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un-nonymous · 2 years

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Have you ever seen someone in like, head-to-toe (shoulder-to-thigh?) spanx, but without the bra part? It’s like a BYOB (bra) situation? It’s not great.

Anyway, my best friend’s wedding is this Saturday in Chicago and we leave at 6am Thursday. I need 8 more days to be ready for the trip.

It’s been so long since I’ve written over here that I was excited to fill in the “Listening to:” field. That’s … never been a thing here. Livejournal. Twenty (20) years ago. It’s fine. You should listen to this song though.

youtube

I don’t care about no hoes, where is your spouse at?

Red text!

(Personally, I truly don’t care about no hoes nor spouses. In fact I’m very actively trying to become a spouse myself, for fuck’s sake.)

So I’m a bridesmaid in my best friend’s wedding this weekend and I love her but she did us all dirty with the color of these dresses. It’s like a smoky lavender - the kind that looks good on no one. We were able to choose our own style at least, but they are all relentless and unforgiving. I am wearing head-to-toe spanx (BYObra) and you can see like, the line of the contour? on the thigh? And it’s not because I have thick legs. I mean, it’s because the material of the dress is almost as though it was stuck to you, but it flows nicely in a breeze. I don’t know. I’ve also lost a bunch of weight since June (thanks, keto!) and that honestly helps me feel better about the dress. I took selfies tonight, even! Maybe I’ll post one.

This has been a hard week. Since Friday, I: organized and attended yet another suicide prevention training at work; unexpectedly found myself needing to support a dear coworker towards the end of that training class because he had been struggling with all the thoughts we’d been talking about for 2 hours and needed to step outside to cry and asked if I would join him (a senior general superintendent); attended a coworker’s wedding with another coworker, got drunk for the first time in a while and lost the latter coworker’s sunglasses before raising my voice at a third coworker who was getting mouthy with me; had what would have been the worst hangover of my life Sunday if it weren’t for Amazon’s party patches*; have been running around with my hair on fire at the office for both 10+ hour days I’ve had today and yesterday.

That whole thing was all about work. I’m working on that, but now’s not a good time for progress.

Seriously though, look up “party patches” on Amazon. Slap 2 of them on you (gonna do 3-4 for this weekend’s festivities, I have to be in proper shape for Nine Inch Nails at Riot Fest on Sunday #priorities) and while they won’t always stop a hangover from happening (I mean honestly how do you stop a speeding train, you know?), they will help you avoid an ambulance at least. Ask me how I know. Look for the blue and orange packages. They’re just vitamins, I don’t know what kind of witchcraft they’re about otherwise but they’re like $30 for I want to say 40-something patches? You really can’t put a price on magic.

(Ok here’s how I know: The last time I got that hungover, it was the morning after Matt and I got into a big argument about something stupid in public and I was crying at the table quietly but also pretty dramatically and the server had just approached with the check that I stubbornly insisted on paying. I could not pick my head up off the pillow the next morning and it took us 3 weeks to finally reach the end of the conversation because I was so embarrassed that I cried at a server as a 37-year-old woman for really the dumbest reason. I’m really fun to date. Fortunately he and I were genuinely fine those 3 weeks, we aren’t about grudges which has probably done a world of good for our 5-year run so far. But I was wearing 0 party patches that night. I currently have 2.7 packs for the bridal party and maybe the groomsmen if they’re acting right.)

Matt is standing up in the wedding too and we’re going to walk down the aisle together. I hope at least a couple people throw shoes at him. Gently, because he is a gem, but he needs a kick in the ass and he knows it.

Hope you and yours are loving your adventures lately. 🖤

#did i tell you we got a dog??#ok next time #love you bye

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jadonsanchoo · 5 years

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‘no effort’

reiss nelson x reader

warnings: some cursing?

— to the person who requested this, sorry it took so long! love you bby! (and sorry if there are any errors).

Ever since Reiss had moved to Germany, on a loan to Hoffienheim, seeing him and spending time with him wasn’t as often anymore. With him being busy with football and trainings, and you with school, studying and your job– the two of you hardly had time to just drop everything and leave the country to visit one another.

Before he had moved away, the two of you were practically inseparable, you were best friends before you even began dating– so the change of seeing each other almost everyday to just during holidays, vacations or just whenever Reiss had some time off, was very difficult.

You missed him so much, and vice-versa. And not only because he was your boyfriend but because he was also your best friend. The person who’d listen to you rant (when you were pissed after a bad day of work), or try his best to cheer you up after a shitty ass day (the kid would do anything and everything to see you smile). The simplest things about him were deeply missed. You definitely missed hearing him laugh so he couldn’t breathe (although it wasn’t the best thing to hear, you still missed his ugly laugh), or just waking up next to him as he’d be looking at you with a sleepy smile on his face.

