see every time i see this status i get angry because i’ve played through literally every scenario in rct1 and there is no place where this is a thing. there is never more than one park per map. and in rct2 you can’t make that happen i the scenario editor either. it is not remotely within the game’s functionality to simulate two discrete parks and these games were coded in assembly for christ sake so it’s not like someone modded it in by adding the line “int const TOTAL_NUM_POSSIBLE_PARKS = 2;”. there is no conceivable way this post is anything close to true and even though i know how writing all this out reflects upon me as a person and even though i know exactly how meaningless and trifling of a takedown attempt this is on some random facebook screencap with hundreds of thousands of notes im going to post it anyway because i’m too petty to have any say in the matter
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Ilya is so lucky that Shane proposed. Ilya would have been a nervous fucking wreck for the entire day beforehand. Wake up in the morning. Look in the mirror. Today's the day. Sob. Breathe. Okay I'm good! Turn around and Shane's hair is all in his face, still asleep on Ilya's pillow. I am NOT good. Cold shower. Breakfast that Ilya does not eat. Morning jog wherein Ilya runs like someone is chasing him. Lunch that Ilya does not eat. Drive out to the cottage. Make Shane pull over because Ilya needs to dry heave on the side of the road. "Baby we don't have to drive out today if you're not feeling well." "NO WE HAVE TO." Get to the cottage. Immediately send Shane on some kind of extended fool's errand. Shane wants to stay because Ilya is SHAKING and he is so worried. "No my love I'm fine it's just the breeze off the lake haha." It's thirty fuckig degrees Celsius. Shane finally gtfo's. Yuna, David, Rose FUCKING Landry all descend to help Ilya set up. Well. Ilya is supposed to be helping but he is standing on the deck fully dissociating. Yuna brings him tea. "Are you going to throw up the tea?" "Yes probably." Yuna takes away the tea. 800 electronic tea lights on the deck. In a parallel Ilya has no way of understanding, he both puts on and takes off a suit. Yuna fixes his curls into the hockey boy quasi-mullet that magnetizes Shane's fingers to Ilya's hair and says, "Oh, you're so handsome!" Ilya cries big fat tears. David tells a story about how his proposal to Yuna almost didn't happen because David went to the hospital for heart palpitations that morning. Thank You David That Does Not Help Even Remotely. Ilya slav squats on the lawn for twenty minutes. Shane's car pulls up in the driveway and everyone hides while Ilya vibrates in the entryway. Shane has no less than thirty grocery bags hanging from his arms, still complaining about why the grocery service cancelled their delivery last minute. Ilya leads Shane and all thirty of his grocery bags onto the deck. Shane is doing his favorite thing (bitching) and his second favorite thing (Follow Ilya) so he doesn't notice his own mother tiptoing behind him collecting the grocery bags he drops like breadcrumbs. There is an Oscar-winning actress hiding under his sofa and Shane does not notice because Ilya takes him on the deck and drops to his knees and Shane is like, "Haha, right now?" and then he sees that Ilya has a look on his face like he's just been told the sun is never coming up again and he has his hands on Shane's knees and he is saying, "Shane. Please?" and Shane puts his hands on his head and says "Oh my God baby what's happening to you" as Ilya melts and melts and then from the depths of the cottage someone who sounds a lot like Shane's very own father is whispering "The ring the ring" and when he looks back down Ilya is fumbling a ring box out of his pocket. The first picture of their proposal is Shane glaring into the middle distance with a hand cradling Ilya's curls like a baby while Ilya ugly sobs into his knee.
I’d like to entertain and enliven you now with the saga of my Slut Era.
I’ve always been a serial monogamist and my shortest long term relationships clocked in at three years. So perhaps that’s why when I finally broke it off with my ex I went insane on dating. Part of it was definitely just that between anxiety and loneliness I wanted to fill up my time.
This happened when I was living alone for the first time, no roommates, just me and my little cat Leeloo. I didn’t want to come home to an empty house so instead I set up dates.
Most of these were disastrous. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea and I had a lot more first dates than second because they’d seen enough, including the one where people aggressively complimented me.
But after a few months I had four people I was seeing simultaneously. I was up front with all of them that things were not exclusive, and they all agreed, so no infidelity took place here, just a lot of hijinks.
