Elden ring giant dad build

We're getting ready to start a new campaign, starting at level 5. We drew races out of a hat, and I got half-hill giant. (+4 Str, +4 Con, -4 Int, -2 Cha, size Med with Powerful Build, Rock throwing and Rock catching, low light vision, +4 nat AC, +4 racial bonus to Survival, increase size to Large at 6 HD (with all associated bonuses and penalties) , +1 level adjustment) 20 point buy, and 10,500 gp. We have no idea what the campaign is yet.
The temptation is to go Two Handed Fighter, with throwing rocks as his ranged weapon, but that seems extremely predictable. What would you suggest that's functional, works in a party, and works both in and out of combat?
Yes, my friends and I do weird stuff like pulling races / classes out of a hat because we've been playing for 30 years. It's occasionally fun to be weird.

Hi, so I'm trying to find out what game me and my siblings had when we were kids. We always called it the "Square game" because when it loaded up, you could choose from a variety of games and they were organized in a cube/square shape. Now this was a GAMECUBE and we were playing with this in the 2000s/early 2010s, and the games were my dads from the 90s/early 00s, so think very retro. Not no 3d, realistic, mk11 type of visuals lol.
I distinctly remember four games we played, so I'll describe those:

1. Mortal Kombat For this mk game, we could make our own character, like top to bottom design them and their powers and give them names and play with them. It was awesome. Mileena, kitana, and sindel were on there (i remember those bc those are who i usually played with)
   
2. A game with beasts In this game, we could have I believe it was up to 2 or 3 beasts. One was definitely an ape. They would go through a town and have to smash the buildings down. They could grab peeople out the buildings and eat them, they could eat like poison and spit it out, and they could eat something that leveled them up and gave them the ability to fly.
   
3. A game with multiple missions So in this game, you were going in and out of buildings doing whatever the mission was, I can't quite remember each individual task. But when you got back on the street, you had to collect money or something and fight some people. And we always hoped the pink car rolled by because if it did, you could jump inside it and drive and it was a good thing, but I can't remember why.
   
4. A fighting game I don't know how to go into further detail about this. It was just a fighting game and up to 3 people (i think) could play at one time, and you just had to try to kill or beat as many people as possible. If one person died, the game didn't end, it just continued with the surviving chatacters. At the end, you got a whole bunch of money (i think??). There was some kind of big reward. It's like you beat the people and then collect something from their fallen bodies, similar to how in GTA, you get stacks of money from people you kill. The details for this one are very hazy, but I wanted to include since I vaguely remember.
   

Any of the other games, we didn't play that often, mainly those four, so that's why I wanted to describe them!

Greetings Tarnished!
This is the place to ask any questions you may have about Elden Ring. This includes obscure detail questions, "newbie" advice questions, build questions, boss advice questions, and what have you.
Well written, constructive criticism is fine but please avoid ranting about aspects of the game you just don’t like. This includes “so and so boss is stupid and too difficult.”
If you are interested in the game but don’t own it yet, please don’t post “should I buy this game?” or “Is this game worth it?”. If you have played other FromSoftware games and enjoyed them, the answer is yes. If you haven’t, just do a little research! These games are difficult, and sometimes frustrating, and not everyone is going to enjoy them. And that’s okay!
Lastly, be friendly! We are all here because we are interested in the same game! Please treat your fellow players with respect.
Here are a few helpful links:
Our Discord which has an awesome Helper Request System!
Elden Ring Wiki
Elden Ring Map
Most Recent Patch Notes (1.06)
/BeyondTheFog for co-op help!
/PatchesEmporium for item trading!
/EldenRingBuilds for builds and build help!
Our community password is straydmn
Rise, Tarnished!

I am not the Original Poster. That is u/ThrowRABunkerMan. He posted in AmItheAsshole
Mood Spoiler: Hopeful
Original Post: May 22, 2023
My grandfather was an incredibly talented man who also suffered from paranoid schizophrenia, and he was convinced that the nuclear apocalypse was going to end the human race at some point, so he built his own bunker and then buried the entrance because he was convinced that both the KGB and the CIA were watching him and wanted to keep the bunker a secret. Yes, he was a crazy man. My dad inherited his house but never lived there, so when I had my first child in 2018 and got married in 2019, my dad made me an incredibly generous offer for the house. I bought computers that were more expensive than the house.
The bunker became kind of an urban legend, mostly because my old grandpa used to tell a lot of crazy stories, but out of curiosity I went looking for it and found the entrance. THE OLD MAN REALLY DID IT!
So, thanks to being stuck at home during the uneventful 2020 and 2021, I started remodeling the bunker to look less like a Fallout Vault and more like my own man cave. Everyone loves it, especially the kids (My nephews and friend's children). So the house is decorated to my wife's taste, while I can do whatever I want in the bunker, play gaming, fix computers, set up a whole home server, work from home, etc.
However, lately she has been complaining about me being distant and spending a lot of time there and less time with her and our child. She is pregnant again, so she said she was worried, but I just promised to spend more time at the house. After a few weeks that wasn't enough for her and she accuses me of abandoning her.
I'm asking for judgment here because I'm trying to be there for my family, but this bunker feels like it's the only thing that's really mine and where I can actually have a break, but my wife has said she's going to seal the entrance otherwise I might miss the birth and not even notice. Should I just move all my stuff into the house and forget about it? Am I really being neglectful, or is this just her pregnancy hormones talking?
To be clear, I do help with the house chores and spend time with my son when I'm there and I have an intercom in the bunker so my wife can just call me if she needs anything and I'll go up there immediately.
ETA: Everybody is asking me this. I spends at least 6 hours at the Bunker on week days. I work there so I think is reasonable, and at least 4 hours on weekends. But yeah, ur right, I need to make arrangements.
I forgot to mention: Our son goes to kindergarten so my wife has time to work and sometimes be alone at home.
ETA 2: Guys, I swear I'm taking notes. I'm just trying to understand what I should change about myself and how to talk to my wife about this. Remember that I spend at least 6 hours WORKING, not scratching my belly. My manager allows me to log out early if I finished my work for the day but can't log out if I've been working for less than 6 hours. I also spend time talking with my team on Slack.
ETA 3: So many of you are picking up on my language. I would appreciate if you explain calmly why my choice of words is so bad so I dont fuck things up when I speak to my wife.
Mini-Update: I had a talk with my wife. Overall I think it went well since she told me everything, but there are so many raw emotions right now and I was sent to sleep in the spare room. She had no mercy on me but we needed this talk so we can have a clear path for our future together.
Relevant Comments:
More about the bunker:
"The entrance is like 900 feet away from the house. There was also a tunnel connecting it to a hidden place on the basement but it collapsed I don't know how many years ago, so we sealed it."
"Yes, the city inspected it and is ok. I didn't bother with the tunnel because it seems to be badly built and there was a risk that could keep collapsing if we tried to fix it. We also had to add more columns and reinforcements to make sure it won't collapse. I was recommended to have yearly inspections."
Clarify- you say you work AND game? Are you doing those at the same time?
"No bro, when I mean working, I mean having a fight with my IDE until shit works, and when I mean networking, I mean talking to my team on Slack. Speaking to your team is as important as doing the work itself. Also can be spent reading doc. Then after finishing, I can game for like an hour before going up."
"Yeah, I see how bad it sounds. Year sometimes can be 2 hours, but hear me out. I usually don't play online games, but single player games with a linear story and clear objectives. So is easy to do the "Till next check point" (Tho modern games can be saved at whatever point) and log out.Yeah I think I should stop doing this or do it inside the house."
Where did you work before you had the bunker?
"Before getting married I just went to the office everyday but had my main computer in the bedroom. When we first moved into this house, I got a room to place my computers. During this time yes, had more contact with my family but it was harder to make it feel like an "office"."
OOP is resoundingly voted YTA
UPDATE (Same Post): Most likely May 23 (next day, based on comments and web archive)
I talked to my wife. I asked her to be very honest and I promised to let her talk until she was done. First of all, it's not just about the time I spend in the bunker now, but she felt completely alone taking care of our little baby while I spent almost all of my free time remodeling and building and when it's done I'm just down there. I explained to her that it was basically my office now, she understood and apologized and then continued to explain herself. I'll just quote the gist of it because we talked for hours.
"I haven't been my own person since my first pregnancy, I feel like a doll, every day is the same, I'm bored, frustrated, angry, just when I thought it might get easier, I get pregnant again, how many years until I can just be me again".
"You have a big hole underground where you can play and not care about the word, I haven't read a book in years, I can't read 2 pages without falling asleep"
"Yes, the house looks nice, but what about a place for me? I don't want a Kindle, I don't want audiobooks to listen to while cooking or driving, I want a PHYSICAL collection, where do I put them? When was the last time I went to a library? When was the last time you gave me something made of real paper?"
(For context, she's always been a bookworm, loves books and the aesthetic of having shelves full of them, but it's true she hasn't read in a long time, I gave her a Kindle for our anniversary and I pay for her audible subscription, I thought those would be good substitutes, but they're not)
"Stop thinking that a screen can solve everything, I need you with me, I married a human, not a sim, download some emotions.
"I want to write again, but how? When? Will you read my first crappy drafts or just take a look and say it's okay?"
"Can you have our son in the bunker for a few hours a day? He's bored here, he won't be bored down there."
It was hard, but I needed it, and she needed it.
I'm going to move my gaming consoles into the house and see if I can set up SteamLink to stream games from my gaming PC to our TV or something. We agreed to go on dates outside the house, and I'm going to take on more responsibilities around the house.
I want to address something. I was told by my parents that I had to "help" with the house, "help" with the kids. But then I come to Reddit and it turns out that "helping" is a problem.
You talked a lot about mental load, this was the first time I heard about it, who was supposed to teach me that? "Helping", not having addictions, being loyal and always being there seemed like what every good husband does, now I realize it was just the bare minimum. I feel like I have to relearn everything, and it's hard to realize that I'm a bad husband and father for thinking that the bare minimum was all I needed to have a long and happy marriage. I became a reddit villain by being clueless, but I accept that.
I'll see you again soon, thank you all.
Update Post: May 29, 2023 (1 week from OG post)
Hey guys, I hope you remember me. I'm the bunker guy. Not much has happened in terms of big events, but things are getting better.
After the talk I had with my wife, I started taking more responsibility around the house. I've been taking on as much as I can so she can rest. Except I'm a terrible cook, so I have some frozen and instant food that I just heat up and call it done, but I've been taking our son to school and picking him up, spending more time with him in the Bunker (he loves it), I've been gaming in the living room because I moved my consoles there and successfully set up Steam Link. So overall, my wife is sleeping more and has a few hours to just do nothing. She is much calmer now. She said she loved being able to just chill on the couch and not have to worry about anything. This pregnancy has been rough on her emotions so I'm glad to see her like this.
She also spent some time with me in the bunker, doing her own work, sleeping, or just hanging out. She even got The Sims and started playing again. The first thing she did was build an almost exact replica of our house. We also did a lot of cuddling down there and even had sex. I have to admit, I'm loving every second of this new dynamic, even though there are still a few things that need to be changed and tweaked.
I offered to build a room for her in the bunker, but she says it gets a little claustrophobic after a few hours and she likes sunlight, so that was declined. Then I suggested building a shed for her. She said nothing, but after a few hours showed me a shed she built on The Sims, a hexagonal brick structure with a U-shaped couch in the middle, a door, and bookshelves on every wall, connected to the main house by a fenced-in path. I think it looks nice, so I will send it this week to the same people who helped me rebuild this bunker so they can convert it to CAD.
Nothing is perfect yet, I have a lot to learn and haven't started couples counseling yet (that will be in about 2 weeks) but I am trying my best, I have been an idiot for way too long and have a lot to make up for. Thank you all again.