It had been a few months since you had last seen him, the last time being because he had time off because of the upcoming holidays– making it the perfect opportunity to fly back home to see you.

You two would text everyday or talk on FaceTime. You’d usually FaceTime as you revised some notes for classes, or right after he’d come from training. There was always time for each other, despite having such busy schedules and the fact that you lived in different countries.

But the calls and texting had become less constant from him, and you could tell it was because he was busy but also because he was upset. He had asked if you could come to one of his matches (it was a very important match, and he wanted you there supporting him and for luck) and you had told him that you couldn’t because you were busy. And it was simply the truth, and Reiss knew that, but he couldn’t help but still feel upset seeing that there was never time anymore.

He felt a bit envious seeing his teammates spend time with their wives and girlfriends, and he was always the one alone since the season began.

The last time you two had talked was about three days ago, and he never went that long without talking to you. Your texts weren’t replied to, and your calls weren’t answered, so you felt pretty worried.

You decided on calling him, and your first few calls weren’t answered and you figured it was because he was probably sleeping since it was late. But just as you were about to call it a night and head to sleep, your phone began to ring.

“Reiss?” You said softly, not wanting to wake your roommate in the next room.

“Yeah? What’s wrong?” He said, in a monotone but quite sleepy voice.

“I think I should be the one asking you that,” you said, laughing slightly to make the call less awkward but he remained silent. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

You took a few seconds to gather your words, and he knew you were thinking of what to say next. “I don’t know, I just. . I thought something was wrong because we haven’t talked for three days.”

Three days wasn’t very long, but for someone like Reiss– who would always check up on you, send good morning or night messages, call at the most inconvenient times, make you laugh for hours on FaceTime, or even send you random but funny posts he’d find on Instagram– it was strange to not hear anything from him for so long.

“I’ve just been busy, you know?”

“Yeah. .” you mumbled, and he knew something was on your mind. You didn’t want to seem clingy or annoying if all he wanted was some time for himself, but the least he could do was tell you that he was fine. But you remained silent, wondering if he’d tell you what was on his mind instead and why he’d been acting like this these past few days.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” And again, it was him asking you the questions you should be asking him instead.

“I’m worried about you.”

“Why?” He laughed, and although it wasn’t the most genuine laugh, it still felt good to hear him laugh.

“We never go this long without talking, so there’s something bothering you, Reiss. Did I do or say something to make you feel upset?”

“Of course not,” he said, his voice much softer than before, his heart slightly clenching at the sound of your voice.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, I just. . I feel like we never see each other anymore. Like even though we talk everyday, it just doesn’t feel the same because it’s better when we’re in person.”

Reiss had never gone so long without seeing you, it was the first time in probably forever. He was far from home, his family and you. At first, he felt fine and actually excited for the season to begin. He thought it was exciting living in a new country and having an opportunity to show his talent in a new league. But as the weeks went by, and the less he saw his family and you, the more he felt homesick.

“I know, Reiss. .” you mumbled, agreeing in what he had said. But for some reason, you began to think about what could happen after this call was over. And your mind drifted to the fact that maybe he’d want to take a break, or maybe decide that a relationship isn’t the best thing right now.

With this call you had intended on keeping your trip to Germany to visit him in a few days a surprise, but by the way he was sounding, and how upset he sounded, you wanted to tell him instead.

“Sometimes I feel like I wouldn’t feel so homesick if I could just see you more often, things would be much better if you were here,” he explained.

“I’m-”

“Busy, you’re busy, you always are. How come I’m always the one going to you, but you’re never the one coming to me?” He asked, cutting you off before you could even finish your sentence.

“Reiss, I’ve visited you in Germany before. And like you said, I’m busy. I can’t just drop everything to visit you every week.”

“But I have, multiple times before, but how come you won’t?” He asked, his voice now much more harsher.

“I try to, Reiss. And you know that.”

Reiss was being unfair, and he knew it, but he couldn’t help but still feel slightly angry because he didn’t get to see you as much anymore.

He reminded silent. It was silent for a few seconds, but it was enough to know what he was trying to imply. “So you think I’m not putting effort into us?”

And again, it was silent.

You scoffed, and he could practically feel you rolling your eyes. “Look, I’m sorry that I don’t make thousands everyday and don’t get to fly in whenever I want. I have to work my ass off to make enough money for school. I go to school, and study every single day in order to one day finally be able to achieve my dreams. You’re already living yours, and I’m sorry that not everything is working the way you want it.”