Here’s who was on the dating roster:
• An apprentice woodworker that we’ll call Jill. I honestly thought at 26 years old that her being 21 wasn’t a problem age gap and I quickly learned that there was a vast gulf of both maturity and life experience between us. Jill described herself as “heteroflexible” and had just dumped her first boyfriend to flirt it up with me.
• A married woman looking for a friends with benefits. We’ll call her Alice. I insisted on meeting her husband first to be sure I wasn’t part of a cheating mess and he gave me his blessing when I stayed over at her house. Years later when he and Alice had divorced I would go on to sell him and his new fiancée an engagement ring and we both realized at the end how we knew each other and it was wildly awkward. Alice was nice, but a hardcore vegan who insisted I brush my teeth if I so much as ate string cheese before I could kiss her. She was also unhappy in her marriage and was feeling out if I’d want to get serious.
• A bartender dubbed Snakebites, so called because of her signature piercings. She cooked me a steak so raw it was still mooing and some of the best asparagus I’d ever had. In our singular sexy encounter she bit my nipple and I never got over it. Really don't bite someone if you don't know their preference and work up in pressure. We weren’t terribly compatible but neither of us were willing to admit it yet. Truthfully I considered still dating her solely because I desperately wanted her bathroom. It had all black tile, black toilet, black sink, a rain shower in the corner and a jacuzzi tub. I may not have loved her but god I loved that bathroom.
And finally,
• My beloved, who I would go on to marry, who was dealing with a lot of personal stuff at the time. Obviously that meant I liked them the best of all the people I was seeing because we were both disasters at the time.
So that’s the cast of this little misadventure. Now, our story begins with Jill.
Jill was someone who heightened my anxiety. Each of the three times she came to my home she brought and left more stuff. A self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans collection of DVDs. It was like she was trying to move in. She also liked to deride my taste in things, frequently calling me a pleb when I mentioned a band or show I liked.
She was working on a gorgeous little decorative table in her woodworking program. The main wood for the top had a beautiful dapple of knots like jaguar spots, and when she showed me a picture I exclaimed how pretty it was.
“Do you want it?”
“Oh- I mean it’s lovely, I wouldn’t mind having it, but you should sell it and make some money!”
But she was adamant. She’d give me the little side table. At about this time, Alice was starting to get awfully lovey for a FWB. I knew she wasn’t happy with her husband but I also knew we were not a good fit. Fun fact: Alice and her husband were step siblings with a pretty hefty age gap. They got together when he stumbled upon a kink photo shoot she’d done with vegetables. None of their family was happy about the relationship but they weren’t related by blood so it was fine.
So I was fending off more overt romantic advances from Alice, and feeling increasingly like I needed to break things off with Jill. Snakebites wasn’t ever initiating communication and I decided to pull a lot of plugs at once.
I ghosted Snakebites, told Alice that I thought we should cool it, and in a move worthy of a rom-com I asked my beloved if I could pretend we were exclusive to put off Jill. They agreed and I texted Jill to let her know that I was no longer single.
I was not prepared for Jill’s response. She. Was. Devastated. She flew off the handle. She’d just been waiting for the right time to tell me how she felt about me! How dare I do this to her!
What about the table?!
“You should keep the table, it’s gorgeous, you’ll be able to sell it, but I don’t expect a free table.”
Silence met me after that text. I worried and fretted and eventually headed home.
There on my doorstep. The table.
It was a small little end table, reeking of oil and polish, but very beautiful. I brought it inside. The little drawer didn’t even have a knob or guide rails. But it did have a handwritten bill proclaiming that it was costing me $500.
“I can’t afford a $500 table, Jill!” I texted.
“Well you kept saying how nice it was. I spent a lot of time on it.”
“I’m not saying it’s not worth $500” (it wasn’t, it was a tiny side table made by an apprentice) “but I can’t buy a $500 table.”
“Make me an offer.”
I stared at the little table. I did actually like it, but I worried about the repercussions of entering into this deal. Hesitantly I typed back, “$300.” I didn’t think it was worth that much but I didn’t want to insult her too badly.
This suited her for the night. But the next day she informed me she needed a new bed, and that she’d take her $300 in credit toward a new mattress. I spent the whole next day basically wrangling with her over what she wanted and eventually she spiked back up to demanding $500 for the damn table.
“Let me just give it back,” I begged. It was not the first, second, or even third time I’d asked to return the thing but this time she finally relented and gave me her address. Since she lived with her parents still I’d never been over.