It's universally known that the USA possesses an extremely car-centric society. The only truly pedestrian friendly city in the USA is New York City with Washington D.C coming in at a close second. The vast majority of urban centers in this country are accessible only to car and Victorville is a great example of this shitty system. Sure, we have sidewalks but they usually have dead-ends, are too narrow or are simply poorly maintained.
It especially sucks that as Victorville is expanding, the city council isn't doing anything to make the city more appealing. It's just more roads, more lanes, more carwashes, more gas stations and gigantic parking lots and shopping centers. With nearly all of the historic buildings being demolished, the city will basically just be a giant outdoor mall by 2030. The Electrical Grid also cannot keep up with the cities growth so rolling blackouts have become increasingly common in the past 3-4 years.
I really wish Victorville was a walkable city, it'd be cool if I could just bike to work everyday, it'd give me some much needed exercise, allow me to save gas money and so much more.

Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/ReddXReads/comments/13lfqkw/vulturebeard_the_legbeard_that_ruined_roomies_fo Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/ReddXReads/comments/13u79ht/vulturebeard_bad_roomies_part_2/
^{Hi again, it’s the bunny. I’ve just barely stepped into Reddx’s discord, but Ezekial is still posting this saga for me so thank you, Z.}
Trigger warning: This will deal with a lot of aspects relating to child neglect (and possible abuse) and Kid being ignored or taking the brunt of Vulture’s anger. Sorry for the spoiler as well, but I think we saw this coming, too (especially if you’ve seen Z talk in the discord). Don’t push yourself to read if you’re not okay with these concepts.
The Cast List
Bunny (author): 33, female. Recovering lifelong doormat slowly building a spine. Neuro spicy gym rat with major depressive disorder, general anxiety disorder, and most recently diagnosed with ADHD. Unfortunately, very familiar with surviving trauma.
Z (poster): My partner. 31, nonbinary (they/them), also neuro spicy with depression, anxiety, OCD, BPD, autism, and also familiar with lifelong trauma.
One Liner Beard (OLB): 33, male, neuro spicy with ADHD and depression. His nickname here comes from the fact that in messenger, he usually has one-word replies like “oof” or “mmm” as an acknowledgement he had seen the message but has nothing further to contribute.
VultureBeard (Vulture): 30, female, neuro spicy and disabled with multiple conditions. She has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, POTs (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome), autism, depression, anxiety, chronic migraines, but also possibly a list of things that may or may not be real. The star of this unfortunate circus. Her name comes from how she always pops up when I’m cooking food, complaining about how hungry is and how she’s unable to cook.
Kid: 3. Female. OLB and Vulture’s child. Likely neuro spicy like we all are, but she’s also only 3 years old. Slightly speech delayed and not potty trained yet.
Take a deep breath. Now take another one. This chapter will likely make you mad.
​
Chapter Three: “Do You Want Bologna?” Or, Vulture as a Parent
Imagine this: it’s eight in the morning and you’re cozy in bed. The blankets are warm, and you hit snooze on your early alarm so you can sleep in before you have to get up.
Your peace is shattered by a toddler crying, followed by the screech of, “WHAT!” or “GET DOWN FROM THERE!”
Yeah, welcome to The Life.
Vulture has a messed-up sleep schedule. It’s partially because Kid doesn’t sleep soundly through the night, but it’s also because Vulture’s sleep schedule is essentially flipped backwards to where she stays up all night and wants to sleep during the day. Vulture says it’s “insomnia” but sometimes she’s up late gaming with Discord friends or watching anime. I couldn’t tell you which issue it was day by day. Sometimes if I go to sleep late, I hear Kid crying from her room because she had night terrors or had potty troubles. Sometimes I hear OLB and Vulture awake shuffling between rooms in the hallway.
Because of this, Vulture and mornings don’t mesh well. Kid is usually put in her room for bedtime around 7 PM, usually with her tablet to keep her company and either give her something to watch, or to play white noises for sleeping. Kid does not have a real sleep routine as well. She’s just kind of shut in her room. Sometimes there’s a bit of a routine like winding her down with chocolate milk and giving her a countdown of “okay, ten more minutes and then bedtime,” but for the most part she just does not want to go to bed. Bedtimes are met with a lot of crying, and the beardy parents telling us that she will be upset for a bit.
Kid has an attempted daily schedule, if Vulture is awake enough. Theoretically:

• 9 AM: Awake and watching TV while Vulture is on her computer in the same room
• 1 PM: In the room for naptime (but it’s usually play time)
• 4 PM: Free to run around while dad is home
• 7 PM: Bedtime (but she’s usually playing then too)

