how to write a check

Imagine a Mannequin Challenge holiday video for the Providence Falconers to Mindy Gledhill’s Winter Moon, where the camera starts from the outside of the arena in the parking lot, where you see Snowy and Tater getting their bags out of their car for practice, the two of them juggling several bags of what seems to be breakfast pastries and cups of coffee. The camera pans again and brings the viewers inside the building, where you see Poots mid-stuffing his face with a sandwich. Marty and Thirdy look like they’re arguing over their cereal, with Marty ready to throw his spoon and Guy rolling his eyes from his seat as he peels a banana. The camera pans again to George, who is with some of the PR interns; her hand is stretched out to Tater in warning (the other is holding her coffee), who is currently piggybacking Snowy like he’s the getaway ride, and Snowy is cradling about twenty bags of chips he probably stole from the break room. 

The camera then switches over the inside of the rink; the players are now all in gear. You see Marty leading his son by the hand across the ice, frozen, and Thirdy and his wife watching their daughter, who is posed in a running position. Camera pans to two rookies struggling to pull a plastic sled, which Tater is gleefully sitting in. The scene shows more Falconers and their families and friends, all engaged in various comical poses. Players with their wives or girlfriends as random rookies dangle mistletoe over their heads; Santa hats all over the place, dads pretending to swing their giggling children around. There’s even one where Snowy is smiling shyly at one of the Falcs trainers, who offers him a forkful of what looks to be pie as he leans over the board separating the ice from the rest of the stadium. The camera then zooms in to Tater in the background again, inexplicably holding two whole pies while trying to fend off disgruntled rookies attempting to steal one of the pies from him. Bad Bob and Alicia are even in the video; Alicia’s hand is playfully shoved in Bob’s face as she pretends to push him away to get to the pies Tater is holding, and Bob is making the worst, dramatically distressed expression like, “Why are you doing this to me wife?????” 

The last scene the camera pans to is Jack Zimmermann, sitting on the railings with Eric Bittle, his face turned slightly as he kisses Bitty’s jaw. Bitty’s face is flushed and his eyes are closed in pleasure as he grins, holding a Starbucks drink. Jack has one arm around Bitty’s waist, and the other hand is holding mistletoe over their heads. Their matching rings are both clearly visible in the shot, and the video fades to black, ending with the caption, “Happy holidays, from our family to yours.”

How to Write a Goddamn Check

I get it, you have a debit card. Everything’s electronic, checks are a thing of the past. And yet you still gotta write them. Sucks, I know, but now at least you won’t have to stare at each line blankly wondering what they’re for.

In case you’re someone born after let’s say 2000 or so and you never had to worry about money and never saw a check, I included a picture above for reference. I numbered it to correspond with each step so you can follow along.

1. This is where you write the date. Write it however you want, I don’t care. December. Dec. 12. Just write it down so we humans and the robots at the bank can understand it.

2. This is where you write the name of the person to whom you are giving the check. Don’t worry about getting their name exactly right (if you know him by Tim, you can write Tim instead of Timothy) but do try to spell it correctly. You should also learn how to spell people’s names because they’re going to see this and might give you a lecture on how you’ve known them five years and can’t even spell their name.

3. Write the amount here, in number form. Mind your decimals, because yeah, they’re required. This is how you know the difference between $10.00 and $1000.

4. Don’t worry, though, because there’s a safe guard. Write out the amount from #3 on the #4 line. BUT if the amounts on 3 and 4 don’t match, your check will be invalid. That means your electricity or your rent don’t get paid. (Also, side note: 40 isn’t spelled fourty.)

5. Considering how few checks get written these days, this line isn’t really necessary. It’s just to remind you what you paid for with this check. If you write one check a month for rent, I sure as hell hope you know where this money went. But if you want to prove you paid your rent that month, make sure to write “December Rent” here. This is actually more effective now with digital banking than it was when we had to balance check books. Who knew?

6. Sign your name here. This is the easiest part of the whole process; you’ve been practicing since preschool. Write down whatever name your account is under. On a real check, this is really easy, because your name will be in the upper left corner, in case you forgot it.

That’s it! Your check is written and now you can give it away to someone and in a few days (or whenever they get around to it), the money will come out of your bank. As a tip, though, remember to keep this in your budget until it’s processed, because you don’t want a $200 check sneaking up on you.

How to Find your Purpose in Life

1. Take time to ponder the important questions like: “What really matters most of all in life; what do I want to have achieved in the end; how do I want to feel when I look back, and review the kind of life that I have lived?”

3. Seek out people who inspire you to live well – and then consciously learn what you can from them.

4. Consciously monitor your progress. It is easy to slip back into unproductive habits. Hence, we need to be committed to sticking to our plan. If it helps, be accountsble to a friend, or at least write down your goals so you can check how you’re progressing.

5. Accept that struggles, disappointments and setbacks will always be part of your experience. There will be times when you are tempted to give up and stop trying … but choosing to keep going will lead you to your dreams.

How to write your book step 200

Building your world. 

It’s excellent to do your research for your novel. If you are writing a book with true facts or places,  then you have to be sure of what you are talking about.  If you are creating a world and a universe of your own, then you have to be sure about the details. Do your research, but don’t forget to keep your story alive within it. World building is great,  you can have all the details of a perfect setting,  but it won’t be much of a book without the story. Don’t bury your story in too many facts and details, but don’t ignore them either. Find balance. 

Your setting without your story is a pretty picture. Your story without your setting is incomplete. 

Write your book, and don’t forget that you have plenty of time to edit later, which is where you can add forgotten details or descriptions. World building is important, but the bones of your story need to be independently strong. 

You’ve got this.

Kent has routines. He’s naturally a superstitious guy, but nowhere close to being excessive by hockey standards, but something changed after the incident with Jack. He starts to have these little routines. His therapist said it was probably because he’s seeking some semblance of balance, which Kent thinks is a load of shit. So he cuts his peanut butter-Nutella sandwiches diagonally and never horizontally (who the hell cuts sandwiches horizontally?) So maybe he pets Kit no less than ten times before a game. So maybe when he wakes from another nightmare about finding Jack on the bathroom floor, he doesn’t go to sleep until he’s counted to ninety. It’s not a big deal.

He still waits for the fallout when Tater starts sleeping over more often, when he tries to find his sweatpants but all he finds, to his annoyance, are Tater’s socks and jeans made for giants. He wait for Tater to abandon him, or maybe not abandon him but still for the impending freak out looming like an eternal storm because Tater is not part of his routine.

But it doesn’t happen.

They make peanut butter Nutella sandwiches together, licking chocolate off their fingers and cutting their sandwiches diagonally. Kit curls into a ball and rests on Kent’s stomach while Kent uses Tater’s lap as a pillow while he reads some Russian classic, Dostoyevsky, probably, or one of those dead Russian literary greats whose names remind Kent of keyboard smashing (“Kenny, this is Eat, Pray, Love.” “Oh.”) on their couch like he’s lived there for ages, and not only every so often when their schedule happens to match up. And when Kent shoots up in bed, shaking from another bad dream, he feels Tater reach for him from his left, blindly, tiredly, and say “Shh, is dream. Shh.” And Tater kisses him on the jawline, alternating between sides, exactly 7 times, because “is lucky number. No more bad dreams.” Like it’s a routine.

When he kisses Kent tonight, he’s visibly tired, so he ends up mouthing at Kent’s jaw like he’s a fish gaping for water.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kent says. Tater’s lips are moving very gently along his skin, and it’s getting ticklish.

“Tired,” he says, and finishes his kisses with a real one, complete with an obnoxious smack. “There. 7 kisses. Eh. More or less. Good enough.”

“90’s a luckier number.”

“Mm.”

“Got me pretty far, you know. Have the trophies to prove it.”

“7 is better. More lucky.” Tater saves this into Kent’s hair. “90 I think is little bit ok.”

“Oh yeah? What do you know about luck?”

“Lots,” Tater says, rubbing Kent’s arm gently. “I’m lucky man.”

“How so?” Kent says quietly, his eyes nearly sliding shut again. “You don’t–“ He yawns. “You don’t have a Cup.”

“Not yet,” Tater agrees. “But have hockey. And Kent Parson. And Kit. And sandwiches cut in…” He gestures vaguely, his hands flapping gently like birds, like he can’t quite grasp the word, then says something in Russian, a slow, full rumble that Kent adores. “You know.” He waves his fingers again, mimicking a shape.

“Triangles?” Kent prompts, huffing a laugh in Tater’s throat.

“Hah! Yes. Triangle sandwiches. Most lucky shape, I think.”

“Okay,” Kent says, his heart so, so full, and snuggles back in to Tater’s arms. “If you’re so sure.”

“Always sure.”

i haven’t even thought about how Check, Please! will probably end with Bitty’s graduation like 93% of me is literally expecting to see the comic go all the way to Next Gen SMH ft. Bitty and Jack’s children touring the Haus and being like “Is it true that the attic is haunted and the ghosts touch your butt” and Bitty going like “Okay honey I know Uncle Ransom has a Ph. D. but not everything he says is true.”

The new frogs find Jack in the kitchen, with a baby on his hip, squinting at a cabinet that has apparently been re-filled with Sriracha bottles, and one of them nearly trips over his own feet and says, “Oh God I’ve been at the library too much I’m hallucinating Jack Zimmermann in my kitchen.” 

Jack: Oh, that’s me. Sorry, your captain let me in? I’m just looking, my husband and I used to live–”
Frog: (incoherent screaming)

How They Knew

Just a little bit about how the team found out on their own. 


“Jack has his own Lego?”

Lardo came into Bitty’s room looking for nail polish she left there but was easily distracted by the small toy. 

“Yup,” Bitty says brightly from his spot on the bed. “Whole team has them. Isn’t it cute?”

“Yeah, I want one. Where’d you buy it?”

“Oh.” Bitty presses his lips together and sits up. His book falls off his lap. “Uh, Jack gave that one to me but they might available in the Falconers store now.”

“He just gave this one to you?”

“Yeah?” Bitty forms it as a question and looks down at his hands that he’s wringing together. 

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Hello have some Patater before I must do homework :(

Two years ago, Kent Parson would probably have given Alexei Mashkov a handjob under dinner table at that fancy ass restaurant, if Mashkov hadn’t been holding his left hand over the table like a dork the entire time. When he came on to Alexei at the bar the other night, he was legitimately expecting a night of wild Russian sex (he didn’t know what that entailed exactly, but boy, was he hoping to find out). He was, however, not expecting Alexei “Call me Tater” to light up, punch in his phone number, and invite him out to dinner at a respectable location. He was not expecting the walk in the park afterwards, or Tater’s embarrassed, handsome laugh when they talked about everything from Kit Purrson to Tater’s grandmother. He was not expecting to be kissed under the lamplight like some lovestruck woman (or actually asked to be kissed, for that matter) in a black and white film, or to be kissed goodnight and left to his own devices at the door of his apartment.

(This has almost never happened in Kent’s dating history, so he didn’t what to do with himself for the rest of the night. He ended up watching three episodes of Parks and Rec while finishing the rest of the Rocky Road in the fridge.)

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Santa Cookies

Please, excuse any mistakes. I’m blind to them now. This was an effort to get back into writing because I’ve forgotten how.


Kara triple checked the list one last time. Her goal was to come home with each and every item, and only those items, so she could prove to Cat that, yes, she was capable of handling the responsibility of their family’s grocery shopping. Come home with groceries at a ratio of 4:1 in favor of cookies to actual groceries one time… It didn’t matter, she told herself as she matched the last item on her list to its pair in the cart. It only took five months for Cat to trust her again.

“Okay, that should be it.” Satisfied, Kara went to stuff the list in her coat pocket, but felt a small tug on her coat. She looked down into Carter’s worried face. “Hey, hey. Don’t worry, Little Man. Your mom won’t be mad this time.” She flipped the list around so the four year old could see. “Everything is checked off, and there’s no extra items in our cart,” she told him, but his worried look persisted.

Carter shuffled his feet and glanced down the aisle at the rows of cookies they had just passed. It had taken all her willpower to resist the temptation as each box and brand called to her so sweetly with each step she took. They should have just taken a detour down the toilet paper aisle, but Kara was a sucker for punishment.

“But… but what about cookies? For Santa?” he asked, pulling on his jacket’s strings. It was one of Carter’s nervous tells. Usually, it appeared when he asked for dessert after not finishing all of his vegetables at dinner. Cat often commented on how similar Kara and Carter’s nervous mannerisms were.

“Santa?” Kara hummed. “He does like cookies, doesn’t he?”

Carter smiled and bobbed his head up and down. “Uh-huh! A whole lot,” he exclaimed, holding his arms out from his sides. “This much! Almost as much as you!”

“THAT much?” Kara feigned shock and clutched her chest. “Are you sure? Because I love them lots.” He nodded his head again.