I called up my beloved and said, “Hey, I need moral support, can you run an errand with me?”
They agreed which is how we loaded up a self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans DVD collection, and the table from hell into my little car together. Jill had said to meet her at one o'clock. I intended to drop everything off at noon and be done with this madness.
But while my beloved and I were on the doorstep leaving everything I heard, “Jill? You’re home early,” through the door. Her mom opened it to peer at us in confusion.
“I was just bringing Jill’s stuff back!” I chirped in alarm.
With little tact and a lot of speed we left her with Jill’s collection of things and then I sped out of there like my tail was on fire. I handed my phone to my beloved as I zoomed away instructing them to block Jill’s number. I was free. The tabletross around my neck had been returned.
It was about a month after that when my beloved and I officially began dating exclusively. I had wrapped up all my messy dating threads and it was a relief to be in a relationship again. They went on a trip to Mexico shortly after we made it official.
So I knew they were out of town. But next morning I walked out to my car and beheld a lipstick kiss pressed to the drivers side window.
I was petrified. I had just dumped three girls at once and had an extremely messy back and forth with one of them. Did I have a stalker?!
Of the girls, Alice seemed like likeliest candidate, being of a stronger lipstick variety girl than Jill or Snakebites. We had ended things a bit stiffly, but still cordial. She just laughed when I asked if she knew anything about it. “Nope,” she said, “but good luck.”
I’d rather have walked over broken glass then text Jill, and I’d firmly ghosted Snakebites so I was scared to reopen communication to ask if she was stalking me. I had to drop it. But it haunted me, that lipstick kiss.
For months I was jumpy, wondering which of my spurned lovers had done it. And why. Was it a threat? A goodbye? I lay awake thinking about it, worrying about how everyone I’d dated knew where I lived, which car was mine.
Finally, nothing else happened and I moved on. The kiss would remain a mystery and I had to be content with that.
It was a year later when I finally started filling my mom in on my dating escapades that I finally got closure. She was hooting and laughing as I went over the table debacle. Then I paused and added, “And then this kiss showed up on my car.”
“Did you like it?”
“What? No! I’m pretty sure one of them was stalking me! Who else would leave a kiss on my car?”
My mom started bellowing with laughter. “I did!” She wheezed.
Apparently. My mother had been driving by my place. And decided that a cute little gesture would be to leave me a kiss. And then decided to never mention it to me even though she’s never done anything like that previously.
“It scared the crap out of me!” I yelled while she collapsed with helpless laughter. “I thought I had a stalker! How could I possibly have known that was you?!”
“How could I have known you’d just broken up with three girls at once?” She wheezed in rejoinder and like. Fair play.
So that’s how my mom convinced me I had a stalker and I got out of buying a $500 table.
Okay so like. This is the ultimate fuckery to date.
Back before I met my girlfriend I was very promiscuous, I was dating several people at once. One of those people was Alice who was married- we were just friends with benefits. I made a point to meet her husband before anything happened because I wanted to be aboveboard with everyone in the situation.
We dallied for a bit before she ended up leaving him for another guy and moving to Arizona.
Today I was helping a couple with an engagement ring. We had a nice time and spent like two hours together finding her ring and diamond, and the whole time it was just niggling at the back of my mind that he looked so familiar, something about him was so familiar. This is exceedingly unusual for me as I tend to be face blind.
Before they left I was like, “I feel like I know you but I don’t know how?”
And we started brainstorming ideas. I asked him if he'd worked in mattress sales and he said no, he sold warehouse equipment. That sparked a tiny memory and as I was frowning trying to chase why it sounded familiar his eyes widened and he said, “Oh- you were Alice’s friend.”
I stared at him in horrified recognition, desperately wishing I hadn't asked.
So me, and this guy whose ex wife I had sex with, and his new fiancée were all locked into this hilarious and uncomfortable circle, laughing and cringing in unison.
I have this funny embarrassing date story but every time I tell it people think I’m humble bragging and I’m not actually sure I’ll ever be able to properly convey it.
The first thing you need to know about me is that I love people giving me food. This will be relevant. Most of my life I’ve hovered around 90lbs and I think that contributed to the generosity I’ve experienced, people wanted to help fatten me up. I looked like I’d never been fed in my life despite consuming absurdly large portions at each meal.
I also have starving orphan energy when I look at food. I’ve been handed a napkin bundle of Olive Garden breadsticks out of a purse, and been offered a piece of a customers sushi roll. I never ever turn it down. I. Love. People giving me food.
