was there really a warrant out for my arrest? If there was, what exactly would I do? How does an able person sit down with the police and say “I know a blind man has told you I stole from him and such, but I swear it isn't true, and here's a contract he signed with me, and please don't lock me up?” I was fearful that I would be put behind bars regardless of the truth, where no one would be able to bail me out, because this is how the system works. You get locked up until you go to trial unless you can afford bail, and for major fraud charges, well...bail is not insignificant.

After a few months passed, a dear friend convinced me to go to the police and ask if there was in fact a warrant for my arrest. She promised that if I got locked up, she would post the bail and we would take it from there. So despite the fact that I was terrified, I did just that.

There was no warrant, and (of course) no record of the police being sent to arrest me.

I moved ahead with my life, and it did finally seem like a lengthy period of time passed where I did not hear from Orlando or anyone connected with him. I actually found out in early 2017 that he and his fiance had moved away to another state, and I truly thought perhaps this chapter of my life was behind me.

But now in June of 2017, the fiance has resurfaced in yet another social media page in which I was formerly active. (She was able to see my posts because I left the group, but people continued to reference my name which was no longer linked to a profile and thus visible despite having blocked her.) Though I am told this post only stayed up for 30 minutes or so, it apparently got very ugly. People from that group reached out to another group in which I was actively a member, and the admins removed me and blocked me (who can blame them?) In many ways this speaks to my fears expressed above: Who would question accusations from a disabled person about being taken advantage of?

That's why I'm writing this lengthy story today. 11 pages, and it easily could be 11 more. It seems like Orlando is never, ever going to let me live my life in peace, and although he can't really use social media (Facebook is not friendly to software that reads aloud to the blind,) his fiance, for however long they are together, is going to be acting as his mouthpiece and come after me time and time again.

This is my story, and I hope one day it will stop haunting me. This man has hurt countless people in his life, causing them grief and often abusing them while simultaneously making them feel sympathy for him. I don't know how long I can reiterate my lack of guilt every time he (or she) finds me and hurls these accusations, so I am putting this online to be referenced the next time it happens.

- James B, June 5th, 2017 Sub-note: If you have been sent to this link, please don’t redistribute it to others. Please do not attempt to intervene and contact Orlando or his fiance on my behalf. Engaging him is the same thing as antagonizing him, no matter how you approach, and not only will it simply stir the pot and have him coming after me again with renewed interest and aggression, he will also start to come after you.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

21 Women on How They Made the First Move

http://fashion-trendin.com/21-women-on-how-they-made-the-first-move/

21 Women on How They Made the First Move

There’s a small fly in the ointment of the recent conversation around consent, and it’s the casting of men as the default suitors. It’s an old-school gender dynamic, and it’s clung to modern (hetero) romance like a wet blanket. While it’s critical to discuss how such a pursuit can happen healthfully and equitably, it underserves the agency of women when treated as the social default. We can also be veritable pursuers. So how can we rewrite this narrative?

To start, I asked women to tell me about a time they made the first move. Below are 21 of their responses, and I hope they serve as a small rebellion against the outdated notion that women shouldn’t, or never do. Read their stories below, and then join me in reshaping what the pursuit of love, sex and romantic revelry can look like by telling me yours, too.

“I made the first move with my now ex-boyfriend. I literally took his phone and just put my number in it and saved it as, ‘The best person you’ll ever meet.’ It was so unlike me, HA! But we were together for almost five years and I still think he’s the main reason I moved to NYC (that’s a little longer of a story).”

Courtney, 23

“Although it was through Tinder, I made the first move by messaging my current boyfriend first. Turns out I was the only one who messaged first and it really stood out to him. We’ve since been together for almost two years and more to come!”

Steph, 22

“He had a summer job at a microbrewery that had a boutique portion, and he invited me to come hang out while he worked. We were both nervous and awkward during his shift. At the end, he was counting his cash register and making self-deprecating jokes. I don’t know what came over me but I just walked up to him behind the counter and, as I got closer, he told me, ‘Well now I really won’t be able to concentrate.’ I said, ‘Then take a break,’ and kissed him.”

Michelle, 24

“When I’m going out… I make first moves all the time. In my experience, guys like it when you explicitly pick them and start dancing with them. Therein lies the biggest pro for me: I get to pick, instead of turn down unwanted advances.”

Robin, 19

“While working at Buffalo Exchange, my assistant manager who I crushed on for a month straight was in-between houses and couch surfing until the first of the month. After a closing shift together, I offered him my futon to crash on for the night. He never slept on that futon. Next month is our fourth wedding anniversary.”

Morgan, 27

“I waited for the whole year of eighth grade to make my move. Then, during the chaos of the last day of school, I wrote my name and number on a gum wrapper. I said ‘I think you’re really cool, you should text me sometime!’ He never did.”

Chloe, 18

“When I was in graduate school, I would leave my name/number with bartenders I found attractive pretty regularly. It worked many times, so I stuck with that plan of attack!”