But a lot of times, that schedule gets thrown out of whack depending on if Vulture gets up on time. When she sleeps in, Kid is in her room from 7 PM to 1 PM. Sometimes Kid will make a fuss to make Vulture get up earlier than 1 PM, and Vulture will be grouchy because she “went to bed at four in the morning” because she either had “insomnia” (read: gaming or watching anime) or because Kid wouldn’t sleep. Or Vulture will be up to take care of Kid and make sure she is in a clean pull up and has eaten. Then she shuts her into her room and goes back to sleep. Sometimes if Kid is too much of a handful, Vulture will say, “It’s 12:45. That’s close enough to 1.” And put Kid in the room because that’s close enough to nap time.
Sometimes because Kid won’t go to sleep, she’ll still be up at 9 PM and that breaks her schedule too. A lot of times, it works out that OLB is the “fun” parent while he’s home, because he’s up at 4 AM to leave for work by 6 and doesn’t come home until between 4 or 5 PM. Then she spends time with him while he’s home.
There’s also a child lock on the inside of Kid’s bedroom door, those doorknob covers that you have to push and turn, so she can’t open the door and wander around unsupervised. I was originally the one who suggested the child lock, back when she was younger, and they didn’t have the secondary child gate they currently do now that’s stored in the garage. Since then, with her potty training and Vulture’s likewise awful sleep schedule, I’ve suggested more than once that they take the door handle blocker off and put up the second kiddy gate they have to block the living room and kitchen off, so she can get up if she needs to, but the child lock still remains. At most, she would have access to their room, since it doesn’t have a kiddy lock on it. Me and Z’s bedroom has a child lock on it, as well as the bathroom door. She could freely wander between her room and her parents’ room that way.
I hear Kid playing in her room by herself a lot, squealing and having fun and playing pretend. Or moving her furniture around. And no, the furniture is not secured to the wall, so she can move her bed around the room. I’ve also told OLB and Vulture they needed to make sure she can’t topple it and chain it to the wall but, yeah, that hasn’t been dealt with.
When Kid really needs attention, she will cry and wail. And I mean wail. The two beardy parents don’t have baby monitors or anything that can hear into her bedroom, so she has to wail loudly enough to be heard through the walls. Luckily, the house has thin walls. Because of her early bedtime, she’s often awake early in the morning. Sometimes Vulture will respond, sometimes Vulture won’t wake up until around noon.
Yes, that means Kid is by herself a lot.
Kid is a bubbly three-year-old. She loves it when Z and I give her attention, which admittingly isn’t as often as I would like to give her. With my own Depression™, I spend so much time fighting to just gather enough mental energy to be a productive human. Despite me wandering in a mental fog, Kid remains a bright spot in my day. I met her when she was a fresh baby bean just barely out of the hospital, and I immediately fell in love. Since then, I’ve seen her grow almost her whole life, except for when they were all in north Texas. She has blue eyes and brown hair that will curl on its own. She loves dinosaurs, Baby Shark, Octonauts, and occasionally whatever anime the parents are watching. Don’t ask me how many times I’ve heard the Baby Shark song. I don’t want it stuck in my head for another solid week.
She used to watch a lot of Ms. Rachel’s Songs For Little videos, because originally Vulture wanted Kid to learn sign language to help communicate. I’ve rarely seen Vulture attempt to upkeep the sign language lessons. She did at one point. I think after Kid started becoming more vocal, the idea was dropped. I have heard some of the familiar videos so often that even I learned the kid’s songs, but I guess that’s also part of the collateral when dealing with kid’s media.
Kid usually exists in a half-dressed state, usually just wearing a pull up and that’s it. Unfortunately, because Vulture is so hard on her tangles when she tries to brush her hair, Kid doesn’t like hair care and will fight being brushed. Her hair used to exist in a perpetual state of being matted with at least one major knot, until Vulture’s mom ended up giving her a bath and getting her to stay still enough to endure the brushing, even with the wailing of a protesting Kid going strong. Her hair was then cut to make it more manageable, and strangely, that fixed a lot of the matting problems.
Kid is let out of her room when Vulture wakes up, usually needing a diaper change. At three years old, Kid is not potty trained yet. Just from what I’ve heard from my bedroom, it sounds like OLB and Vulture are finally starting to step up on potty training, but it’s been an uphill fight. I know a few of my other parent friends have had an extremely hard time potty training their kid. I’m not a parent, so I don’t actually know how challenging it can be. I do know though that it shouldn’t sound like the toilet is some kind of punishment for peeing in her cloth panties that they’re trying to switch her to. Or, that they try to get her to sit on the toilet when she has no interest in it and she ends up throwing a tantrum. Unfortunately, without much context, that’s how some bathroom trips sound.
Kid wears pull-ups to bed and the cloth underwear during the day, or sometimes just pull-ups. They’re trying to teach her how to recognize when her body has the potty urge, which she still doesn’t quite get right now. She has literally peed on the tile floor through her cloth undies. Vulture messaged the house chat once saying, “Kid just lifted her leg while in the rolling chair and peed all over the floor.”
You know. Like a dog.
With the potty-training trouble and Kid only sometimes in pull-ups that can contain her mess, Z and I don’t let her into our room as often as we’d like to, because she doesn’t recognize when she has to go. It sucks, because Kid adores spending time with us and our room has cool animals, like my retired psychiatric service dog and our three ferrets. She loves the ferrets. But if we spend time out in the living room with everyone, Z’s patience tends to have a shorter fuse because they can’t stand Vulture (that’s also another tale I have). We’re also stuck out in the general mess of the living room if we are out there with her. It’s either the general mess that toddlers make, spilled food, and general filth. The best times we’ve had spending time with Kid is just chilling in our room as she ooh’s and ahh’s over the ferrets or watches TV with us. Z and I quote SpongeBob line by line daily, and she has watched some of the show with us.
I feel awful about shutting Kid out so much, when I see the way Vulture interacts with her. On Vulture’s bad days (if you read the previous post, that’s almost every day), she acts like Kid is a chore. She will snap at Kid, act like Kid is choosing to act out of maliciousness and make “tired mom” jokes that sound like she just flat out doesn’t like Kid. When I had liquor in the fridge, Vulture would ask if she could take a shot because, “I need it. She’s trying me today.”
Some choice quotes talking down about the kid:
“I’m being hard on her because she’s not using her words. Like I know she can. She just doesn’t want to.” This was what Vulture said to me after Kid kept trying to get her attention and wouldn’t explain what she wanted. Kid was just making noises at her and getting frustrated. Vulture full on shouted, “WHAT!” at her, then turned to me to try and explain why she shouted.
“This is the bad part about being a mom. She’s not letting me do anything right now.” This was said after Vulture cleaned her desk and was attempting to watch YouTube videos and play her Switch.
On her good days, Vulture will be that kind of smiling parent that does some art activities and engages with Kid in a way that’s more than just screaming. They color together. She offers Kid choices so Kid can have some control over what happens in her day, like, “Do you want bologna or fruit?” It has helped Kid become more vocal and even though she’s still speech delayed, she talks more and has a bigger vocabulary.
The house has a different atmosphere when OLB is home, compared to when Vulture is just watching Kid by herself. I’ve told OLB that I think Vulture is burned out. Her entire life is her disabilities and being a mom. She only has friends on Discord really, and OLB had to push her to start talking to them again just so she had someone to socialize with.
Old Doormat me pitied her at the beginning of our friendship. I tried being her friend. I tried to include her and Kid in a lot of things. My own mental health, my daily obligations, my gym schedule, and just me changing rapidly since 2020 altered my life, exhausted me, and left me unable to deal with Vulture talking a million miles a minute, info dumping about whatever she’s currently doing every single time I run into her. And as I shed my doormat self, I started seeing her clearly.
I told OLB once that if Vulture is truly burned out or if her health problems are causing that much trouble, Kid might need daycare or another caregiver to help. OLB is aware but can’t afford other care. He’s working for bottom of the barrel pay at a full-time job. Most days after work, he just wants to zone out to his own games in front of his computer but has to step in and parent both Vulture and Kid, because Vulture often needs help organizing through executive dysfunction to do something. Or, because she will call for his help.
There was one time where Kid climbed on top of her, and Vulture called for OLB – who was in the same room – to pull Kid off her. There are quite a few times where Vulture calls for OLB for help with Kid, and I’ve heard him say that he’s also busy too. One time he asked, “Why are you asking for my help when you’re closer?”
Z has offered to look after Kid at times because they don’t mind Kid being in our room or just hanging out. She has hung out with us when I also have the mental energy and the room is clean enough to accommodate a toddler crawling on everything. The problem that we both see is that our stepping in isn’t a full solution. She can spend a few hours with us, but ultimately after, she goes right back to Vulture and OLB. Vulture is the one who acts like being a parent is a chore.
There are times that OLB has snapped at Vulture for the way she gets on to Kid, emphasizing, “She’s just a child.” Their parenting styles are like looking at two entirely different planets and trying to find similarities. OLB is very much into the gentle parenting side of Tik Tok. He talks about breaking generational trauma. He’s usually gentle with Kid, explaining why she’s not allowed to do things like stand on top of her highchair or why I’m too busy to play with her as I’m zooming around the house in and out repeatedly some days. He has talked her down from meltdowns and keeps his voice even to where she can’t bounce off him to amplify her tantrums. He spanks her, but as a last resort, and then also talks to her about why the punishment happened. She will wail through everything and likely isn’t fully listening, but ultimately, I see him trying to work with her. He very rarely loses his actual temper with her.
Vulture is the total opposite. She yells at Kid, spanks with no hesitation and doesn’t explain why. One of Kid’s favorite games to play is “Block the door” when I’m trying to get through the house. She will block my bedroom door, cling to me, then circle around me as Vulture or OLB tries to distract her or lure her away by asking “do you want chocolate” or some other treat. Sometimes Kid just likes to play ring-around-the-rosie around my legs, as her parents try to grab her. I try to make it fun and seem like I’m not mad at her, because I’m never actually mad at her for blocking my way. Usually, I’m just in the middle of some arbitrary task or running an errand or coming back from the gym with my one remaining brain cell barely hanging on for dear life. I try to engage with her and play it off as a game because she’s not actually doing anything wrong.
Vulture has lured her away with chocolate and treats, with offers of food, with trying to get her to pick a show to watch. If that fails, she will come and fetch Kid by hand. One time involved yanking her physically off me and spanking her on the bare bottom because Kid was happy playing a game instead of listening.
The bare bottom is a thing, too. Because Kid used to live in soiled diapers for much longer than she was supposed to, she had constant diaper rash that she had to see the doctor for sometimes. She also didn’t want OLB or Vulture to change her diapers and would scream when it was diaper change time. I don’t blame her. The diaper rash hurt, and Vulture wasn’t exactly gentle with changing. Kid bled sometimes with the changings. So now, sometimes Kid will be dressed like Donald Duck in only a top to air out her bottom. Or because now, with the cloth undies, she will pee straight through them, and they just let her air out after.
Kid always smells a bit like pee. So does her room. And her bedding. After I pointed out that her bedding straight out of the dryer smelled like urine, OLB went about cleaning the washing machine with a machine cleaner, and bought scent beads to help cut the smell, after I told him that a little vinegar in the wash load will cut the smells down. Now her bedding doesn’t smell so much like urine, but it’s still there.
Her bedroom frequently smells like a public bathroom. It always looks like her bedroom has been turned upside down, with toys everywhere, her bed pushed to the middle of the room, the mattress on the floor. Books she was given were shredded, even the cardboard ones. There was straight up garbage left in her room because she was given food to eat there that had wrappers. It usually takes Vulture a full day of cleaning to get the room organized when she had the energy to do it, but she usually sanitizes with just a baby wipe, if she does at all. Maybe a pet cleaner sometimes.
There was one time where I was letting the dogs outside and I stepped in a puddle on the tile floor. That was when I realized that it was a pee puddle and Kid’s cloth underwear was dripping. I asked Vulture to clean the puddle up. When she asked to use my steam mop, she didn’t clean the cloth pad after, so when I turned the mop on next, it smelled like hot, steamed urine. I had to clean the mop pad off myself and rinse the pee out of it. When Kid again peed in front of the TV in her cloth undies, I told OLB that if they’re going to use my steam mop to make sure that the mop pad is rinsed off or it will smell like pee the next time it’s used, but he said he was just going to use his mop and bucket. Thankfully.
Because of the diet that OLB and Vulture has, Kid also eats like them. She gets a lot of macaroni, a lot of random odds and ends like pieces of bread, baggies of cheerios, sometimes fruit and vegetables. Lots of chicken nuggets and frozen instant food. Occasionally, Kid will have an interest in vegetables she sees us cook with or that she’s never had. Like once she insisted that she wanted to eat canned peas, until she tasted them. She chewed on a lettuce leaf and put it down, then asked for another one because she wanted to eat something, and it looked tasty to her.
The two halves of the household make separate foods now and keep out of each other’s food, but sometimes Vulture will give Kid some of the food I cooked because Kid saw my spaghetti noodles in a bowl and insisted on having them by way of tantrum. Instead of asking me if it’s okay (which obviously, I’d say yes, Kid can have some), Vulture just gave her my food and then told me after. Maybe I’m just projecting my own frustration, but it feels like Vulture uses Kid as a shield sometimes, to get food. Unless I have a specific purpose for food like what I put in my meal prep containers, I wouldn’t say no to Kid.
Kid’s diet makes me worried for her as she grows up. OLB is big and tall, over 6 feet tall and over 300lbs. They aren’t an active family at all. Kid drinks soda when they get fast food. She eats as much processed food as Vulture. Right now, she’s growing like a weed and is tall and actually has some power in her tiny limbs, which is most noticeable when she climbs you like a ladder, but her parents are gamers that just sit around. Her own screen time is almost as lengthy as theirs is.
I worry about Kid, constantly. Z does too. We have theorized calling CPS, or trying to adopt her, or just getting her away from Vulture. We have thrown around ideas about talking to OLB and convincing him that Vulture isn’t a good person for Kid. A lot of it has stayed in theory because the anxious part of me is still afraid to make life-altering waves like that. I second-guess and gaslight myself into realizing how bad things are, but then telling myself, maybe I’m just blowing it out of proportion. Maybe it's just something they have to handle. Maybe it’s something a first-time parent needs to learn. Maybe Vulture just isn’t feeling good that day. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
It’s a leftover of the doormat I used to be, and I know that. The tiny fragment of anxiety that tells me I’m blowing things up into too big a deal. The tiny fragment that escaped a toxic marriage and just wants peace after arguing every single day. The side that hates confrontation.
Maybe I’m just a plain ol’ coward. I don’t know yet. I just know my patience is running thinner with every passing day.
I don’t think I could convince OLB to dump Vulture. From what I’ve seen on the surface, they’re not openly affectionate. Vulture complains all the time that OLB doesn’t give her any physical affection, and she (unfortunately) tells me when they’re intimate, which doesn’t sound often. They almost look like they could be friends that are co-parenting. She calls him her husband when they’re out in public, and OLB has stated that he doesn’t want anything to happen to her, because he doesn’t want a single parent. I assume at the very least that he does love her, even though he sounds exhausted all the time. Z and I wonder if maybe he feels trapped.
OLB is good at asking for help if he needs it, although he hates being a burden to others. He will speak up if Vulture needs a ride to a doctor’s office, and he forgot to leave the car seat at home. I’ve driven to his work to pick it up after he messaged me asking if I could. They ask his family to babysit Kid if they want to go out and just have a good date or see a movie together. They are clearly capable of asking for help.
This is just an acceptable standard for both, or at least that’s the way it seems to me. Sometimes, I don’t truly know if OLB is aware of what Vulture does while he’s at work. He didn’t know that she used his 11-year-old dog as a vacuum cleaner to clean up spilled table scraps until I pointed it out and then he pieced together why his dog wasn’t losing weight on a reduced kibble diet. Sometimes I have pointed out things to him that he might not notice in the house chat.
I started keeping a log in Google Docs about things I notice, and Z and I talk about it in discord, so it’s not heard by ears that are too close to our bedroom. The log started helping me see that I’m not just blowing out of proportion and that in turn helped me come here to reddit. As a former doormat in recovery, I still have to tell myself that it’s okay to realize that something is wrong, and that I may need help getting my voice to speak up.
I haven’t worked since 2017, when my mental health took a sharp nosedive. Z is currently looking for work. Both of us are home all day exposed to Vulture and how she treats Kid. With my own daily tasks, errands, struggling with mental health, there’s still a side of me that berates me that I need to be taking care of Kid. Getting her up, making sure she eats. Pestering Vulture to get up. This is also where I tangle with the former doormat that still lives in me, because one, I don’t want to enable Vulture to get even worse. With someone taking the burden off of her, that gives her more free time to just sit back and game. It isn’t my job to make sure that Vulture is a good parent, yet somehow, I feel like it’s also my fault that she’s as bad as she is while I sit by the wayside and just talk about her behind her back. There are times where I have pestered OLB through discord about Kid crying, or how Kid is trying to beat the door down, or asking if Vulture is up for the day because I haven’t seen her up at three in the afternoon.
I started speaking up when I noticed something that’s off. I call this the “cheese incident.” We had a block of cheese that was cut in the wrapper and not in anything else, so the exposed end got all hard and inedible. I cut it off and threw it away. Vulture made her way into the kitchen because Kid saw me cutting cheese and wanted some.
Vulture: Who threw away that cheese?
(SHE PICKS IT UP OUT OF THE TRASH CAN)
Me: Yeah, it’s got that hard bit
Vulture: So? I know someone who will eat it.
(She calls Kid over)
Me: But it was in the trash.
Vulture: It’s okay, I cut off the part that was touching the trash.
Me: Dude, that’s fucked up.
Vulture: (hesitating now) Should I not?
Me: That’s probably going to make her sick again.
(Kid has been sick back-to-back at this point)
Vulture: Okay, then I won’t.
(To this day, I don’t know if she threw the cheese away or ate it herself, and I’m afraid to ask)
That was the point where I started pointing out that what she’s doing is problematic. It’s a slow process, but it’s helped me put the doormat side of me away again. I’ve explained to Vulture that Kid isn’t crying to be malicious, she just can’t express what she wants. Especially with Kid’s speech delay! Kid gets frustrated fast when adults don’t understand her, and the wailing begins. There’s no maliciousness behind it, just frustration. Or how Kid doesn’t like being told “no” because she doesn’t always understand why. Strangely, every time I call something out, she doesn’t really have much of a fight against it.
But why am I having to say it in the first place?
There’s little things that just rub me the wrong way in how they interact. Sometimes Vulture will call Kid over in the same way you’d call a dog. Repeatedly. Sometimes Vulture, in a state of migraine or other illness-related grouchiness will scream at her “Leave me alone!” and OLB will have to fetch Kid. One time, Z told me that Vulture outright mocked her crying by making her own crying noise.
What’s awful to watch in person is that when Vulture’s mom or siblings are over, Vulture is suddenly a doting mom who isn’t perpetually exhausted or loudly complaining about how her “everything” hurts. She talks in an overly sweet voice to Kid. It unsettles me with how two-faced it seems. OLB, Vulture, and Kid go have dinner with OLB’s family every Sunday evening, and I can’t help but wonder how two-faced she is there, as well. Some of OLB’s family doesn’t like Vulture to begin with.
Slowly, I am losing patience at how Vulture behaves, especially with the Kid. I had to un-gaslight myself, start logging her behavior, and talk to other people to really see it for what it was. I told multiple friends about it and we all generally have the same consensus that Vulture is just an unfit parent. If her chronic illnesses are truly interfering with her life that much, she shouldn’t be the majority caregiver through the day. But it’s not like OLB would be able to work from home or be the stay-at-home parent. In a perfect world, I would be able to help more as well, but I’m barely the “fun” aunt. I’m barely equipped to help care for a three-year-old. Hell, most days I’m barely an actual person.
Kid deserves better.
Bottom line, Kid deserves better than what this house can give. I am upset with myself over my lack of action, but the logs have only been growing bigger. Every day, the doormat dies a little more.
Vulture herself though, will likely always be a side show. One thing that Z pointed out to me was that, as the doormat I used to be, I would give everything to help someone even when I was mentally exhausted. I enmeshed myself too much into the lives of my friends because I loved making them happy and making their lives easier. It’s gotten me into some awkward territory with Vulture, because some things were interpreted as more than friendship.
You ready to cringe more? Because the next part is going to deal with polyamory, the desire for open relationships, and the main reason why Z despises her – and that’s putting it mildly.
Take a moment to un-cringe yourself. It ain’t over yet.

I’m going to be ranting/venting about my experiences as a banana (Ethically Chinese). My malay, mandarin, and mandarin dialect skills are nearly nonexistent. I only speak fluent english.
When my parents found out about me they made a plan. My mom would speak to me in english and my dad would speak to me in mandarin in order for me to learn both languages. It was a great plan, if and only if my dad followed through and actually spoke to me in mandarin (He didn’t, he only spoke to me in english. He didn’t even speak to me in hokkiean like he does with my mom all the time). So off to a great start. For my school life my parents never ever sent me to a chinese or gov school, they sent me to international schools which didn’t allow other languages than english to be spoken (exceptions are for language classes of course). Growing up with astro I watched all the english movie channels (21st Century Fox, AXN, HBO, Cinemax, Disney XD, Cartoon Network, Nikolodiean) and listened to HITZ FM every car ride to school.
My parents and my extended family then started to catch on to the fact that I did not know how to speak any other language other than english (They were more concerned about me not knowing any sort of mandarin). They were more surprised that I didn’t know any hokkiean because they thought I would passively or sub consciously pick it up just by hearing my parents speak it to each other without ever directly speaking to me in hokkiean (Guess how that worked out). My parent’s solution was to send me to Mandarin tuition every Saturday morning when I was always half asleep. I went to the same Mandarin tuition for 4 years and during that time I was relentlessly shamed by parents, tuition teachers, and extended family for not knowing any malay, mandarin, and mandarin dialects for years.
Every CNY I go to my Ah Ma’s house and it’s always the same questions and insults thrown at me:
“Can you speak chinese?”
“How come you don’t know chinese!?”
“You are chinese, you must also know chinese.”
“If you go overseas to find job and cannot speak chinese you cannot find a job, you see how!” (They think you got to know mandarin in-order to get employed any where in the world because the rise of china and all that)
When my older cousins try to teach me a mandarin phrase and I mispronounce just a little bit the whole room would erupt in laughter. My own dad yells at me for not knowing how to speak mandarin while still knowing he didn’t teach me when I was young like he said he would to my mom. Once after coming back from mandarin tuition my dad and I had some argument, I can’t remember how it started, and when we got home he threatened and motioned to hit me and yelled at me saying that I wasn’t chinese. (I notice this pattern in other banana related posts where a lot of people consider not speaking mandarin is a shame to the chinese race. Like okay are we trying be build some pure ethno-state or some shit?)
As for not speaking malay, my parents also thought that I would learn malay if I were surrounded by people who spoke malay even if those people never talked to me directly in malay. I guess they thought that since I grew up in a malay speaking country I would naturally know how to speak malay, even without having an environment/routine that would involve the malay language. I did take mandatory malay classes in school but they were half assed and once per week after school.
Safe to say that all of this has damaged me to a degree, to the point where I don’t even feel comfortable being close to someone with the same race/ethnicity as me because now I have this constant fear that they would eventually find out I don’t know mandarin and they would shame me for it. Whenever I hear a non-chinese person speak mandarin (even if it’s not completely fluent) I get MASSIVELY insecure and I try to stay as far away from them as possible. I now yearn for the day I leave this country and go to the UK or AUS where speaking english is the norm.
So why is language is extremely important in this country? How has it gotten to this point? I’d love to see your answers 😊

I’m sorry if this is the wrong tag I’m not really sure where this actually falls under.
Quick background my dad died when I was younger and in his will his store was supposed to be sold and the profit + any other money he had was to be divided between
My brother Dominic, my sister Kate, myself and our younger brother Jake My aunt (fathers sister) was the executor of the Will and gave my brother and sister there portions and decided since Jake and
I were minors she’d put our portion into a savings account and turn over control of it when we each hit 18.
Well Dominic had money issues and Kate convinced him to borrow money from the account and gave my aunt a sob story.
Fast forward to me being 18 I find out there’s literally $20 in the account, Dominic felt bad and offered to pay me back but he gifted me some of our fathers watches, a chain and our grandmothers ring.
He basically told me if he didn’t pay me back to pawn/sell the watches and chain but made me promise never to sell the ring which obviously I’d never.
Background over.
Dominic past last year and left everything to his wife and daughter.
Two months back I got into a fight about something ridiculous with my sister, sister in law and niece
Basically they invited me and my bf to lunch and then expected us to babysit my grandniece while they went out to have a good time.
Words were said feelings got hurt and I had decided to go no contact for a bit.
But then my sister had her friend deliver a document demanding I turned over Dominic’s watches, chain and ring
Things for even more heated and my sister and aunt gave me an ultimatum
Transfer custody of the items to my nephew (technically my grandmothers first born great grandchild)
Or i need to have a kid which I’m unable to due to infertility issues
I agreed to give him the chain and watches but honestly the rings mine, it had sentimental value and it’s the only item of my grandmother’s that I have.
They say I have no right to the ring since I can’t possibly pass it on.
Do I have any ground to stand on here? Or is the ring mine since it was gifted to me?
Dominic didn’t have a Will and even if he did he had gotten sick years after he had given me the ring.

Question: If April flowers bring May showers, what do May flowers bring?
Answer: Puritans and misery.
Part 1 - May Flower Moon
I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure this is a ghost story. It all started in early May under the, "Flower Moon".
In the still of the night, I awoke from a deep sleep to witness a moonlight so spectacular it hurt my eyes.
Fumbling for my glasses, I found them, dropped them, cursed, then almost stepped on them. I finally got them where they belonged thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
3:33 am. Again.
Willow weep for me
Bend your branches down along the ground and cover me
-Ann Ronell as sung by Billie Holiday
The birds were chirping loudly. I shuffled to the window. I looked up wide-eyed at the sky. There was the moon; big, round and golden like it didn't mind a big electricity bill. As I used the bathroom, I remember thinking that I didn't ever remember a full moon so bright it could light up my apartment.
I washed my hands then splashed warm water on my face. I cracked my neck. I dried my hands and face with a towel. I remember thinking if I didn't get back to sleep the day was going to suck.
Shuffling back into my bedroom I thought to look for my ski hat. I figured I could pull it over my eyes and escape the light under the blanket. Flower Moon was beautiful but so too is sleep. If I could just hide under the blanket perhaps it wasn't too late for sleep to creep up on me.
I have been renting the same sunny shoebox in old Brooklyn for more than 20 years. It's a corner apartment on the second floor of a 19th century walkup. Across the street, diagonally resides a community garden fronted by a very tall and expansive weeping willow tree that won't let me move away. I didn't know it's age until recently. But it's younger than me. Most things are these days.
I shuffled to the corner window to squeeze the blinds tight and that's when I felt grateful, grateful I had decided to use the bathroom first.
There, at the base of the hundred-foot-tall willow, behind the wrought iron fence, illuminated beneath the moon's glow, I witnessed something that froze my blood and tested my aging bladder. Standing beneath the moonlight, I saw, clear as day, a little boy in footed pajamas with a trap door. The little boy was holding a blue stuffed Grover Muppet in one hand and crying.
Trying to get a good look at the boy was like trying to look at something from behind a campfire. There was a shimmering distortion. What I could clearly see was that he was pointing down at the ground in front of his feet with the non-Grover hand. Suddenly, the little boy spun his head up and around looking directly at me. Eye contact occurred and then too, something I can't explain.
First, a truck transporting fuel broke loudly for the red light at the corner. Through the open windows I smelled what seemed like diesel. I grew light-headed. The room spun around. I remember thinking this feeling smelled both nauseating as well as timeless.
I reached down to try and pick up the floor and that's when it hit me in the face. A sharp pain across my cheek like I had been slapped in a 3 Stooges short. I felt icy fingers grab the hair I had not had in over 30 years and jerk my head back. I smelled more diesel. I grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from losing my balance.
Holding on to the desk, I noticed my mind's eye was playing the little boy's face like a movie. The camera panned in. His little boy face filled my consciousness like I was watching from the front row. He was about four or five years old with long dirty blonde hair. His face looked familiar from a dream.
Then, another slapping pain turned my last good cheek. Losing my balance, I fell ass first to the floor.
Out the window, from on my ass, I watched the traffic light turn green. I heard the truck lurch into gear, rev it's engine then drive away. As it rumbled off into the distance my equilibrium returned.
Muttering my life sucked I gently shook my head and felt for damage. Just my non-existent pride. I got myself vertical, yet once again; feeling a distinct twinge of anxiety.
I looked out the window but the little boy was gone. An FDNY ambulance took his place, it's siren jarring me back to reality. I closed the blinds and got under the blanket. I never did really get back to sleep that night. Or ever since.
Part II - Unhappily Ever Since
Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me... -Billie I keep seeing a little boy under the tree... - me ...
The first thing I want to say is that I keep waking up for decades at exactly 3:33 am.
It's the exact time my decrepit birth certificate claims I was introduced to this world. Can't say why, but ever since digital clocks became a thing, I'm up more often than not to witness 3:33 am transpire. Never remember it happening before digital.
One of my friends recently told me it was an angel number. I don't know anything about angels. Never met one. But I for sure have met some demons in my day. In fact. you might say I was born of demon mother, and I might not be offended. Back to my birth certificate. I was born and yes, still live in Brooklyn, New York. There were gaps but it's my home.
I moved to this particular apartment building a few months after 9/11. I had moved in with a woman at the tail end of doing a romantic nickel, but that fell apart like Madoff, Abramoff or Fuckoff, and she married another dude a year later. So, there in 2002, I and my faithful golden retriever, Spenser, found ourselves, for the very first time, on our own. And, we liked it.
Like I mentioned, Spenser and I lived diagonal to a community garden that fronts a big and beautiful weeping willow tree. I felt an immediate kinship as my favorite book as a child had been, "The Giving Tree" and that's what she reminded me of; only more beautiful.
There will be more about the tree. Anyway, the tree and I dwell in an old part of south Brooklyn called Park Slope, infamous for being the stomping grounds of a young Al Capone, and, believe it or not, young me.
That was a long time ago. Things have changed a lot since Al and I, were separately roaming the streets of Park Slope, looking for adventure and whatever came our way. I came up in the day when if you cried your mother would give you something to cry about. And, not going to lie, I cried a lot. I don't remember my dad that much.
I remember he was a hippie. I remember he had a big beard and moustache and long hair. I remember his denim jacket was always cold, smelling like weed and cigarettes. I remember he gave me, "The Giving Tree" and taught me how to read it. And then, I remember he was; gone. Just. Gone.
I also remember my mother. I remember her never talking much. I remember her just smelling like hair spray, cigarettes and instant coffee with sour milk. I never was able to drink milk, not even as a child, and to this very day just the sight of a milk carton turns my stomach to acid.
I lived alone with the old lady about half a mile from where I live now. Yeah, in over thirty years I made it a whole thirteen blocks. Like I said, my pride was non-existent these days unless I was sitting on it. Another, weird thing besides waking up at 3:33 am is I have a lot of memory lapses. It has been getting worse the last few years. Especially, since old Spenser had a seizure in my arms back on the 9/11 of '09. He was fifteen and my best friend. I'd always loved dogs. But after losing Spenser, I couldn't quite remember things right all the time.
Sometimes, it was little things. Like did I turn off the stove or lock the front door. Other times, it was deep things, like did the telephone repair man try to do something to me when I was five and left home alone. Like did I pull a kitchen knife on him before he scampered out like a thief in the night; scared he'd be caught by my screams for Batman? Did I remember my mother having strange guests over late at night? Did I remember being locked in my room? I just couldn't remember anymore.
I had taken to obsessively keeping lists. But you can't put ghost-busting on a list, can you? And that was my real problem. Ever since, the May Flower Moon the haunting just kept rinsing and repeating. Eat edibles, Nyquil, and Advil PM and still wake up at 3:33am. Smell diesel. Wave of nausea. Little boy in garden. Little boy crying. Little boy pointing at something. Little boy looking up at me. Little boy. Little boy. Little boy.
By last Friday, I was a mess.
My work is suffering. I am too embarrassed to tell my aunt or besties I see a little boy. They already think I am weird enough and last thing I need is a wellness check.
To remain scientific, I have continued my daytime visits to the garden whenever it is open. Everything seems so lovely in the day. I even brought the new woman I am seeing. She fell in love with the tree at first sight. The flowers are gorgeous. And the roses; so mesmerizing. Even the fish in the koi pond are happy.
But at night. Something isn't right.
...Weeping willow tree Weeping sympathy Bend your branches down along the ground and cover me Listen to me plead Hear me willow and weep for me...
My new friend at work I mentioned, who told me about angel numbers, asked me recently if something was bothering me. She told me when we met, she is in the midst of a spiritual awakening.
Part of it includes awakening every morning to read the Tarot cards and commune with who, or what, she calls, "spirit".
I cracked and told her about the little boy under the tree. She didn't bat an eye. She told me spirit wants something from me. I didn't know what to say to that so I just left it alone. I guess I'm afraid what if she's right. And what if I don't like what, "spirit" wants?
Last night was Saturday. I had a dream.
That night I dreamed about a collie I had when I was a very young boy right after my dad split. Her name was Pearl. I had found her on the street on my block and for some inexplicable reason had been allowed to keep her.
Not long after, one hot summer day in Prospect Park, when my mother was going to give me something to cry about, Pearl suddenly ran down the hill she was frolicking on, making a wide sweeping arc that screamed, "ride or die, full throttle, and damn the fucking torpedoes," it's trajectory directly between my mother's legs. Fur overcame flesh just in the nick before I was given something to cry about.
Instead, I laughed.
I laughed so fucking hysterically at the sight of her on the grass, on her ass; smug look gone with the wind; replaced by an expression seething red menace that would have been McCarthy's wet dream.
And, like the little boy at 3:33 am, Pearl's eyes met mine. She seemed to nod her collie head, as if she were acknowledging that, yes, she was the best dog and don't you forget it. I didn't cry much for a while after that till I came home from school and Pearl was gone. Just gone. To some farm I was told. Where she could be happier. So, I guess I did get something to cry about after all.
And then last night I had a dream.
Part III - It weeps for me?
I dreamed of Peter Pan and buried treasure. I dreamed of Stove Stop stuffing and commercials loud enough to drown out a breech birth. I dreamed of Spider-Man letting Uncle Ben's killer go free. I dreamed of being American. I dreamed of Watergate, the fall of the Berlin wall, 9/11 and watching people jump out windows to avoid burning to death out the window of my office.
I dreamed of Iraq and Afghanistan and George Floyd and Covid and never-ending cycles of boom and bust. I dreamed of a golden carrot on what started out as a stick but soon morphed into what I realized was a branch. A long flowing beautiful branch covered in red. A branch that hung low. It swayed along the ground, swayed above my head and there I was.
I was in the garden. Under the tree. I felt drops of warm dew caressing my face. I was about to reach up to caress the tree. My tree. I noticed I was wearing pajamas. Not the black satin jammies I had been wearing for decades but old footie pajamas. They were Star Trek pajamas. With three golden rings on the cuffs and a trap door.
A drop of dew fell in my eye. I wiped it away and looked at my hand. It was red. Red with blood. My Mickey Mouse watch involuntarily color-coordinated with the blood. It appeared to be just after 3:30 am.
Suddenly, a dog appeared. It was Pearl. Then another, it was Spenser. They jammed their snouts into my flannel covered crotch. I pet them both and noticed my tears mixing with the dewy blood drops turning them a soft pink under the moonlight.
"Good boy. Good girl." I said.
"Hi," a voice I recognized but couldn't place said.
I looked around. And there, was, the little boy. And, in his hand was Grover.
"Hi," I heard myself say.
"Who's the dog?" he said.
"That's Pearl. And this is Spenser." I answered.
"I know Pearl, silly. She's my dog," then, "Hi, Spenser."
Spenser left my crotch for the little boy's. They went together like peanut butter and sandwiches.
"Where are your parents?" I heard myself ask.
"Dad left. Mom told me to stay here until she comes back."
"When was that?" I asked.
The little boy shrugged then, "Been a while I guess," and he started to cry. Spenser got agitated and started to whine. I approached. I went to put my hand on the boy's shoulder and he jumped.
"Hey, it's okay." I took my hand back.
He looked up at me. Then he said, "You want to see something?
I said, "Yes."
The little boy fished around in his pajamas and pulled out something, it looked like a piece of rolled up construction paper secured with a red ribbon that matched the bloody dew drops.
He un-scrolled it then solemnly showed it to me.
It appeared to be a child's treasure map. That ended in the garden. Only it wasn't a garden. It said, "JUNK YARD" and there was a big X next to the corner of the rectangle the words were written in. I looked down at him.
"There's no junk yard here, son," I said.
The little boy looked away from Spenser and up at me. Pearl ran to his side. I felt six eyes on me.
"That's what you think," he said
A moment later there was the loud cracking of fireworks being detonated. I awoke in my bed. Fumbling for my glasses, I found them, dropped them, cursed, then almost stepped on them. I finally got them where they belonged thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
3:33 am. Again.
I ran to the window to look out. But, unlike every other time for the past month, the boy was not in residence. He was gone. Just. Gone.
Part IV - The is The End
Gone my lovely dreams To weep my tears along the stream Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me
...
This was fucking ridiculous. I am sane. I am not mad. I'd been reading, "The Giving Tree," too much. Spending too much time alone working from home. Maybe I just needed to get away. Take a trip somewhere.
I realized getting back to sleep was going to be impossible. So, I went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea. No milk.
Back at my desk, my "SHIT. FUCK. DAMN." glass mug of tea firmly in hand, I took a deep breath. There was no point in giving myself a heart attack. Maybe it was just anxiety. Maybe panic attacks. I had dated lots of neurotic women. That could be it. Maybe some Lexapro and I'd be good as new. I decided to check my email.
A woman I used to date from Queens and stayed friends with had sent me a link entitled, "Birth of a community garden." It was video to my garden. Before it was a garden. Over forty years ago. It was a decrepit vacant lot filled with dead cars and refuse and apparently had been a neighborhood drug bazaar. Like I said, things have changed a lot since Al and I were young as springtime.
By the time I moved back you would have never known what things had used to look like. Spray painted signs that read, "NO DRUGS SOLD HERE!" and the like. Just like the Batman, Dark Knight, the 80s were a time when Urban Renewal was striking back. And before you could say, "corruption at City Hall," there was fecund soil where once had stood God knows what.
It gave me hope that humanity wasn't so bad. Maybe I had just been going through a tough time. Maybe I should quit while I am ahead and get a good night's rest. So, I closed the blinds and went to bed.
Why I am never sleeping again
That night I dreamed I was part of the junk yard's saviors. Hauling out decades of festering trash and replacing it with good old Mother Earth. A whole community coming together to commune with nature. I felt myself smile.
All day we hoed the rows. The fecundity of the soil filling my nostrils. There was food and laughter and soon day turned to night. One by one all the gardeners left into the dusk. Soon I stood alone next to a young woman. She held a green army duffle bag. And two shovels.
"You look like a big, strong man. They're going to be planting a weeping willow tree here soon. But first, I wanted to leave the earth a special gift to grow up with the tree. This time I think we should give to the tree. Won't you help me?"
I felt a passing twinge of disgust. I rubbed my upper lip with the back of my hand and thought I smelled the faint smell of diesel. I heard myself say, "Hand me a shovel."
An hour later I had fulfilled the lady's request to deposit the duffel bag deep within the new garden's soil. She lit a cigarette I recognized. She blew some smoke in my face and it smelled like sour milk.
"Ever read a boy and his dog?" she asked.
I nodded.
"This is the opposite," she said. I smelled the diesel again and then remembered no more.
This morning I awoke feeling none too swell. I got my glasses on without dropping them for a change then sort of hobbled to the kitchen area to make some tea. I opened the blinds and there was my weeping willow tree. Swaying gently in the Sunday early June overcast chill.
Implacable. Inscrutable. True to it's nature. The day was gray as a widow's anniversary.
Well, there's always tea, I thought, ever the optimist. And then I dropped my, "SHIT. FUCK. DAMN." mug on my foot, simultaneously battering and scalding it. I let out a yelp.
Then, mouth agape, I smelled the diesel waft in the window by the fire escape. The window, where, leaning against the fire escape's stairs I witnessed something that froze my blood and tested my aging bladder.
I spied two shovels and an empty duffle bag.
I wonder what spirit will have to say about that?
Gone my lovely dreams To weep my tears along the stream Sad as I can be Hear me willow and weep for me
Willow Weep For Me?

Looking for a change of pace and wanted opinions on games out there that i might have missed on both the xbox store and the Eshop.
Games I have been into in the past: Into the breach, Hotline miami, Dark souls 1,2,3, sekiro, elden ring, Metal Gear Solid 5 , Phantom Dust , Prey(2017) , Elite: Dangerous , NBA 2k16, Absolver , Ninja Gaiden Sigma, Titanfall 2 , Just Cause 3 , Shadow of MordoWar, Ikaruga, Celeste , Hollow knight , Persona 5 , Hades
Games I hate/avoid at all costs: Terraria, Dying light , The outer worlds, Diablo 3, Weird West,
Feel free to drop some suggestions!!