This was new for Kara. Her relationship with Cat had been in its infancy last year at Christmas, so she hadn’t been privy to their rituals, and as much as she was learning about the Grant family Christmas traditions this year, like the best time to buy a tree and the proper way to trim it – lights, then garland, then ornaments, then the tree topper – cookies for Santa hadn’t been mentioned. They weren’t on the list, either. It was Christmas Eve Eve, though, so surely that was a mistake. Right?

She looked down at Carter’s smiling face. She felt blessed to be a part of this little family, and she’d do anything for this little boy and his mother. Kara nodded. “We definitely need cookies for Santa!”

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listening to Corinne Bailey Rae and feeling Patater and kids i am too invested in Patater family and this stretch of a ship

Say that Alexei and Kent haven’t gone public with their relationship, because they’ve been pretty busy and they kinda just…forgot about it?? Like they’re pretty happy with each other, keeping their marriage private, and keeping hockey apart from their personal lives for the past couple of years, and yeah, they know they’ll have to get to it eventually since they were seriously thinking of adopting ever since they’d really fallen in love with this little boy who was so quiet when they first met him at the adoption agency, but held on to both Tater and Kent’s legs as he tried to lead them around, showing them his toys and drawings. The first ever sentence he said to Tater was “You’re so tall,” in this awestruck voice. And Kent would never admit to this, but he melts on the inside just watching Tater trying to fit himself into one of those tiny plastic chairs and draw a crooked looking airplane with this little boy. This little boy who would cling to Kent’s neck and say, “Goodbye, Mr. Parson” and call Tater “Mr. Potato.” They are just. So. In love. With this boy.  

So a few months later (they’d been visiting the adoption agency as regularly as they can, whenever their schedules would allow) when Kent goes to Alexei’s games he’s usually in a grey sweatshirt with the hoodie up, blending into the crowd somewhere in the middle. And during intermission, Kent gets a call; it’s from the agency. He plugs in his headphones and scoot past people to try and find a quieter place. Once he’s at the top of the stairs, he pauses, and nearly drops his phone. He runs back down, trying to avoid shoving people and this is not safe but he has to get to Tater–

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Danny Phantom AU Part 1.5 (aka What Eric Bittle Did Last Summer)

(Part 1 here)

Because I don’t have enough of this shit in my life 

Again: it’s, like, 2k of bullet points and stuff under the readmore

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Kent drops his bag by the front door on his way in, making his way into the kitchen. He scoops out the coffee grounds into a filter, adds water, presses the button. He grabs a protein bar from the cabinet he can barely reach above the oven, and shuffles through his apartment to his bedroom. He nudges the door open and kicks off his sneakers, glancing across the room to Kit settled comfortably on a pile of blankets. She stretches when she hears him enter, half awake and squinting at him in that way that cats so frequently do.

“Hey babe, what’s happening?” Kent mutters to Kit, taking a few steps to the bed before flopping down with a sigh.

Kit doesn’t say anything, because she’s a cat, so that makes sense.

“Practice was hell, none of the boys would listen to me, and Brenner was like, half an hour late. God, just because he’s in the pros he thinks he can show up whenever he wants!”

Kit doesn’t reply, but she nudges her nose under Kent’s arm.

“How was your day, though?” Kent asks, pulling Kit a little bit closer towards him, and she doesn’t protest. Kit meows softly. “I’m glad to hear it, babe.” He replies, and Kit purrs deeply.

Kit purrs, and Kent brushes his hand through her fur. He feels his eyes get a little bit itchy, and he regrets not taking a benadryl before he came home, but he can do that later.

“You’re a good listener,” Kent mumbles into the cat’s long grey fur, and slips into sleep.

You and I should crash
Into each other
And if we’re lucky
Not even the world will survive
I’ll spell your name
With blood dripping from bruised knuckles
You can spell my name
With oil dripping from wrecked cars
You almost bled to death
I was always meant to burn
Let’s meet in the middle
And fuck the world
—  90. Just fuck the world. (e.r.)
She had a low forehead, a dull grey eye, a vast pendulous nose, a huge mouth full of uneven teeth and a chin and jawbone qui n'en finissent pas… Now in this vast ugliness resides a most powerful beauty which, in a very few minutes, steals forth and charms the mind, so that you end, as I ended, in falling in love with her. Yes, behold me in love with this great horse-faced bluestocking.
—  Henry James, writing about George Eliot in a letter to his father.
(Source: Henry James: Selected Letters ed. Leon Edel)

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