“It’s ironic how you’re the one telling me I’m putting no effort when you were the one you disappeared on me for a few days. And I know that I don’t get to visit you as often as you want me to, but I try to make sure you’re okay, that you’re doing well. But you know what else is ironic? That I’m actually going to fly to Germany next week, to visit you. That I was going to surprise you, and go to your match, just like you had asked me to,” you added. “It took a lot for me to get time off from work, and I’ll probably be behind on a few classes, but that was alright, because I was finally going to be able to be with you.”

You heard him sigh, “baby. . I’m really sorry,” he apologized, but you still couldn’t help but feel annoyed and angry by the fact that he felt you weren’t putting any effort into your relationship.

“Yeah, and I’m sorry for not putting any effort into us, Reiss,” you said sarcastically but harshly.

“I mean it, I. . I’m so fucking sorry for this. . for all that. For making this such a big deal when it isn’t even your fault. And I know that it isn’t your fault, but I just felt. . angry, and I should’ve never blamed you for the fact that we don’t see each other much because we’re both busy. I’m sorry, for being so stupid and I really don’t deserve you. You do everything to make sure I’m happy, you make me happy. You make me feel better when I’m not feeling good, you remind me to do things I’d forget if you didn’t remind me, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. Because, honestly, I’m the happiest with you and if I were to lose you over something stupid like this, I would be the dumbest man alive.”

This time, it was you who remained silent. It was actually silent for a few minutes, and he wondered if you had accidentally fallen asleep listening to him struggle to find the right words.

“Babe?”

“You are right, about you being stupid,” you laughed, causing him to laugh along. He was glad to hear you laugh after this, knowing that you wouldn’t keep a grudge or stay angry at him. “But I love you, stupid.”

He couldn’t help but let his lips curl into a smile, a big smile hearing your voice, much calmer and he could feel you smiling.

“And I love you more.”

#reiss nelson #reiss nelson imagine #football imagine #football one shot #arsenal #england nt

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flapperfromthefuture · 5 years

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I’ve been struggling to keep up with both baking and writing due to the stress of starting dog agility, Italian lessons and watching Chernobyl all at the same time.

It’s all starting to meld together, honestly, like when A spent twenty minutes clarifying the exact way to say “The dog’s Minnie Mouse ears” in Italian without confusing who the ears belong to (the dog) with the original possessor of the ears (Minnie Mouse), when we haven’t even gotten to possessive pronouns yet.

Meanwhile, I was texting under the table with my dad, who needed some reassurance as he dove into the ol’ nuclear reactor.

“I feel like the radiation is leaking through the TV screen,” he said. “Elizabeth, thanks a LOT. I’m having nightmares tonight from one episode.”

A wanted to go to Canada over the weekend to hit up the sidewalk sale at our favorite kitchen store, Williams Food Equipment, “The Candy Store for Cooks!”

It is, quite simply, the greatest store. Where else can you buy this and this and this, at reasonable prices that are even more reasonable when you figure out what you’re paying in American dollars (which we can’t until we get back across the border, so it’s like a fun surprise!).

A insisted that we get there on opening day, the moment they opened. While I was proud of her for approaching normal life like it’s Disney World, I questioned whether or not it was worth it to show up so early.

“No one is going to be there right when they open,” I said. “They probably won’t even have everything set up.”

“They will,” said A. “Because I’ll be there.”

And then she tossed an invisible scarf over her shoulder and walked out of a room she had just entered.

But before our adventure could commence, I had an agility class. My sister offered to come with me, which was really nice of her, because agility freaks me out. Everyone in agility is intense, even the dogs. Lumi is only in a pre-beginners class (she’s not even a real beginner!) and we’re getting the full Best in Show experience.

(Have you seen that? It’s the best movie of all time. Do you like Schitt’s Creek? It’s like that. Canada has given us so much).

My sister helped me wrangle Lumi and get her crate in and out of my car (it’s apparently standard to have a crate at all agility sessions because that’s how it goes for competitions and apparently I needed better triceps and perpetual open wounds on my hands anyway), but I almost lost her when she caught sight of something on the wall.

“RIBBON,” she whispered, pointing at a four-foot long prize ribbon like she was in a trance. My sister loves a good show ribbon, and this was from a national level, so it was pretty impressive.

You know this scene in Sleeping Beauty?

It was like that.

“Yeah, Lumi loves the jumps, and the instructor is really good, but I don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” I said, as she stared at this ribbon. “I get really anxious before every class and then I think she picks up on it—”

“Oh, you have to do this,” said my sister. “Think of the ribbons.”

“I guess so, as long as Lumi’s enjoying it—”

“RIBBONS!”