I recently came across a post about an expat who participated in a night wedding. After reading the accounts I began to do research on my own. Not because I believe in any of that stuff. I'm a magician after all. Illusion is my bread and butter. And I can detect trickery better than most. Which in my line of work has its benefits. But old traditions are the best places to pick up new techniques. Old ways that are new to others that delight and even scare people. Because, if I can make them afraid. Make them look away. For even a second. I can pull off some astounding magic.
My gig at the cruise line was coming to an end as we neared the port of Shanghai. And for my last several shows, where I'd normally start to include my greatest tricks in order to leave a lasting impression. I developed a new act that I called "The Sneaky Bride", it involved a mannequin in a wedding dress, a beautiful train, veil, flowers on the ground - the whole nine yards some would say. The trick was that the bride would sneak bites as my assistants who are dressed as servers pass by with their trays.
I begin the trick by placing a mannequin center stage for all to see so that they know it's a dummy. I show them there are no holes, and the entire thing is solid. Then we dress it up and set the stage for a wedding. And with a bit of lighting, another assistant switches places with the mannequin and is being fed under the veil. We later changed it to more slight of hand techniques as the assistant complained she wasn't able to chew fast enough as the items of course have to get larger and larger for comedic effect as the guests were wowed by the disappearing act as the fake wedding progressed.
At the end we even invited the unmarried men up to the stage and then threw out a fake bouquet, and watched them clamber over each other in good fun to catch it. The act was an instant hit and had the crowd roaring every night. Which was why I decided to take a firsthand look at the original, and see if there were any other staging techniques I could learn from this old tradition.
With some help from Bing and its ChatGPT features I was able to get a relatively good idea of where it was practiced. So I booked the next flight out to begin my quest for a real night wedding.
Upon arrival at my hotel, I asked the concierge for information about the local practice.
"Yes. I know of this one. We practice it often for children who were taken too early."
"But they are all scams?"
The concierge smiled, "In most cases the pouches mean no harm, and they're simply for families who want to provide peace for themselves and to complete a lasting tradition. Sometimes the dowries are quite lucrative as well, and it is the families who are scammed by those who go and collect these ghost wives as concubines. We call it a blue procession for the trail of ghosts the husband leaves behind wherever he goes." He leans in, "But between you and me? They're mostly all scams."
I laughed, and I can't stress this next part enough, tip your concierge! Which I did. "Thank you, and also. Do you know where I could get a good start on finding more information about these ghost dowries? Or even find one of these pouches myself?"
"The temple down this first street to the left, about half a kilometer, would be a good place to start. But finding a pouch is a bit more difficult as they pop up sporadically. However, if traditions are to be believed it is the pouch who chooses the spouse."
I thanked him again and began to make my way through the early morning rush toward the temple. The streets were lined with open markets full of food from local farmers, which were common in the morning in this part of the world. They would disappear before the afternoon and then return again to sell wares at night when it was cooler. It made the city feel as if it were breathing as the locals rose and ebbed outside with day and night.
On my way, I searched the ground and around alleys for loose pouches. But I had no such luck by the time I arrived at the temple. Large red pillars that were thicker than any tree I've personally had the pleasure of meeting held up the high ceiling. Inside, the locals were already starting to disperse as the work hours were amongst us. Which left me nearly alone in this temple at about 8:00 in the morning.
A monk or priest was kneeling on a mat in front of a wooden shrine, throwing pieces of wood in the shape of dumplings on the floor. I waited patiently for him to finish. Taking in the sights and the delicate features of the temple. When he rose I approached him.
"You don't speak English by any chance do you?"
He smiled.
"What about the middle tongue?" I asked in Mandarin.
"Oh," he seemed surprised. "Yes. How may I be of assistance?"
"What were you doing just now?"
He held out his hand and showed me two red wooden pieces that were, with closer inspection, in the shape of moons. "Jiaobei," he told me. "We use these to seek divine guidance."
"How does it work?"
The monk shows me the two sides, one was smooth and flat, the other side rounded. "You ask a question and then throw it on the ground. One block flat and one block round, means yes. Both blocks showing round means no. Or depending on the question. Anger from the Gods. Or crying in sadness as it is commonly known. And finally, both blocks showing flat means laughter. Which could mean a number of things." He hands them to me, "You throw it three times to get a better answer."
"I'm guessing if it's the same all three times, the answer is definitive?"
The monk nodded.
"Will I..."
"Ah ah ah, in silence."
I didn't want my first question to be too convoluted or difficult. So I kept it simple and asked if I was a good magician. Then I threw the Jiaobei on the floor. It clattered and rolled on its rounded back, showing two flat sides.
The monk smiled.
"That usually happens the first time anyone tries Jiaobei. But in my experience, it generally means you asked a pure question."
"What happens if I didn't ask a pure question and it came back as angry?"
"The gods will remember it. They will remember you."
"No bad first impression then huh," I whispered under my breath. "Okay. Do I need to throw it two more times or can I ask a different question?"
"You may ask a different question or throw it twice more."
"What is my name?" I threw it on the floor. And to my surprise, as the ends are pointed and difficult to balance, one of the damn things stood tall and erect.
The monk bowed to the pieces. "Truly you have been picked by the gods to be answered. Lijiao or a standing answer like this is uncommonly rare. The gods generally choose to laugh at a nonsensical question. And often get angry if you throw it two more times. And rarely do they ever answer ones asked aloud."
I bent forward, skeptical, though a temple this was, at how the thing worked. In my head I could only think that the switchboard guy was quick on his feet. But looking around I couldn't find any cameras. Though in this day an age, they're made smaller than a fly. So it was difficult to tell. I picked up the pieces, feeling for any sense of magnetism, but there were none.
I asked one last question before I left that day. I asked their gods, would I find the real deal? And I threw it on the ground three times. All three times it came up yes. But for two months I scoured the city, and the country side. And I did chance upon several pouches. Some were obviously scams as I watched each bag carefully before approaching. Especially noticeable are the ones in the city which would be laying on the sidewalk, filled with bills for people passing by. But I observed that if a local went to go pick it up, two or three men from around the corner would come and threaten him to put it back. But if a foreigner picked it up, an old man or woman would come and start calling them son before leading them away.
There were of course others that were genuinely following tradition. I chanced upon several of them and was married several times. But each one was playful almost. And performed by their parents in the day. Leaving me with several small bags of pocket change, a good dinner, as I went on my way.
During one of these fake night weddings I even saw a child playfully munching on a corn cob in the corner under one of the tables as I fed the effigy they constructed of my fake bride. Which was when I think I decided to call it quits. Believing that I'd never find the real deal. Although I did learn a lot as tradition can be translated by me into performance. Which helped me ground 'The Sneaky Bride' act further. All in all, this was time well spent.
My visa was coming to an end and I had mostly been enjoying the sights, the city, and their way of life. When on one the last day, as I was leaving from a faraway eatery that the concierge had recommended, that I saw a red pouch made of silk with a thick yarn around its throat, stuffed full of money. I looked around and didn't see a single person there, nothing except flat farmland and water gullies for miles.
Odd, I thought to myself, as it looked truly abandoned.
For a second I played with the idea of picking it up. Wondering if somehow a relative of the deceased would pop up magically next to me and I could change the world of magic by studying their technique. But I didn't want to spend my few hours chasing ghosts. I wanted to enjoy my time. So I kept walking.
I got back to the city and spent the remainder of my day eating and drinking, meeting new friends at the bar, newfound lads who I invited a hundred times to visit me in Melbourne one day. Who all agreed that if fate ever brought us back together we would drink until the sun rose. So yeah, I was fairly drunk when I got back to my hotel room, and didn't believe what I saw when I opened the door. It was a red pouch sitting on my coffee table.
"Someone's trying to play a trick on me," I mused. "They must have heard me talking at the bar." I circled the table studying the pouch. Any magician worth his smoke, likes a good bag. So there was no doubt to me that this was the same one I saw earlier. Which made me start putting two and two together. "It must be the concierge. He's the one who sent me out that far." I laughed and picked up the bag, even though I knew the rules. I opened it and thumbed through the bills. "It's much more than what I tipped him. Much more." Curious, I wondered what he would have done if I didn't return this to him. It must have been quite a few months worth of wages. I threw the bag up in the air and caught it as if I were juggling before I tossed it on my nightstand. "I'm going to let him sweat for a little bit and pretend I didn't find it tomorrow as I check out," I mused as I went to go take a shower.
I opened the door and felt the words stick to the roof of my mouth as the bag appeared on the counter next to the sink. I shot a glance back to the nightstand and indeed the bag I had just thrown on there was missing.
"This is a good fucking trick. That, or I'm drunker than I thought." I started questioning did I somehow fall asleep beforehand? Or walked into the bathroom and put it there as I mused my little scheme of making the concierge nervous at the lost pouch? Had I somehow in my drunken state done something without realizing it? No. That couldn't be it. I touched my chest to check my heart rate and put my fingers on my face. A bit flushed, but heart rate adequate. I was fine for the most part. Just drunk.
I looked at the pouch on the counter, and peered gingerly into the bathroom as if I've never stepped foot in one, before deciding to grab the bag and close the door. "Okay," I said loudly. "Whoever's doing this. Come on out." Of course no one appeared, not that I expected them to because the credo I lived by is that a good magician never reveals his trick.
"Okay, let's see how good you guys really are," I mused. Going over to my closet and placed the pouch on the shelf. Closing the door. Then I went back to the bathroom and opened the door. It was empty. I checked the nightstand drawer, mpty. I looked all over, and it was still mty. I breathed a sigh and went over to the closet door, "I guess you're just a bag after all." Except when I looked inside. MT. I couldn't find the bag behind any other nook or cranny. I know, I checked them all. And they were all .
I stumbled backwards and looked around, glancing at the ceiling corners in case someone had crawled up there. And even looked under the bed. But there was no one else here. I felt my chest tighten as I tried to make sense of what was happening. "Its got to be the walls I reasoned." And so for the next half hour I scoured the entire room with my hands, pushing, pressing, pulling anywhere and everywhere I could. Using all my years of experience to figure out what was going on. But there was nothing.
I couldn't stay in that room another minute so I rushed outside and nearly stepped on it! The bag! It was right at the foot of my doorstep.
My mind tried to wrap around how that was possible, "It's got to be a dupe. They've got more than one bag. I've been had, that has to be it. And the furniture inside, they have secret compartments. God, they really put a lot of effort into this," I laughed. "I have to know how this trick is done." So I opened the pouch and pulled out the note inside.
The notes generally contained their name, their current would-be age (she was 20 this year, older than most), what time they were born (8:07), a picture if they had one (she did), and how old they when they died (5). If the deceased were a bit older, perhaps a tidbit from their family is included about their personality. But most importantly, it always contained their address.
I looked at my watch, it was late and my flight was in the morning but perhaps I could still make it. So I gathered the rest of my things, my luggage, the mannequin for my act, and other bag of tricks in case I needed to go to the airport right after. "Come on," I yelled out loud to my pranksters. "Let's go see what other tricks you have up your sleeve."
I went down to the lobby and had the front desk call me a cab. I looked around for the concierge but he was nowhere to be found. So I left a note for him. And then left.
The cab drove until the city faded away. We were practically on the other side of the island by the time its tires skipped to a stop. I got out and knocked on the giant half circle doors of the address. I noticed that we were deep in the countryside. There were hardly any lights dotting the night.
I knocked several more times before I heard shuffling behind the door. And then it opened. An old man stood in front of me in his drawers.
"What do you want," he asked angrily. "Do you know what time it is?"
"I'm sorry for disturbing you at such a late hour. But," I pulled out the pouch. And his eyes widened up.
"Meju-eh. You're back." He looked at me up and down. "What are you supposed to be," he asked but then shook his head. "No, no. Come in. Come in, please."
"I don't have much time," I told him. "I have to leave in the morning."
"Sit, sit." He ushered me to a chair in the courtyard.
I placed the bag on the table next to it, "I have a flight in the morning, so if we're going to do this. We have to do it now."
Instead of fighting me, he nodded, "Yes. I agree. I don't have much time either. And Meju-eh is older than most ghost brides. The bull demon might not let her through his gets if she gets any older. And then she'll be a husbandless spinster for eternity." He ushered around, "We don't have many living relatives either. So it shouldn't be too troublesome to hurry this along." He called into the house and a young woman came out, "This is my granddaughter. Ah-ahn. Meju-eh's older sister. They were close as children."
Ah-ahn was quite beautiful. I almost couldn't take my eyes off of her.
"Go and start preparations and rouse anyone you can get a hold of. We must have the wedding tonight. Even if it isn't grand as I would like."
"Will we make it in time," I asked. "It's a lot of work for one person. Perhaps I could help?"
The old man nodded, "That's a good idea. But forgive me, I must retire for now. Or else have no energy for the wedding." He turned to his granddaughter, "Fetch me when the preparations are ready." As he left us alone in the courtyard.
"What can I do," I asked her.
"We're going to need flowers for decoration."
I pulled a rose out from behind her ear, "I happen to have a case of these on hand at all times." I put the flower in her hair.
She smiled, "Thank you."
"What else?"
"Um, we already have tables for family gatherings. There should be enough food in the freezers that we can just heat up. I need to call my aunt to come help. And wake up some of the kids. Also...we kind of need a statue of some sort, as a stand-in for my sister."
"Statue? I think I have just the thing."
Hours went by and it was the dead of the night, but watching all the people bustling around the courtyard, the kids in excited whispers, you'd never guess that all of us should have been sleeping. Soon the tables were set, the food was hot, even the decorations were strung, and I had procured my mannequin from my luggage and a few of the menfolk were putting it together inside the main living room.
Several times I found myself laughing and having a good time with the others, although chasing that hen made me look quite ridiculous, and several times I bumped into Ah-ahn and we would talk and exchange a few words. In the beginning she talked mostly about her sister. How she was troublesome as a child. Always hiding things. I told her about the pouch appearing and disappearing in my hotel. And we both had a good laugh. Eventually we talked about ourselves. I learned she wanted to get away from here, "To see the world," she told me. The more we talked the closer we got. I could feel it. Soon we were bumping into each other just to feel our bodies touch. But before anything else transpired the wedding preparations were complete.
The old man was retrieved from his bedroom and everyone gathered outside in the courtyard, looking into the main living room. There was a wooden shrine in the back of the room and the mannequin had been traditionally dressed. From an old box the grandfather retrieved several personal items that belonged to Meju. And I was then asked to enter the living room.
The grandfather said a few words, and then gave us his blessing. Ah-ahn handed me a bowl of sticky rice ball soup. I had been through this process before and knew what to do. I ate one of the pink balls and then went to go feed my new bride.
Now I've traveled with this mannequin for some time. Seen it at a dozen of my own shows. Slept with it in the room. Knew that it was in fact a dummy for all intents and purposes. However, as I started moving my spoon toward it. I swear I saw it's chest rise as if it were breathing.
I couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol ebbing away from earlier or a trick of the light. But even its shoulders looked softer than usual. My hand started shaking as it got closer to her mouth. It was like watching an out of body experience as the spoon inched under her veil. And then the CRUNCH. It scared the fucking shit out of me. I looked around hoping to see some kid in the corner playing a dumb joke. But there were none. And I didn't believe what I was seeing even as the veil started moving as her jaws chewed the sticky material back and forth.
"No way," I shook. "There's just no way." My hand was so close to the veil. "Oh God. Please. I have to know how this is done." I ripped off the veil.
Meju looked very much like her picture. But older. And then older. And older. As if her face was starting to rot away as it contorted. People behind me screamed. The lightbulbs we had strung popped. Kids were running around and the grandfather fell to the floor clutching his heart.
I backed away, the spoon clattering to the ground as I watched the mannequin crick and crack as its arms and legs bent in a tangled mess until it was walking on all fours!
The thing grabbed the bent down to the grandfather and started chewing!
I turned around and saw the other guests were piling out of the courtyard. The tables were upturned and only the dim crescent light of the moon bore down on us. Everyone was screaming trying to get out. I ran and bumped into Ah-ahn. She whirled terrified and then realized it was me. She yelled, "You never! Look at the bride before it's time!"
"I'm so sorry! I didn't know. I thought it was a trick!"
She grabbed her face, her nails leaving streaks behind as she clawed at her skin, "Now she's going to kill every living blood relative. And then you." Ah-ahn laughed manically. "She's going to torture you!"
The people kept pushing around us until we got separated. Her final words still ringing in my ears as I took to the dirt road outside and started running. I ran for nearly a mile before I spotted a cab sitting outside of someone's house. I banged on their door and then begged them to take me to the airport. Throwing at them all the money from the dowry.
When I arrived at the airport I hurried through the TSA. Relieved at the lights and normal looking people. I boarded my flight. Tapping my foot nervously the entire time, staring out the small squarish window as we prepared to take off. The sun was starting to rise as the engine roared. I took one last look at the island as we flew away. Still trying to catch my breath at what I had just caused.
My mind was reeling as I heard two knocking noises, they sounded oddly familiar, and for a second I thought that Meju had finished with her family and had somehow come boarded. But then I realized the noise was coming from my carry-on. I reached inside and pulled out two red shaped crescents that the Monk at the temple had given to me. And I realized that if I ever needed any form of divine guidance this was it.
So right there in the tiny aisle. I asked the gods if I had escaped and threw the Jiaobei.
No.
I asked the gods if I would be safe.
No.
I asked them would Meju kill me.
Both flat.
Both flat.
Both flat.
s

