“The Internet is so hostile, so many people have so many opinions, I have no problem sounding like a hot bag of ignorant shit if it’s going to make people laugh a little bit. That’s what Twitter‘s for. 140 characters? That’s for jokes. I take fatherhood seriously. I just don’t take the perception of it seriously.”
Well, we take Ryan’s Twitter VERY seriously. Obvi.
Ch-ch-check out the rest of the “laws” Ryan lives by HERE!
When Ryker showed up on the stoop of Emmies apartment Wednesday evening, he brought more than just an artisan crust pizza. Under the Martys Pizza box was another, fancier box; inside, an embroidered pink bra and panty set that probably cost more than what Emmie earned in a week peeked out from folds of glossy tissue paper. The silk was smooth against her skin. Miraculously, hed gotten her size exactly right. She put the set on only to have it removed a short time later, but that time had been glorious.
The next week, he gifted her with a lace corset as well as a new set of Egyptian Cotton sheets for her bed. Along with the material gifts, Ryker gave her something else of indescribable value repeatedly. Setting her gently upon her bed, thousand thread count sheets now gracing it, Ryker kissed her bare skin from belly downward until his lips and tongue found the most sensitive of flesh. She gasped as fireworks lit inside of her, pelvis arching up towards him. This was the fourth time in a week hed brought her to climax in this manner. She could get used to it. She could get used to all of itthe fancy lingerie, the award-worthy climaxes, the feel of Rykers taught skin against her own. It worried her though. Ryker didnt understand how numbered their days together were. She wanted to pass this all off as fun while it lasted. But it was increasingly difficult to think in those terms. She saw him every day except for Tuesdays, which she spent downstairs with Trisha and the others bonding over art and wine while artfully whining. Six out of seven days were spent with him. Her life had begun to carve a Ryker-shaped space into it. Soon, though, that space would have to be emptied.
Focus on the fun, she told herself. Stay present.
Three weeks after her arrangement with Ryker had been forged, he bought her an opal pendant. The luminescent stone, set amidst a ring of diamonds, dangled seductively from a rose gold chain. This was a breaking point for her.
I cant accept this. She resisted the urge to place it around her neck and make a selfie-filled spectacle of herself. Instead, with more than a little reluctance, she handed the box back to him. This goes against our agreement. Its too personal.
But the corset wasnt?
Nowell, yes youre right. It was. I shouldnt have accepted anything, its just that this She pointed to the box. You found out opal is my birthstone, didnt you?
Ryker didnt even try to cover up the sheepish grin on his face. Its not like your birthday is some big secret. I found out from Iola, so you must have told her at some point.
Of course. Trisha knows too. Its on the application I filled out for work. Well, sort of. October second wasnt her actual birthday, but the new one WITSEC had issued. However, it was close to her real date of birth, October ninth. She was grateful to only have a weeks discrepancy.
See? Its common knowledge.
Okay, fine. But you still went through the trouble of asking Iola about it and then you went to a jeweler and select this particularly stunning and thoughtful necklace. Thats something boyfriends do. Thats not something you do. Because youre not my boyfriend.
His face fell, but soon the corners of his mouth managed to turn themselves up into a strained half-smile. Im not trying to act like your boyfriend. Im just trying to be nice. God, Emmie, its not like its a diamond ring.
Maybe not, but there were still close to forty diamonds involved in this gift
Youre taking this all wrong. I like the necklace and the gesture is appreciated, but weve been seeing a lot of each other over the past few weeks and we must be sure we maintain clear boundaries. For both of our sakes.
Is it for our sakes or for Sams?
Sam? Emmie had almost forgotten that Ryker had met him. What does he have to do with this?
Ryker glanced away from her, eyes grown dark. Never mind, youre free to do what you want with whomever you want. Damn right, I am. Trisha must have said something to him. He must think that she and Sam But that fact doesnt mean Im running around with every eligible bachelor in Oregon. I dont know what you think is happening with Sam, but the terms of our agreement havent changed. I just want to make sure it stays that way. If either of us feels were getting entangled, we should talk about it.
I suppose thats what were doing right now, isnt it?
Emmie studied the curve of Rykers lower back as he sat on the edge of her bed, elbows on knees. Reaching from behind him, she ran her hand along his side, over his thigh to his groin. Firmly taking hold of him, she pressed the bare skin of her chest to his back. Do you want to end this, Ryker?
Its so not fair for you to ask me that right now. He moaned softly and began to respond to her touch. Do you? I want this to go on for as long as possible.
Without warning, he broke from her hold, flipped over and brought himself on top of her. I can definitely go on for as long as possible.
She laughed and then gasped as he entered her. Slowly, he thrust, and after shed been worked up to a frenzy, he surprised her by pulling out, leaving her right on the cusp of an earth-shattering orgasm. She squirmed under him, pressing on his backside, begging him to enter her again hard, fast, however he wanted it, just as long as he was inside of her again.
Finally, after what seemed an agonizing length of time, he gave her what she wanted a powerful thrust followed by many more, bringing her to the height of ecstasy.
Afterwards, they lay there together, knowing they should separate, both unwilling to get up or move around. Emmie let herself drift off, the athleticism theyd exerted and the confusing conversation that proceeded it leaving her spent. When she woke to the jarring beep of her alarm, Ryker was gone. On the silver sheets in his place was a red jewelry box, Emmies birthstone tucked into the satin pleats within it.
She was a ticking time bomb. At some point, an alarm would sound and her lies would burst out into the world. It rubbed her the wrong way that her child could be thought of as a lie, but Emmie could only deny reality for so long. An omission of the truth was still a lie of sorts.
It wasnt just Emmie who was dwelling on this subject as of late. Trisha reminded her of it on a slow day at work, when a particularly torrential downpour seemed to be keeping most of Iolas customers away. Delton was out sick and so Trisha manned the skillet while Emmie kept up with the few orders coming through.
I cant believe youre not showing already, Emmie. Its just a matter of time, you know. