I would like for you to tell stupid tourist stories? Your story-telling style is very engaging.
First of all, thank you very much!
Since flattery will get you pretty much anywhere, allow me to tell you The Tale Of Jar-Jar.
The First year my family moved to Colorado, my family decided to take the annual summer camping trip to Yellowstone, now that we were on the right side of the rockies for it. So we pile into the car with all my mom’s immortal camping gear from the 70′s (srsly, I still have the Colemann stove and cooler. They work perfect) and Cody,The Gentleman Shepherd.
Due to Wyoming looking mostly like the ugly parts of Mad Max, we got onto the wrong highway and arrived after dark. Cody waited patiently in the backseat rather than set up in the rain. Gentlemanly.
The next morning, Mom is doing something miraculous with the Colemann and there is a breakfast of pancakes, eggs and bacon. The sun is shining. The birds are singing. All is serene and beautiful.
Then the people in the next site pull up. They arrive in a Brand-spanking new Ford Pickup towing a trailer that looks like it was salvaged of a 50′s atomic test field. The Husband emerges first and…
I don’t like judging people based on appearance but Man, when a dude walks out of a pickup wearing a confederate flag hat, and half of a mullet one tends to make assumptions.
The eldest child came out next, a boy of about 12, with a rat-tail. Followed by his brother, a boy of about 10, with a rat-tail Followed by his brother, a boy of about 8, with a rat-tail. Followed by his brother, a boy of about 6, with a rat-tail. Followed by his brother, a boy of about 4, with a rat-tail.
The wife finally emerges, looking like death warmed over and carrying a boy of about two, with a rat-tail. It is unclear if she has poor posture or if she is pregnant again. The Boys capable of standing all immediately do so at the border of our site, staring covetously at my bacon.
Finally, with a loud plop and wheezing noise, comes thier dog, for a given value of dog. Pugs are not terribly healthy-looking creatures at the best of times, but this poor thing looked like the canine equivalent of a Hapsburg. One eye was so bulged as to be permanently wall-eyed, and his jaw jutted out in front of him at a distressingly kapakahi angle.
“C’mere Jar-Jar!” hollers the Husband.
“Good God.” muttered my father.
The adults proved over the course of the next hour to be loathsome creatures- Husband was constant’y screaming at the boys the “fuckin’ get me the thing, you little-” then getting mad when asked for clarification on ‘which thing?’. The Wife was a non-stop stream of complaint- the sun is too hot, the shade is too cold, the tent is too far, the birds are too loud, and everything is awful, I’m going to complain to the ranger. Eventually they got their camp set up, and Husband cracked his first beer of the day as we finished locking the bear box and leaving to hike. It was about 10 AM.
We return some hours later to a very animated discussion between Wife and the Camp Supervisor about “I have rights you know!” vs. “Ma’am, we are under an extreme fire danger warning, and Fireworks have been banned in the park for ages.” Jar-Jar, eager to avoid any outbursts, has scuttled under our bear box, wheezing in agitation. Cody, ever gallant, positions himself between Jar-Jar and his mistress, doing his best impression of a Real Shepherd Who Isn’t Scared of Mice and Snowflakes. Husband is unseen, but there are several beer cans in the fire grate.
That evening’s campfire, normally a time to listen to nocturnal wildlife and the Quiet noises of wild places, is instead a time to listen to drunken racist jokes, a sobbing toddler and Husband screeching “SAY AI WANNIT” whilst dangling scraps in front of jar-jar, until the dog stood on his legs and danced, garbling “Ai-Wa-War” in a voice that sounded less like a bark and more like late-stage emphysema, before collapsing on what looked like sore joints.
Late that night, my parents discuss packing up and looking for a site in Teton down the road over the sounds of half-assed drunken sex.
The boys, in spite of their parents, are well mannered, intelligent and engaging to talk to, and seem content to frolic in the woods around the site, examining rocks and plants and the occasional insect. Dad has a nice time telling them about the Yellowstone supervolcano whilst their parents have vanished to parts unknown. Jar-jar remains off-lead and un-collared the entire time, huffing and puffing as he tries to keep up. Still, five boys is perhaps too much attention for an elderly pug, and the too-hard petting and pulling of ears and tail and suchlike is tolerated with an exasperated whine and vacations under our bear-box.
The second night, Husband was furious about something, cursing up a storm and throwing things and generally having a tantrum. The eldest boy said something to him and he bore down on him, hand raised and screaming something about ‘useless pieces of shit.” -When they were interrupted by my mother stepping into their site, all four feet eleven inches of ill-contained fury, staring him down.
“I was wondering.” She said, eyes not moving from him. “If I could borrow some matches.” “Ours got wet.” Dad added, immediately behind her, less as support than restraint.
I remember how ghastly quiet the woods got for a moment there, watching the scene unfold from behind Cody, the only sounds the campfire and crickets.
“Uh, yeah. Matches.” The Wife muttered, and it was enough to get Husband to back down.
“You have lovely children.” Dad continued. “Very smart, very polite.” “You must be so blessed.” My mother adds, only slightly spitting the word.
My parents take the matches and talk a bit longer but I couldn’t hear. Husband gave up, flopping down in his chair, but not before giving Jar-Jar a kick.
The next morning, as my family was packing up to head down to Teton instead, The Eldest boy approached us, concerned.
“Sir?” he asked dad. “Have you seen jar-jar?”
We hadn’t actually, his gravely groveling notably absent that morning at breakfast. My sister and I went on a search with the boys through the camp, but to no avail. We did find Wife, complaining to the campground host that there were too many wild animals around. In the National Park. Saddened and trying to give the boys some hope that perhaps jar-Jar had not been eaten by the coyotes, we left.
On the way out the main gate, we ended up behind a Buick with Florida plates, driven by a couple well into their octogenarian period, at about seven miles per hour. As they stopped at the checkout gate, clearly asking for directions, a dog climbed up to sit in the back window. A fat, lop-sided, wall-eyed little Pug, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
And that’s the story of how Jar-jar escaped the Hell family to Florida.
I was resting my back against
Shawn’s broad chest, while his fingers were running through my wet newly washed
hair. We were chilling in bed, watching movies after a long day for the both of
us. We were sipping beers, celebrating this day finally coming to an end.
I was tucked tightly into a
blanket, feeling Shawn place tender kisses on my neck once in a while. His arms
were tightly shut around my body, making every inch of my skin feel tickly just
by his faint yet loving touches.
Beer isn’t just a beverage. When you’re into it, it’s really a way of life. That’s why we’ve compiled a list of products and gifts that exist to enhance this perfect way of life. No, you definitely don’t need some of the things here, but damn does it sure make beer more fun. From t-shirts to beer soap, theres a gift here for everyone who shares the same love of beer that you do. Check them out below.
If you’ve ever had a shower beer, you’ll know just how glorious it is to have a great beer while enjoying the warm water. Just imagine all of that in your soap…aside from the taste. “You smell like beer” will soon be the highest compliment you can achieve.
Second on the list is a sweet bottle opener that looks good in any man cave, dorm room or kitchen. The wood definitely gives this gift a rustic feel, and is the perfect price for a small gift. We’re definitely getting one for our shop!
So at first the actual weight of the growler turned me off, but that thought was swiftly replaced by wanting one just based on how cool it looks. I found out that these clay-based growlers also keep your beer insulated, and therefore colder for a longer period of time. An awesome gift for someone who homebrews and spends lots of time outdoors.
You want to savor your beer. So when you get that 22oz. 13% ABV Russian Imperial Stout, you want to drink it fresh, and drink it slow. With these silicone beer caps, you can pour yourself a small glass now, and keep the rest fresh for later. Any craft beer lover will truly appreciate (and continually use) this gift.
Oh this is too good. Beer conditioner? You don’t drink it, which is literally the ONLY downside I see. For the person that thought beer soap was end of the road, this will blow their pretty little mind just one more time. Plus, it’s reasonably priced enough to be a truly unique stocking stuffer.
Over 100 styles of beer and over 600 specific beers dot this striking poster, giving any craft beer aficionado an exact style to many of their favorite beers. We have one up in our shop, and consult it on a weekly basis to give us inspiration on what to brew!
This takes homebrewing and craft beer enjoyment to a new level. For any beer lover that partakes in barrel aged beers, or any homebrewer that has wanted to try this advanced technique, this is the gift for them! These barrels come in sizes from as small as 1L to as big as 100L, and everywhere in between.
Sure, this stein might be expensive, but it’s unbelievably cool. These steins are crafted using the traditional German methods passed down over hundreds of years. Everything is made out of pewter and is FDA food grade safe.
If your beer lover also likes to travel, this beer cap map is the perfect gift. Every time they have a beer from a different state, or IN a different state, they can place that cap in that state’s slot, and write in what they had. Beer doesn’t erase memories, it creates them!
All around, this is a really cool gift. The candle is made out of soy wax, the candle holder is a recycled 22oz. beer bottle, and the smell is based off of pleasant-smelling beer styles. What more could any beer lover want?
When my alcoholic uncle died - and how it impacted my life as a nurse
A recent post from another nurse was so beautifully honest and vulnerable that it made me lose my snark and just get human for a minute. So I will share an experience and I have permission from all involved.
I had an uncle who was a terrible alcoholic. It ravaged every aspect of his life, his work as a union tradesman, his ability to be a father or husband and his relationships with his brothers and sisters. My mom and I often visited him when he’d get admitted to the floor. I could never bear to see him in the ER. Dirty, belligerent, withdrawing in the DTs. I was embarrassed because I knew he was a frequent flier. I was embarrassed that I was embarrassed. We tried to drop him groceries and buy his Dilantin every month, but he moved around a lot, mostly renting rooms above taverns. He wanted nothing to do with sobriety. He used drugs when he could, but whiskey was his poison. In the end he only tolerated a few beers a day to keep away the shakes. To any nurse or medic or doc who new him he was a local drunk, but to me he was my uncle. I knew him as a kind loving man as well. I remember family BBQs and him tossing me up in the air as a kid. I remember him showing up drunk to thanksgiving and not making it out out of the car before passing out. I remember the disappointment in my family’s faces. I remember the shame in his eyes. I remember driving around his neighborhood looking at the entrances of taverns to see if he was passed out. I wondered if anyone would know to call us if he died. I wondered if he even had any I.D.
But they did call. And I knew when I saw him at age 55 in the ICU Weighing 90 lbs dying of Hep C and esophageal CA that he didn’t have a lot of time left. I was a nursing student and an ER tech but I knew in my heart this time was different. I saw people fear him. I saw nurses treat him as if he was a leper. One yelled at him to be still while she gave him a shot of heparin and he grimaced in pain. Nurses came in one by one to start a heplock and he grimaced in pain. Despite knowing better after the 4th nurse was unsuccessful I begged them to stop and give him a break. My hospital I worked accepted him into impatient hospice. I was relieved. When he arrived I saw the 2 EMTs toss him on the hospice bed and walk out without saying a word while he grimaced in pain. They probably got held over and he probably didn’t seem like an urgent transport. They didn’t want to touch him. I didn’t say anything. I was scared to touch him too. He was emaciated with a huge head and a gaunt appearance. I wondered if he had AIDS. I felt bad for thinking that. I still kissed his forehead and told him he was going to be okay. Because I loved him. He was my family.
And then I saw nurses treat him with kindness. I saw the beauty of a non judgemental hospice team make his last 96 hours on Earth a time where he could make peace with his demons. I saw Roxy drops for the first time and I saw him get some relief from the pain of untreated cancer, from the pain of dying. I saw them allow me break the rules and lift his frail body into a wheelchair, fashion an old fashioned posey to hold him up and take him down stairs for his last cigarette on Route 30. I was able to spend my breaks with him. I got to suction him and help give him a bed bath. I got off my 3-11 shift and spend a few hours with him watching a baseball game on replay. I sat with him in silence and I held his hand. I finally knew what people meant when they said the dying watch their life play out in their minds. I swear I could see it happening. I asked him if he was thinking about things he said “yep”. I asked him if he wanted me to stay or go and he said “stay”. So I stayed.