I know it’s a marriage and everything is technically shared. However, let me know what you guys make of this situation. I’ve (26f) been married to my husband (26m) for 5 years now. When I met him he was in school, and doing construction on the side. He dropped out of school twice, which was a big switch up for me. As I had gone to university and work full time (16/hr). But you can make money if you’re smart enough without school. Anyways, since he had no credit history I shared my credit card (5k) with him to ride my credit so he could build his. At this point my card had a balance in it and for some reason we decided that I would pay rent of the apartment (600) and he’d make payments to my card, and “save” the rest. Okay, he paid it off and spent it several times. And I didn’t like the confusion of who spent what so I fully stopped using the card. We moved and finally had him pay half the rent. And at this point he’s still working construction now. He comes home one day and told me toxic work environment I quit on site. Okay, that’s fine. Decides he’ll work deliveries now. Falls asleep driving and crashes the car(nothing happened to him thankfully). And so I decide that the money I had saved for starting a little business (5k) I would replace the car for him, so he could continue working. Fast forward, his dad gets a divorce, moves in with us and suddenly he’s spending money in his dad (1k on visa papers, gym membership, free rent, co-sign car). Where initially he said 1-3m max, turned into 7m. And the family asking for money here and there doesn’t stop not to mention he took out a loan with his dad to begin a pedigree animal breeding business without consulting me . I’m not okay with him prioritizing his family when he has a debt with me. I regret not keeping my money to pay my loans, credit card or for my business or to buy a car for myself. I brought this up and he stonewalled me going to the extend of blocking me on social media. Does being in a marriage mean I have to sacrifice for his family? Tl;dr husband owes me but prioritizes his family

Just recently got into souls games. Elden ring is my second game and I wanted to get to ng+7. Is there any fun builds that I can play to switch up the gameplay from play through to play through. I’m not capping my levels so I can do hybrid builds if needed.