As she helped me train Lumi on the teeter-totter, she informed me that she and her boyfriend, Steve, wanted to watch Chernobyl next. She didn’t know much about it, other than that my parents were watching it and listening to the companion podcast on the TV because it was somehow easier than playing it on a phone.

“Do people live in the next town over from Chernobyl?” asked my sister. “You know, what is it like to live in Chernobyl Heights?”

“I’m not sure,” I said.

“Steve went to a rugby tournament once called ‘Three Mile Thailand’ once,” she said, “so he and his buddies showed up for their flight to Bangkok in hazmat suits. That didn’t go over too well. Made the flight though!”

I am terrified at offending anyone who could wield any power over my ability to move or access transportation. So the border crossing between Detroit and Windsor sends me into panic mode even though it’s always fine (anxiety!), especially when I’m driving. I still have nightmares about the one time I was asked to open my trunk and was so flustered I couldn’t find the button, then forgot which college I attended, even though I have an alumni sticker on my back window.

When A drives us over the border, she tends to turn into an alien as soon as she puts down the window. The last time we went over, the Canadian border guard asked for our passports and she said, “Have you by chance ever seen a MOOSE?” with the widest eyes outside of a cartoon, just filled to the brim with wonder at the chance of seeing a moose in a very urban part of Canada that does not have moose, and the guy was very nice and gently broke it to her without laughing that he had not seen a moose in twenty years, and I’m sure he tells his entire family about us to this day and hopefully asks the moose gods to smile on us in his daily prayers.

But when we rolled up to the customs booth at 8:30 in the morning on a Saturday, and the border guard narrowed his eyes at me and said, “What kind of animal is in that crate,” I somehow managed to channel a cool James Bond-esque persona without actually being cool at all. I propped my elbow up on the open window, tilted my sunglasses and said, in a nonchalant tone of voice that I have never heard emerge from my body, “So, I’m taking this very intense dog agility class. They told me I have to bring this big ol’ crate with me to every class, but I don’t want to lug it up and down my stairs every week, you know what I mean?”

The guard looked bored the moment I opened my mouth, but I kept talking. “So I’m keeping it in the car for a few weeks. You know how it goes.”

I said all this like it was the most normal thing in the world. And the guard just waved us through! Is this how it feels to be a dude? You say the dumbest thing that comes to mind and people just let you into their country?

Imagine my surprise when we rolled up right at 9 in the morning, on a Saturday, and there were already people outside! With carts!

And before I’d even parked the car, that good old frenzy mode had kicked in. A and I spent almost two hours pondering purchases of heart-shaped pots, bulk ketchup bottles, whisks of all sizes, and the actual bread baskets you see in every restaurant.

This is the land where bread baskets come from!

“I mean, we might need an oyster knife someday,” I said, a person who has never eaten seafood because The Little Mermaid still makes me cry.

A was already filling up her cart with discounted ceramic dip bowls for everyone she has ever met.

It goes without saying that everyone at this store is incredibly nice—if you buy a large cooking pot, they say “Congratulations!” like you’ve welcomed a new family member.

I asked if they had a French rolling pin, and a man emerged from the meat slicers and told me what kind of rolling pin is best to use for brioche and what to use for strudel and then just vanished back into a mist of flour and maple sugar.

I got that French rolling pin, along with a new digital temperature probe (or thermomètre électronique à sonde!) and a few other odds and ends that I genuinely can’t remember purchasing because I was in a glorious fugue state thanks to our glorious neighbor.

A bought enough dip bowls to create her own dip fountain.

I might have to go back for whatever this is, though.

I mean, it will obviously pay for itself.

We made it back across the border—when the dude asked for the purpose of our visit, I forgot to put my elbow on the window and instead blurted “Kitchen supplies!” and started sweating like it might be a federal crime to traffic pie tins across an international border.

He waved us through. The dip bowls rattled in my trunk the whole way home.

We stopped at my parents to share our adventures and pick up Lumi. Steve and my sister were there to check out our haul. My parents had just finished Chernobyl.

“This is a quality rolling pin,” said Steve. “It’s really from France!”

Out of nowhere, my dad said, “Steve, they came this close to killing 50 million people.”

“I wish I’d gotten espresso spoons,” said A. “Should we go back for espresso spoons?”

“We wouldn’t have been able to go to Estonia on our cruise,” said my dad. “They would’ve been toast.”

It surprised absolutely no one that Steve knew the locations of all three nuclear reactors in Michigan offhand.

“We’d be in the exclusion zone,” whispered my mom.

“Chernobyl Heights!”

The Arms Race for Canadian Cooking Supplies I've been struggling to keep up with both baking and writing due to the stress of starting dog agility, Italian lessons and watching…

#baking #canada #chernobyl #cooking #dogs

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