So years ago before meeting my wife I’m on this first date with a girl at a nerdy restaurant. We’re waiting for our food and playing some kind of off brand Clue while trying to get to know each other. A man is sitting across the aisle from us, dining alone and playing on his laptop.
Suddenly a guy pops up next to me. I looked up in surprise, expecting to see the server with my burger but instead it’s a very awkward man wringing his hands. “Excuse me- you’re- you’re so beautiful. I don’t mean to interrupt- but is it possible I could get your number?”
I went bright red, and given that my complexion hovers around vampiric I was roughly the same shade as a fire truck. “I’m- that’s really nice but I’m on a date? Right now? With her?” I gestured helplessly toward my date.
I’ve never been someone who gets approached like that and I had no idea how to react. He looked mortified at this revelation. “I’m so so sorry- I had to take a shot, you’re just so pretty.”
To my further befuddlement my date chimed in with a flirty smile and agreed, “She really is beautiful.”
My blood pressure ticked another notch closer to an active volcano and I tried to smile while being at an utter loss of what you’re supposed to say when two people have their entire focused admiration on you. It was worse than stage fright, I didn’t even have lines I could potentially remember that would save me, I was adrift in this foreign place with no hope of rescue.
And then.
The man across the aisle, who had been observing said, “Hey man, I get it, if I didn’t have a girlfriend I would have made the same mistake, she’s gorgeous.”
If you’ve never had three relative strangers all staring at you saying genuinely nice things you have no idea how mortifying it is. It was not sincere compliments, it was an act of war. I wanted to crawl under the table or batter my way through the wall to escape, but I just sweated profusely with a fixed smile and said thank you until he went away.
When it was finally just my date and I again and we had gone back to cordially not speaking to the man across the aisle I still remained rattled and nervous, waiting for the next embarrassing thing to happen.
Every time I’ve told this story I’ve gotten eye rolls, but for me it was a sudden and bizarre shift towards a terrifying amount of scrutiny on me. I’m socially anxious and had no idea how to navigate what was happening and I’d genuinely wanted to cry in the moment.
The date progressed. We ate our food and I slowly relaxed from the intense need to flee. As we wound down the man next to us got something delivered to his table. Something that smelled absolutely divine.
Now normally, I wouldn’t interrupt a solo diner. But this man had been part of embarrassing the ever loving shit out of me and I knew he was kindly disposed towards me. So I asked, “What is that?”
“It’s their deep fried cheesecake bites.”
I looked at them. I have said before, I project a pitiful air of fixated longing when I look at food I want. Eight years with my beloved wife and I have never been able to turn off the energy I get when I desire something delicious that someone else possesses.
This man, eager and friendly said, “Would you like one?”
It was instant. I happily agreed and leaned across the aisle to share, forgiving him every moment of embarrassment for his willingness to share this delectable treatsie with me. “Make sure to try it with the dipping sauce!” I added the raspberry dipping sauce and it was absolutely delicious.
Later, I would go home and relay this story to Betty who I was living with at the time. Her face transformed into utter horror when I told her about his offer. “You didn’t just take that man’s food while you were on a date! What did she say to that?”
She didn’t say much, but there was no second date.
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Hab' mir für ein Larp an diesem Wochenende einen "Heraldischen Hauswappenerfassungsbogen" entworfen, der übersetzt einfach nur ein total bescheuertes Formular zur Berechnung einer erfundenen Wappensteuer ist, mit der ich dann bei den Spielern aus Ritterbund und Adeligenlager hausieren gehen werde.
"Wie viele Farben hat ihr Wappen? Mehr als zwei? Sorry, das ist mit einer Sondersteuer belegt. Ach, und euer Wappentier ist ein Fabelwesen? Da müssen wir natürlich einen Aufpreis berechnen"
Aus irgend'nem Grund lieben Larper es nämlich, wenn man sie sehr offensichtlich über den Tisch zieht. Zumindest spielen sie meistens überschwänglich und mit voller Begeisterung mit, auf so überzogene Art dass es zu einer Monty Python Szene wird. Wenn wir alle so enthusiastisch wären sobald es um echten Papierkram geht wären Behördengänge nur halb so anstrengend.
