Messypeaches

my greatest accomplishment in life is that I inadvertently made my friend break up with her shitty boyfriend by throwing her a really fucking awesome birthday party

okay so I fucking love event planning and decorating and hosting and baking, aka all the elements of a banger birthday party. I am so freaking happy to throw people parties because it means I get to throw a party, then go to a party! yippee!

so my friend's birthday rolled around and I knew she wanted a party because I'd done them for her before, but I wanted to make it extra special because she was turning the big 25. so I did all the regular stuff I am So Excited About: had her roommates let me into her apartment while she was out, put up balloons and homemade garlands and streamers and table decor, made her favorite cake and snack plates and cocktails, ordered catering from a restaurant she loves, got a bunch of our friends to come over to surprise her, wrote her a disgustingly heartfelt card, etc. and then because it was the big quarter century, I was like I gotta do something extra.

now. I do not like clowns. my friend loves clowns. we've gone to the circus together and she's seen me literally close my eyes and hide when the clowns are out in the audience, meanwhile she's screaming and waving at them. so obviously I hired a clown for her birthday. (btw seeing him out of clown costume made me less freaked out because now I knew that the guy under there looks like someone's uncle.)

so she showed up after work totally expecting a party because I'm too paranoid to throw a real surprise party, and obviously loved it. and then I was like btw. there's a clown.

she lost her mind. she was sooo excited. she loved the party and she loved the clown. I was like haha yes I'm getting a good grade in birthday parties and didn't think much of it because frankly I do this a lot, and it's so much fun for me that I don't consider it work. like, I love doing all that for my friends. it's not any kind of sacrifice.

two days later, she texted me that she broke up with her boyfriend.

naturally I was like omg tell me everything I hated that guy let's get coffee. so we did and she told me that for her birthday, her boyfriend of nine months 1) forgot about it and didn't get her anything, 2) got mad at her for not texting him while she was at her party, 3) got mad at her for telling him about the party because it was "passive aggressive", and 4) called her immature and stupid for being excited about a clown at her birthday.

this was all very in character for him. but she'd just come from a lovely birthday party full of her friends who love her and want to put effort into making a nice day for her, where her friend who hates clowns hired a clown just to make her happy even though the party alone would've been plenty. and suddenly this wasn't a boyfriend being kinda forgetful and lazy, it was a glaring incongruity with everyone else in her life. so she finally dumped his ass. and I was soooo freaking happy. so clowns can be good.

impossiblepackage

that relationship was already over, she didn’t even bring her boyfriend to her birthday party at her own apartment

actually it's worse than that! she knew there would be a party, but not what day. I invited her boyfriend to the party. he said no.

mewnosodenwyma

"just retrace your steps" I have adhd. as far as my memory is concerned i teleported here

drakensberg-blog

The reading comprehension and overall common sense on this website is piss poor.

poupon

how dare you say we piss on the poor

oldbutchdanielmolloy

if ao3 is still down in 7 hours time meet me at 40.73360° N, 74.00052° W and we will build a fire and host oral retellings of all of our favorite problematic fanfictions

So Gay Street. Got it.

being a TA is so unserious why was my snow day email "class cancelled no zoom if you want a 20 point bonus assignment go build a snowman and send me a pic"

oh no

Look, I did a thing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/77791791?view_full_work=true

I'm posting a chapter a day minimum, trying a thing.

IT IS DONE. Please go and comment.

foldingfittedsheets

Buckle up for another unhinged story time. Now, as I’ve said before, I used to work at a sex shop. At one point I had three roommates and we all worked the same dildo slinging retail job and lived together. It was extremely sitcom.

Now, as you’d imagine, living with three other people who also talked about sex toys all day created a microcosm of people who were all extremely comfortable around sex toys and related topics. No one left dirty toys laying around but seeing things left in showers or showing off a new purchase was just a Tuesday.

After some life upheavals I ended up living with one of those roommates again, just me and her. For the sake of this story let’s call her Betty. Betty and I shared a two bedroom, and the layout was all the common spaces were an open floor plan and then one hallway formed a T, with my room and bathroom to the left and Betty’s to the right.

Well, one day my cousin calls me up. He’s coming to town for a visit and I offer to put up him, his wife, and their more… sheltered friend. (Unbeknownst to me there was a full Briefing for this girl before she met me so that I didn’t overwhelm her with my blasé attitudes towards- well, most things).

They drove in from two states over and it was a long drive. I had to work and couldn’t greet them or spend the first day together. So I told them to come grab my key so they could all shower off and settle in before me.

I arrived home later that night and found the atmosphere a little awkward at first. Things quickly warmed up and I charmed their friend, impressing my cousin with my immaculate respect for personal comfort levels. We had a lovely evening. By the time we all said goodnight I’d dismissed the initial tension as being tired after a long drive.

The next day we all decided to go to the zoo. I’m a morning shower person, but I let them go first while I made breakfast. After breakfast it was my turn and I hopped in the shower.

Midway through my eyes fixed on it. A little pink sex toy, sitting brazenly on the rim of the tub. Oh no, I thought. This was why things had been awkward yesterday! I left out a personal object because I’d literally forgotten to ever put them away by that point.

What I felt wasn’t embarrassment per se, because that emotion had been utterly eradicated by that point. Rather it was a deep shame that I’d leave out something that might make a guest feel uncomfortable. They told me their friend was sheltered and I had left out a sex toy, it was the epitome of rudeness!