Hayley, 27

“We were at a music event and probably said a total of 20 words to each other that night. The next morning, I slid into his Facebook inbox with the link to a Myers Briggs test. Then waited…He sent me his results and we started chatting. We’ve been dating for eight months now.”

Kelsey, 24

“Four years ago, I started going to improv shows at UCB. One night, I fell in love with one of the comedians, who happened to be a writer for a prominent late night talk show host. He had no social media profiles, so I spent hours searching for some means of contacting him. Ended up finding his personal email, and wrote him a note telling him I thought he was great and funny and that I wanted to take him out for a drink.

My friends laughed at me — they never thought he would respond. BUT he did! Hours later, and could not have been more flattered. The next week we went out for drinks. I had to pick the venue. We dated briefly until he ghosted me. So my advice is don’t ever make the first move. JUST kidding, making the first move is awesome. And I would do it again.”

Carolyn, 25

“I was a junior in high school and there was a new guy at school. I walked right up to him and said, ‘Hi, I’m Rebecca. I think you should know me,’ and we never talked again.

Mel, 24

“I met my boyfriend at our five-year college reunion. I had a crush on him from afar and lost him at the end of the last night. In a final Hail Mary move I sent him a FACEBOOK MESSAGE (yes really): ‘Dude hi just saying [insert my phone number] make it happen.’ That is how we met.”

Kristin, 30

“I was working at a summer program during my college years and I had met this cute, smart guy who was working in a different department. Everyone at the program was living on campus and I’d always try to casually run into him. Eventually, we started hanging out during work events, but I couldn’t tell if he was into me.

When his program term ended before mine, we awkwardly said goodbye outside of a dorm. I knew immediately I had blown it, but he was already out of sight. Suddenly, I just started sprinting across campus to where I knew his car was parked, as if I was in some sort of rom-com or a decent runner. I found him loading his stuff into his car and I just went for it and kissed him like Nora Ephron was directing.

He visited me a few times that summer, but now he’s just a Facebook friend. Honestly, I still have a crush on him. I’m still impressed and surprised at myself for running… but also for being that bold and almost foolish? But now, I’m pretty comfortable with ‘making the first move’ and nothing will seem as exciting or crazy as running after a guy across campus.”

Gabby, 24

“I made the first move on my husband. I told him his T-shirt was cool and we should switch shirts. Later I said he should give me his number in case I wanted my shirt back.”

Christina, 33

“I met my husband while on a date at a bar in London. We made eye contact for a while until I decided to make the first move. I told my date that an old friend of mine was here and should wait for me here while I say hi. When I approached him, I gave him a cigarette so he could join me outside and we could chat away from anyone in the bar. I told him he was hot, pretended to not be on a date and gave him my phone number. He just stood there with a cigarette that he didn’t want to smoke really. My date came outside looking for me. I had to introduce them as I was pretending to be with an old friend. I made up a name and then left. My stranger called me the next day. He is American, I am French. Now we are married and living in Toronto.”

Laure, 30

“I asked this boy I liked to prom via a pair of scissors that said, ‘Prom?’ (He was stabbed with scissors a few weeks prior and I’m incredibly romantic.)”

Cydney, 23

“My go-to move at the bar the last two times I’ve had sex is walking up to a gentleman and saying, ‘I called a Lyft and they’ll be here in three minutes, wanna come home with me?’ Introducing yourself is so 2017.”

Heather, 30

“I feel like I always make the first move! Last semester, after I broke up with my ex, I made a list of guys that I found cute and/or interesting and sent each of them a text asking when and if they were free for drinks. One guy I took out to my favourite pub and bought the both of us double G&Ts and we played darts. Another guy I took to my favourite beach and we made a bonfire together with wood I’d bought beforehand at a grocery store.”

Claudia, 21

“In college at a line dancing club (lol), I told him that he was really good at the ‘watermelon crawl’ and would he please show me how to do that one move where you do the twist and jump? Answer: ‘…What?’”

Rebecca, 32

“I met him once at a mutual friend’s party. One year later I slid into his DMs: ‘Hi 👋🏻 remember me?’ Cut to three years later and we’re still together and moved into our first house this year.”

Jeanne, 22

“Was at a party in college, had talked to a cute guy throughout the night here and there. Saw he was about to get in a car and leave so I ran out front and before I could really think about it just said, ‘Hey! Wait! Do you want to have sex with me?’ I was about to move and knew I didn’t want to date but he was really hot. He was like, ‘What?!? Yeah??!’ We went home together and had a nice night and I have never been prouder of myself for being SO straightforward.”

Emily, 25

“I liked this guy at work. I was quitting in a week. He was studying fashion at Parsons. I DM’ed him about some 🔥 underboob outfits at the Calvin Klein show. We’ve been dating 10 months.”

Carly, 23

Photo by Francis Apesteguy via Getty Images.