Vielleicht sollten Behördenmitarbeiter für ein bisschen spice und amtliche Extravaganz wieder eingekleidet werden wie mittelalterliche Herolde. Hätte keinen praktischen Nutzen but imagine the fits
Die Steuer, die hiermit berechnet wurde, war vollkommene Willkür. Just sort of saying numbers that felt right
Zur nächsten Veranstaltung würde ich aber gerne einen komplizierten Aufklärungsbogen zur Berechnung der Steuer mitnehmen, auf dem dann je nach Kategorie nicht nur Geld, sondern auch Nutztiere oder erstgeborene Kinder einbezogen werden. Das macht dann 15 Kupfermünzen, 3 Hühner und das Glas Marmelade da hinten. Anordnung von ganz oben.
Fazit: die Spieler aus der adeligen Ecke waren fully on board (Papierkram ist was für wichtige Leute, also lieben sie Papierkram), als ich mit den Zetteln hingegen beim Pöbel aufkreuzte wurde mir Waffengewalt angedroht bevor ich das Wort Bewappnungssondersteuer sagen konnte. Empörend. Aber so sind sie nunmal, die Leibeigenen.
So while doing some pirate research for the play I’m writing I stumbled upon one of the most amazing things I’ve ever read. In the 5th century A.D. there was a Scandinavian princess called Alwilda who’s father tried to set her up to marry Alf, the Prince of Denmark. Alwilda wasn’t cool with this so she and some female companions dressed as men, stole a ship, and sailed away. Eventually they met a company of pirates who were in need of a new captain and they were so captivated by her that they elected her as their new leader. Her crew became so infamous that Prince Alf was sent out to stop them. When their ships met he took Alwilda prisoner and she was so impressed by Alf’s skill that she agreed to marry him after all and eventually became the Queen of Denmark.
Medievalist here for triumphant fact-checking: this story is, if not true, at least true according to the history of the Danes (Gesta Danorum) written in the 12th century by Saxo Grammaticus. You can read his account of Alwilda’s story in the original Latin here, or in English translation here. Highlights include:
She exchanged woman’s for man’s attire, and, no longer the most modest of maidens, began the life of a warlike rover. Enrolling in her service many maidens who were of the same mind, she happened to come to a spot where a band of rovers were lamenting the death of their captain, who had been lost in war; they made her their rover captain.
I love the implication that there were lots of Danish maidens just WAITING for the opportunity of a life of piracy…
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I resent just how fucking accurate this shitpost is, congratulations OP, you effectively illustrated how Darwin’s Theory of Natural Selection became accepted by the wider public using a FUCKING MUPPETS MEME, here is your A+, get the hell out of my office
y'all were asking why i was being seen for cognitive therapy and the short answer is that long covid had badly exacerbated a lot of my ADHD and Autism cognitive function issues
the long answer is today i walked outside, walked across the street to my red car, saw the windshield had been cracked terribly from one end to the other, burst into tears because i can't possibly afford a new windshield, said "it wasn't broken like ten minutes ago when I got home!" decided the children who lived in the house beside me must have done it because they play outside with random big toys all day, decided immediately i had no desire to follow up on it but that i only wished whoever broke it would have left a note, noticed one of the neighbors staring at me, realized i was going to be late to my appointment and i needed to stop fussing, got into the car, car smelled like cigarettes and i don't smoke, realized this wasn't my fucking car, realized the neighbor was staring at me because i was crying over his car (also red), and now i was in his car, got out, he said nothing, hoped he has a sense of humor, walked 10 feet to my car, deeply embarrassed.
i cant stop imagining looking outside and your neighbor you never really talk to but who you see every day just has one hand on your windshield and the other over his eyes, weeping. OF COURSE HE SAID NOTHING!!!!!
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‘The Ghetto Tarot’: Haitian artists transform classic tarot deck into stunning real life scenes:
Welcome to the Ghetto Tarot, a project from award-winning documentary photographer Alice Smeets and a group of Haitian artists known as Atis Rezistans. The idea was to take the classic Rider-Waite tarot deck of 78 cards and create a photographic version of each card using settings and objects in the vibrant ghetto of Haiti.
As Smeets says, “The spirit of the Ghetto Tarot project is the inspiration to turn negative into positive while playing. The group of artists ‘Atiz Rezistans’ use trash to create art with their own visions that are a reflection of the beauty they see hidden within the waste. They are claiming the word ‘Ghetto,’ thus freeing themselves of its depreciating undertone and turning it into something beautiful.”