Yo glue. You don't use this place so you'll never hear this but I got to tell someone and I'm not going to send it to you and sound even crazier I don't want you thinking I'm some kind of psychopathic stalker and I want you to feel comfortable and respected with your boundaries. So let's get down to brass tacks.
Girl when I think about you and all this s*** that went on and I think about me. It reminds me of when in pulp fiction Bruce Willis is popping Marcellus Wallace (Ving rhames) in the face saying "you feel that?" That's your pride f****** with you or some s*** like that.
Man glue how the hell are my feelings going to be hurt and how can I be so selfish as to even think that I deserve to be respected or put any expectations on you I'm not going to go into huge detail. Reason being is because the rest of the world will hear it but you probably won't but at least out there in the void I'm going to make it to where the respect you deserve this voiced from me and that you're honored for the things that you've done selflessly. Being thet our sister birthday was yesterday and she's no longer with us I think she would smile from above knowing that I finally said something like this.
Hey let me say thank you for real. Thank you for shutting my ass down and thank you for this list I'm about to go through which I will go into detail at a later time.
I'm going to write a story about our lives. I'm telling you it's going to happen. I started three separate writings and I'm ready to scrap them all to tell our story. I'm going to focus on that in my writings anyways on to the summary of what glue means to me or what I acknowledge about glue.
What you were up against.
When we met. You a teenage girl. Abandoned by one parent in a very vile way. The other parent was raising you. We were running around, you got sick, and you were in the hospital for weeks with some very serious troubles. Towards the end of the hospital stay cuz I was in there with you the whole time. The other parent came said that they won't going to deal with you and for you to figure it out a young girl in the hospital. The crazy part is you had done nothing wrong. That was my first real dose of surrealism in people next to some childhood stuff from one of my mother's boyfriends. And shortly after you were told you didn't have a home to come back to as a teenage girl in the hospital the doctors came in and said you would never be able to get pregnant or bare children. You moved in with us me my mom and my sister. And after all that you have been through you would think that you'll be nervous or anxious or things will be awkward. No. You stepped into the home and you immediately brought light into it that it was missing. You immediately were a part of the family and you were a part that was missing the whole time that no one ever knew about. You became a daughter to my mother a sister to my sister and more important things than my words can express right now to me. You kept a strong mentality and glue you were always the caretaker. You dealt with me a young pig-headed man very much in love with you with the drug addiction you catered to me. But not like a slave you catered to my soul there is never someone that I can ever dream of to treat me the way you did. You were loyal man you were my everything. I was yours. None of this is going to be an order but I've traveled with you across the country. We moved to Louisiana. I got a job on the tugboats. You were in the middle of a new scary town. And here I was gone 30 days at a time. But you held on. That was a really stressful time when I look back and that was a time when even though it was an experience I regret that decision because being gone that long from you at that young seemed okay then but even though my buddy's family was around I should have been there. But we did it the best we could. Eventually that didn't work out I'll never forget two cats in a 1984 Ford escort and all our s*** driving all the way to the East Coast. That escort could do some runs now. Anyways we moved to the beach. Being close to home my drug addiction was still an active Factor at all times you held on every time you could. When we move to the beach we decided we were going to do other things we came back to the city. That's what my sister move to the beach with her friend and we were in the city and got to call she had been in a car wreck.
We fly down to the beach before that even cut my sister out of the car we made a 2-hour drive in about 45 minutes. They will my sister in you were right by her side by my side you were there fam you were going through it with me, with her, with the parents. The wheel her in she said she couldn't feel her legs. Boom paralyzed never going to walk again. Thank God she lived and thank God she has such an amazing sister beside her during it all.
After rehabilitation the situation that it happened put my mom into a absolute mental tailspin. So we stuck around as my mother could barely function to tend to my sister.. to your sister. So you a young young woman who had been s*** on by her family. Took over my mother's role and began caretaking for my sister, all the while taking care of my mom with her mental episodes and and down time, and taking care of a loving man with an addiction that had selfish tendencies and you filled the role of all three caretakers and still manage to love me and show me affection with a smile on your face. You took care of the whole house. You took care of the animals. I'm not talking about any of the good really that I did or anybody else did I just want you to be recognized here.
We decided to move to Florida after a long time of you taking care of my paralyzed sister and helping her acclimate until she started lighting it up. What she took off and became president the Honor society went back to school started doing fundraisers was in the Miss wheelchair state runnings eyeballing Ms wheelchair America..once she got in her groove... We went on to Florida.
In Florida you dealt with a man that had just found the purest cocaine he had done in a long time for dirt cheap prices. Through pretty much the whole stay we were there the years we were there. But I wasn't completely a lost cause so in Florida you became a business partner, an entrepreneur, an inventor, a teammate, a valuable asset, Chief cornerstone that all things business relied on between us and my buddy that we went into business with. Your pragmatic approach and abilities dominated with mine. The things I fell short in you could put into place... I don't want to say my inventiveness and idealism was the exact complimentary opposite to that where you lacked. But I'm going to be straight up with you you were just as inventive, sellable, full of ideas, practical enough to make it happen, and able to execute. So you were still at a young age early twenties the most amazing business partner I could ever ask for. Not to mention the fun in the sun the palm trees the tacky gold the new cars living on the beach man I was built for that s*** and I know you were. Eventually when the big collapse of the towers came, and us with our lack of savings which was a big part my fault. After September 11th the market just crashed and we didn't do business and s*** started going backwards and we sold our debt for what a couple thousand bucks? To watch my friend hold on to that business and buy us out of all that debt until it finally bankrupted was insane he really held on to that dream.
Anyways by the time we get back to our hometown not only is my sister been in a wheelchair now my sister develops a tumor on her pituitary gland Cushing's disease. My drug addiction is full force when we pull back into town. You jump right into action taking care of her everyone and by this time your family had got back in your life your parents. And you forgave them and let them in boy I'll never forget to work it took for you to get over that I remember the days that I sit with you and helped you work through that stuff. But you forgave you opened your heart and you opened your arms and embrace family. And you took care of everyone.
We get married. I get you pregnant the first child. I'm so far in addiction now that we're back home ground zero for those old habits. You're neglected, I'm high, selfish,I'm ashamed so basically I either don't come home because I've been up all night High s*** spending all of our money. And I mean all of it taking right out of my pregnant wife's and the baby's mouth to serve my f****** addiction. and you just held on. Remainder Rock still taking care of my sister. Still being there for my mom. And absolutely the polar opposite of what the doctor said when we first met about not being able to have kids. So after neglecting you constantly pawning off tons of responsibilities on you and spending every penny we had and expecting you to take care of the kids and never being home and being unavailable because I had a disgusting ratchet ass bottom of the barrel love affair that started with cocaine but once I tried to sling and learn how to cook cocaine became Crack to be exact. I traded you, businesses, vehicles, Mom Dad the kids, stability love, God, futures, anything everything I traded for that nasty b**** crack. Mind body Spirit trade it at all.
And what did you do you kept managing with what you we had you kept trying to hold it together and you held on for dear life.
Now you had already become a daughter to my mother and you were a sister to my sister so my part to play in that has nothing to do with y'all's relationship at this point. There's a very painful thing that I'm even scared to talk about maybe one day. Anyways finally you said you couldn't do it anymore I had driven us in the dirt I had literally turned us into basically homeless people with kids and I just could not stop when I would get to the bottom I'd bring a jackhammer and I'd find a new bottom. And you finally took your eyes off of me and you looked at what was the most important our child and you said it's time to separate you had to do it. Our separation you still tried to work with me as I got off the drug short-term and you came back and that's when I got you pregnant. That's what I want to talk to you about one day when we have time. But that has nothing to do with the honor you deserve because you are always were and not a doubt my mind always will be a loyal honorable commendable Royal woman a true virtuous woman.
Anyways when we started talking again during the separation I got you pregnant again. We got back together to try to make it work for both our kids now. But I wasn't going to give up crack for you all the families all the religion all the money and all the happiness in the world. I was that f****** stupid. God is good because I didn't 12 step my s*** out of there with that God come down and put a disgust and a chill in my bones about that s*** and made it disappear overnight. Maybe another time because it was way too late when it happened. Anyways I got you to raise two kids stole all of our money stole all of our food stole everything we didn't even have gas half the time. You hold on. You held one. I still have the claw marks in my soul from where you didn't want to let me go because you were that committed and that good of a woman. That in tune with family.
You went on to raise the kids by yourself you hooked up with another dude he got you pregnant then you dealt with him abusing you physically. Torturing that household. I know he's changed but I know some of this s*** that he did to my kids because I could see it in their eyes every time I would drop a fork. Thank God they healed from that. Whether they healed fully especially one of them I don't know. But then the question would have to be raised does the pain in the issues they go through revolve around him or revolve around the traumas from me. Cuz a dad supposed to be there. You basically dealt with him terrorizing y'all raising hell you've told me some of the things that he used to do to you I don't see how you can still talk to me like he needs you and you've got to be there for him but that's on you and I respect it but the way that you explain some of the things that he did to you to me it makes me sick to my stomach because I could just never see myself like harming you physically over and over and over again and doing things to you in other forms of physical abuse and getting pleasure or control out of it. But I can see taking you everything you ever owned and never given our kids a chance or anybody else and giving it all to crack can I so I don't know there. I just know it blows my mind. But I think it comes a lot from the fact I left us so bottom of the barrel out back from my addiction that as long as somebody was providing you felt some form of security over top of what I left you with which was complete insecurity. Maybe that's why you stuck around for the abuse and still justifiy it over top of the things I've done to this day.
You raised his kid, you raised my kids, you were the one true parent you were two dads you were one mom. You were a counselor, a provider a mediator a caretaker a teacher a protector a shelter a guide a mentor a motivator a problem solver you were a parent and you played the role of three parents. Plus you worked plus you were there for my family whenever they needed you. You were there for my sister all through her Cushing's disease. And there's so much more because you were building towards the future on your own establishing financial security vision for yourself holding the fort down getting damn near no financial help from me none 00.
I incurred 135,000 child support debt with you. How's that for deadbeat dead? See this isn't about the arrogant narcissistic guy you think I am this is about who you are. Let's just fast forward so we getting locked up for child support even though you had already told me you weren't working on getting all of that got rid of. And yes you may not believe this but my whole f****** inheritance is going to you not one red cent goes to me because you earned that. Yo you earned like 50,000 times that times a hundred times 50. All of the money in the world in my opinion is still not enough compensation if it was given all to you for the things you've done.
Now fast forward to my sister dying she's on her deathbed she's checking out. you stay and active part of her life and you check on her and you stay by her side and you are there with her as a friend you coming you become her caretaker in the end you help my mother you stand by my family side we see my sister into the Afterlife and we live the lives we live.
I come to the city out of the blue I'll come to find out there was a warrant out I get arrested. With some help from another family member if y'all bond me out with $13,000 cash. A week later I'm called by the courts they said we didn't have to show the decision could be made without us there and when we pop up they walk out and they say here here's your piece of paper sir. You owe $14.75. I'll look at the piece of paper it says Mr so and so your debt with child support enforcement has been cleared in full please pay us these $14 processing fees and your case is closed. You smiled me a smile at you.
And you said the most horrific thing I've ever heard in my life from someone. I'm being cynical here because it was really the most amazing thing but I hate the term because I'm a basket case. You looked at me and said be better do better.
Fast forward after that I started trying to get my s*** together started trying to help you with vehicles and stuff around the house and somehow... Some f****** way... I had the audacity to get offended by the way you were treating me. And I had a nervous breakdown. And I begin saying things to you the absolutely weren't true that I absolutely didn't mean and I f****** flaked.
You with no contact to protect yourself.
Look at what you have done how could I have done that?
Anyways I've seen my mom turn on you with her words. I've seen your parents turn on you, I've turned on you, seen your friends turn on you, I've seen a world I've seen your ex's turn on you, but you know what I've never seen you turn on the people that you give your ability and your honor to and your bonds to I've never seen you turn on them ever.
You didn't turn on me you were protecting yourself.
Glue you were the strongest f****** woman I've ever met and you are worthy of an award that his world renowned and recognized because there are so many things that I haven't said here.
You are The Rock, you are the glue, you are the ties that bind... You are the virtuous woman. Proverbs 31 versus 10 to 31 is the description of who You are. Even to the point of where our kids were raised by you to place the dwelling now that you're at. You have taken in so many other people's kids you're like a parent to everyone. You excel at every job that you do. Vital asset to every team that you join. Highly efficient highly intelligent. Insanely gorgeous. Smart funny. God your sense of humor is so f****** awesome.
I'll see things in pictures my brain sees things in pictures and I just see pictures of you sometimes where always if we were around somebody that was down you would do the goofiest s*** you had to do to get them to smile because that's what you do. Just like sis did and this is her birthday gift from me because she told me several times to think about how hard you have worked. And she begged me to draw that picture before she died I got it toward the day before she died it was so important to her that picture is me holding her hand and her grabbing a star and her feet rooted to the ground and the roots coming into my feet and it says my brother taught me to reach for the stars my sister taught me to remain grounded.
And it's weird because I look at that and I think about how much of a icon and how much of a aura and presence glue was see y'all were glue one and two. And I'll go get that picture that she had me draw and it brings these overwhelming senses of things because I miss her so much but it brings you into the picture too because you always kept me grounded and I could envision anything anything on vision and you could take it for what it was and you could be like okay it's not that practical but it can be done and you would make the systems that made it happen no matter what it was I could create anything with you. You are after all Earth. I'm air. Reach for the Stars grounded etc.
Do you have so many amazing qualities and you have done so many honorable things. And for my sister's birthday I honor you her sister because the things that she said really ring true now. If you never talk to me again I respect it, if you want us to try to have some kind of working amicable relation I respect it but I have to have communication, you are so much of everything good and honestly I still love you so much thatI fall apart in your presence. But forget me man for real f*** me. Glue I want you to be happy you deserve happiness and if I take away from that then I need to shut my f****** mouth and I need to take that s*** so I went down and I need to smile because I know that you're happier. I truly know what it's like to want something so bad because I have for years but I never got healthy I'm just now getting around to taking care of myself. But I have for years wanted you and when I couldn't have you that's when you became Bruce Willis and you was popping my ass in the face saying you feel that boy that's your pride f****** with you.
Will glue I'm swallowing my pride. I want you to be happy no matter what I want you to be honored. If you ever do decide you want me in your life in any form please give me the communication I need to approach it healthily if not I'll f*** it up. I'm not even going to ask you what you want I'm not going to bug you but if by some chance in hell you ever find this letter just know at any point anytime you can reach out to me and ask for anything. I have taken and taken and taken and you have given and given and given it's time for me to sit the f*** down shut the f****** and love you the way you're supposed to be loved. And that means unconditionally loving you for who you are not loving you for me loving you because I absolutely adore who You are and I want to see the best life you can have happen.
You probably can't see your value and priceless coming out of my mouth or anyone else still does not do it justice.
Going to write a story about us glue.
And I promise to never promise again and just show you by allowing you the power dynamic you deserve to make your own choices and get the happiest healthiest life you can without me interjecting you've done it well this far better than me. Have made myself look like a total helpless loser in this but we both know what I'm capable of and what I'm about. If you need a roll for me just communicate it. I'll give it my all even if giving it my all means standing outside the box looking in but never burdening you with the fact that I am anymore.
And I'm not going to bring it up. Man I hope one day you get all the things you deserve.
You're admired appreciated loved and honored. By many. You are the Chief cornerstone woman. You are woman all woman.
I love you always will. Have my power dynamics take what you need and should you ever need me to flex my power because we both know all you got to do is make the call and I'll flex on whatever the hell you need me to as hard as you need me to and I'll scoop my ass right on out the way if that's what you need after it's done
Thank you glue
Buy some odd chance should you ever want me to be the one to try to love you communicate with me and point me in the direction I'm so f***** up out here I need direction and I know that they could be poisonous to you so you being The logical thinker that you are take that for what you will.
I've never been able to fully give myself to anyone else because I truly feel that to this day I will take my love for you to the grave.
You're that special.
Should I ever get a chance to love you and stand by your side of your man again you're going to have to let me die and and come out of the death of at least once because I'll die of happiness and wake up I just I wouldn't know how to handle it.
To me it's like imagine somebody said hey here's this egg but it doesn't have a shell that's just made of the rubber stuff that holds the shell together and you've got to run this egg 3 MI of mountain terrain in 20 minutes or the whole world ends.
Well I would just take the f****** egg and throw it on the ground. That's how I've been treating things. That's what I'm relearning everything.
It could be a detriment to you you know the sign of this always protect yourself and do what's best for your happiness but if I could love you again and be your man the things I would do I can't tell you because that would be the same old same old and honestly I just don't know.
I just know I love you you've always been everything to me and there will never be anyone that compares and there never has been.
Thank you for who you are