I heard the death rattle for the first time. I cried to a veteran hospice nurse and she explained how the Scopolamine patch would help. I finally felt what it was like to be helpless to a family member in need and her words of comfort and years of experience meant everything to me. She said he probably had 48 hours at the most. I read “Gone from my sight” the blue book of hospice by Barbara Karnes. The whole family trickled in. His kids, all his brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews. His children told him they loved him and they forgave him. We kissed his forehead and washed his hair. My mother shaved his face. His daughter said words of kindness that relieved him of any guilt or regret. I saw this beautiful cousin of mine watch me suction him and she asked how I could be so calm and so strong. I didn’t feel strong or knowledgeable but when you are the “medical person” in the family they see things in you that you didn’t know you had.
We surrounded him with love and light and he died surrounded by everyone who ever meant anything to him. The nurses even cried. I got to see the dying process for what it was. It was beautiful and at the same time so humbling it brought me to my knees. I have never forgotten that feeling and I pray I never do.
Is alcoholism a disease? We debate it as health care providers and wonder about the others whose lives have been impacted by the actions of an alcoholic. The amends that never got made. I guess I don’t care if it’s a disease, a condition, or a lifetime of conscious choices and poor judgement.
In the end it’s a human being, usually a dirty foul smelling human being with missing teeth who may or may not be soiled in urine and vomit. Sometimes kicking, hurling obscenities, racial slurs, or spitting. Often doing all of the above at once. It’s hard to empathize with a human being who arrives packaged up that way. It’s hard to care or to want to go above and beyond. And I don’t think you should ever feel guilty if you don’t have those feelings. That is okay. It’s natural to wonder about the damage these people may have done to others. Wonder how many lives they might have ravaged. Please don’t take their pain as your own. At least try not to. It is not your pain to carry. And we all know that is easier said than done.
Treat them with dignity. They feel. They hear you. Give them the care you know you are capable of giving. I can tell you I hold a special place in my heart for every nurse who touched my uncle with a gentle hand. Who cleaned him for the fifth time when he was vomiting stool. Who asked him to smile. Who smiled back at him. Who stroked his forehead and put a cool washcloth on it. I am eternally grateful for anyone that saw beyond his alcoholism and saw a person. A human. A child of God (if you believe in God). A father. A son. An uncle. And I believe in my heart he felt the same way, even if he didn’t or couldn’t say it.
If you have that patient. That difficult, hard to like, dreadful patient. Don’t think you have to love them or even like them. You don’t. But if you can preserve their dignity and show them the kind of nursing care that anyone would deserve, than you are good. You are the reason we are the world’s most trusted profession. And even though you don’t know it, someone saw and felt it, and it meant the world to them. Go to bed and sleep soundly because you deserve that. - J.R. RN
Everything looks more grenner than ever on the 17th March, also the villagers look very joyful today! Of course my town was created thinking about this holiday, because I love green and my name is Patrick, like St.Patrick’s Day, so this was the best theme I could think about for my ACNL village. If you want to enjoy a real Shamrock Day, visit my dream address
6E00 0026 F069 to have some fun!
Warnings: Smut, Language, Dirty Talk, Taboo Relationship, Unprotected Sex
Note: I’m baaacccckkkk! Sorry, it took me so long to start writing again, this pesky thing called real life kept getting in the way. Anyway, here is some STRAIGHT UP FILTH for @such-a-common-girl ‘s 1K Writing Challenge. Congrats Ana! No one deserves 1K more than you, girl! Enjoy!
What, Pepsi? 😂🤣👌🏻 Where'd you drink AT? The 👶kiddie👦 table at your cousin's 💍WEDDING🤵 🤣🤣. That's so cute 😘 Trying to be an 👨🏻Adult👠. But you're not 👞MATURE💄 enough 💅🏻 for 🍷drinking🥂. If you DID even have anything 🙄 it was probably some ❌NON-ALCOHOLIC❌ 🍻BEER🍺 🤣👌🏻. Maybe ☝🏻1 🏞Day☀️ you can 🍾drink🍸 with us 💪BIG😤 💅🏻bitches💋.
Request: Imagine walking in on Happy torturing someone.