I rejoined everyone and said, “I am so sorry! I didn’t realize I’d left that in the shower, that was so rude of me!”

My guests all exchanged a Look. I looked from my cousin to his wife, she glanced toward their friend, and their friend looked at my cousin. No one would look at me.

“Well…” my cousin finally said, “you didn’t tell us which room was yours yesterday.”

I blinked in confusion, Betty’s room and bathroom were basically just like mine.

“When we got here,” his wife continued, “we went to the other side first. In Betty’s bathroom.”

Reader, Betty’s bathroom.

Had been absolutely covered in dildos. Sex toys of all shapes and sizes covered every flat surface, the tub rim, the sink, the shelves. Wall to wall sex toys. Apparently Betty was doing a spring cleaning and had left her entire extensive collection out to air dry.

These three weary travelers had opened a door to the dildo dimension and had no idea how to react. To this day I have no idea what context clues they used to figure out Betty’s room from mine.

But when I’d come home they were lost in the sex toy shell shock, presumably wondering how they could ever talk about it with someone who felt it was okay to leave out every sex toy they own when expecting company in some kind of bizarre power play.

By the time they finished telling me about this we were all laughing so hard we were in tears.

“When we saw your bathroom with one little pink toy it was so discreet we didn’t even care!” They told me.

After my cousin and his crew had gone on their way I finally told Betty the whole story. She listened with eyes growing wider and wider and finally burst out, “That’s why they were so weird when I got home!!”

changingnikkiwi

I saw this image and immediately thought of @foldedfittedsheets story

foldingfittedsheets

Finally!! The dildo dimension!

greenbloods

oh sick someone paved this whole road with good intentions. i wonder where it leads

aspiringsorceress

Look, I did a thing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/77791791?view_full_work=true

I'm posting a chapter a day minimum, trying a thing.

90s movies: Psychopharmacology is as good as a lobotomy. If you take pills to treat your mental illness it will literally murder your imaginary friends and you will become a boring, lotus-eating conformist drone.

Me after taking my meds: drives the scenic route home to see if there are any geese on the pond and does a little dance in line at the grocery store and comes home to throw everything in my fridge into a stew pot because I can finally taste food again while singing songs at my birds in which I replace all the instances of "she" with "Cheese" and doing a Dolly Parton impression on the phone to my sister

"What were you like before taking the meds tho"

Two weeks ago I was posting about eating cake frosting for dinner.

comradesepsis

I feel like it's worth mentioning that being on The Wrong Meds can indeed do the 90s movie thing to you.

Like, if you go on meds and that happens, it's not because whatever's going on with you is jut Too Severe or that you're doomed or only people with Other Illnesses get to have meds that make them feel actually good and you have to settle for "miserable but somehow so hollow I no longer care about the misery" and be grateful you're no longer actively suicidal or whatever.

If that shit happens to you, tell your fucking doctor. And if your doctor doesn't take you seriously, or acts like That's Just How Being On Meds Is, ditch them! Find a new doctor!! Because that is NOT how being on meds is supposed to work! That means the meds are not working correctly!!

postapocalypticcottagecore

Reblogging to agree and say that what was happening to me was (and to an extent still is) severe and was the result of manifold health problems and has taken the better part of a year to effectively treat. I did not expect medication to be this effective. But it is. So if you think that you are untreatable, get a second opinion.

roach-works

there is a single pill i can take to immediately live a day as the best version of myself-- not a superhero, not a perfect genius, but a good dude who can read and write and do the dishes. im optimistic and coherent and can plan for the future. i write novels and walk the dog and remember to shower and brush my teeth.

if i don't take this pill i spend the day as a dirty, inept husk, a sad sack of well-meaning but futile intentions just sapient enough to be dimly aware of everything im unable to be.

this pill is incredibly difficult to obtain a steady monthly supply of because when normal people take it they have a little more fun at parties.

Counterpoint: At least if I spend the remainder of my natural life as a dirty, inept husk, a sad sack of well-meaning but futile intentions just sapient enough to be dimly aware of everything I'm unable to be... at least I'll know I'm me, not a fake version of myself created by medication. Nor do I have to worry about regressing if I run out, the repeat prescription doesn't come in time etc.

Not dissing OP's choice to take advantage of the meds, but they're not for me.

Hey, so, this is kind of the attitude that made me afraid to take meds that I really benefit from: the idea that who you are on medication is somehow "not really you."

The person I was when I was very depressed did not feel like the real me. That was a version of me that was very ill. The "real me" is the me that is able to dance at stoplights and make art and enjoy food and laugh at jokes. And for now, I need pharmaceutical help to get back there.

The assistance that medication provides doesn't make me any less The Real Me than wearing glasses or taking painkillers. Depression is a physical illness. If you try medication and you don't like the way it makes you feel, then it's not a good medication for you. But you do get to choose, and I'm glad I have the opportunity to choose to actually be myself again.

ashlgcostumes

Kill the idea that suffering is somehow authentic and worthy, and take the fucking drugs. I lost years of my life to this kind of thinking and I have nothing to show for it other than a handful of embarrassing memories and a house full of clutter I don’t want or need. There’s at least five regularly used different classes of antidepressants! And about four more specifically for anxiety! They’re all acting on your brain in different ways and you will have different reactions to each of them! Don’t give up and accept misery because you’ve mistakenly believed the misery is your real personality!