“She’s got eyes of the bluest skies, as if they thought of raaaaain.” Your voice sung along to the music as you drove through Main Street, all windows of the car down. The sun shone down and the air swirling around the car was warm. It was another brilliant day in Charming ad you couldn’t help but be in a good mood. Your boss had let you go home early and you couldn’t wait to get home, get changed and head back to the clubhouse, and back to your boyfriend. It still seemed strange- calling him your boyfriend. It had only been two months since you’d made it ‘official’, despite all the months before that were you’d spend all night with each other. But Happy Lowman wasn’t exactly the type to settle down, and it had taken him a while to make you his. It was still early days but you had a good feeling about where this relationship was heading, and who knew, maybe one day you’d be his old lady. Things with the club had been hard lately and you knew how stressed he had been, trying to balance his club life and his new life with you. You couldn’t wait to head over to the clubhouse and show him just how much you appreciated his efforts. You continued singing to the music as you drove, unable to shake your good mood. The last few weeks you’d been staying at Happys place. It was a small house, but big enough. You two hadn’t moved in together though, he was just helping you out after you’d had an argument with your flatmate. Plus, Happy spent most of his nights in the dorms at the clubhouse, or crashing at his mothers. So despite living in his house, he was barely there. You loved the small house, seeing all the little bits of Happy scattered around the rooms. He wasn’t much of a talker, and he was a hard person to get to know because of that. You loved finding little pieces of his childhood, an insight to who he was. Plus, his old photos scattered along the mantlepiece were pretty darned cute. The street was quiet as you pulled in and you turned your radio down slightly, not wanting to disturb the peace as you pulled into the drive way and hopped out of the car. You were still humming as you walked up the front steps and unlocked the door. With a swing of your hips you bumped the door closed behind you and continued walking to the kitchen. You dumped your bag by the floor and headed to the fridge to grab a beer. Usually you weren’t much of a drinker- during the day, at least. But today was an afternoon-beer kinda day, and there was no one around to judge you anyway. You took a long swig and placed the bottle on the counter before heading to the bathroom. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You walked out of the bathroom, towel draped around you and your skin still glistening and you headed back to the kitchen to finish the rest of your beer. You finished the bottle and grabbed another before heading to the bedroom to get changed. Fashion had never been a passion of yours. Sure, you liked to look nice but you weren’t bothered about the latest brands or the newest trends. Usually you wore jeans and a shirt- nothing too fancy. Yet today you felt different, and you knew you had a dress hanging somewhere in that wardrobe. You pulled the door of the wardrobe open and frowned as the door fell to the floor beside you. “Shit!” You crouched and looked at the door frame. The screws must of come loose on the hinges. It was an easy fix, and you knew Happy must have a screwdriver somewhere in the garage. You quickly rummaged through the hanging clothes and pulled out the white dress and pulled it on. It was a summery dress and it flowed around you as you walked back through the house. Your wet hair fell down your back and you ran your hand through it as you walked, shaking it out. The garage was seperate to the house and you headed to the door. You skipped down the front steps and headed to the garage. It was as you were walking along the side of the garage when you heard it. You stopped in your tracks and cocked your head towards the noise. What was that? It sounded like.. groaning. Muffled groaning. You went to take another step forward when you heard something drop from inside the garage. Your heart began to beat a little more rapidly and you gulped before you turned and silently headed back to the house. It was probably nothing, just a racoon or something. But being around the Sons had taught you to always be cautious. You walked silently back into the house and headed for the kitchen drawer. It was right where it had always been. You looked at the gun nervously, sitting at the back of the drawer, and with a shaky hand you lifted it. Of course you knew how to use it, but you had never been in a situation where you actually might have to use it. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath before lowering the gun to your side and walking calmly back through the house. You crept silently down the steps, your footsteps light, and you clutched the gun tightly in your hand as you walked back down the side of the garage. As you neared the door you could hear it again, the faint muffled groaning. You knew you should run. Run back inside and call Happy. But you didnt. You reached out gingerly and laid your hand on the door handle, closing your eyes once more. With another deep breath you opened your eyes and turned the handle, pushing the door open. You raised the gun and pointed it into the dark room, pointing right at the man standing in the centre of the garage. Only it wasn’t a stranger. It was Happy. It was Happy, standing in a blood splatter white singlet before a man, gagged and tied to a chair. Happy looked at you, his eyes wide and you dropped the gun to the side. The man in the chair groaned again, the gag over his mouth muffling the noise. His face was bloodied and you couldn’t help but notice the blood on Happys fists, and the angry, wild spark in his eyes. Neither of you spoke, you could only stare. You gulped and broke the eye contact, glancing around the room. You spotted a screwdriver on the bench and walked gingerly towards it. “I just needed this.” You said calmly, before walking out of the garage and closing the door behind you. Once outside you leaned against the garage, the cool wall pressing against your back. What the fuck?! Your heart was almost beating out of your chest and you took another deep breath before walking back into the house. With shaking hands you placed the gun back in the drawer and grabbed another beer out of the fridge. You sat at the kitchen table as your mind raced with a million thoughts as you stared at the bottle in your hands. You didn’t know what to think of what you just saw. You knew Happy did things for the club, bad things, and you were okay with it- mostly. But you didn’t expect to ever be confronted with his club business. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You were on your fourth beer when you heard his heavy footsteps walking up the front steps. Somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head but you could feel the his presence when he entered the room. He walked slowly to the table and pulled out a chair before sitting down opposite you. Silence hung heavily in the air and Happy reached out his hand and picked up the screwdriver sitting on the table. “I was going to fix the wardrobe.” You explained, breaking the silence. Finally you lifted your head and looked at him. His singlet was still splattered with blood but he had wiped his face. His eyes were dark and he looked at you intensely. “Whats wrong with the wardrobe?” Happy asked calmly. “The door fell off.” You answered. He raised an eyebrow and nodded slowly before placing the screwdriver back on the table. “(Y/n), I-“ “Its okay, Hap.” You interrupted. Happy sighed and stood, He walked around the table and stopped besides you, his strong arms reaching down to pull you up. You stood in front of him and smiled warmly. “The things I do for the club..I shouldn’t have done it here. Im sorry (y/n). I thought you’d be at work.” “I finished early.” You said with a shrug. Happy frowned and placed his hand on your cheek, lifting your head gently to meet your gaze. “Aren’t you scared?” Happy asked you, his voice gruff. You shook your head and smiled. “Just don’t do it inside, Hap. Bloods a bitch to get out of carpet.” Happy stared at you, shock and disbelief all over his face and you couldn’t help but laugh, which only seemed to startle him more. “Its okay, Happy. Honestly. I knew what I was getting into. Ive seen your tats, remember.” Happy nodded slowly and lowered his hands, placing them gently on your hips. “You wont have to see that again.” Happy told you. You nodded and reached up to kiss him softly. “Good. Now Ive got a door to fix. And you’ve got a half dead man in the garage to take care of.” You winked and pulled away from him, grabbing the screw driver off the table and you headed for the hallway. Happy grabbed your wrist and pulled you back towards him before crashing his lips down on yours. His lips moved with yours hungrily and you could taste the cigarettes on his tongue. Eventually he let you go and you smiled lovingly up at him before pecking his cheek and turning back towards the bedroom. “Y/n?” Happy called after you. You turned and glanced back at him, standing in his blood stained shirt. “You should wear a dress more often, little girl.”
Harry’s knee bounces up and down, hands clasped and resting on his legs as he watches her from a chair across the way. She’s crying quietly, curled on his couch, a blanket draped over her. He had put on the TV so she’d have something to distract herself.
She sniffed, “Can you stop staring at me?”
Harry keeps staring, "You really shouldn’t be here.”
"You already let me in.”
It was true, he had.
She had been standing there in his doorway, looking all helpless, and he immediately forgot he was upset with her, stepping to the side so she could walk into his flat.
But now, now he was angry again.
"Do you even care that you’re putting me in the middle of this again by being here? God knows what Jeremy would do if he found you here.”
She looks at me like this thought never occurred to her. "You’re right.” She stood up immediately, walking to the door where her suitcase was. “I’m sorry.”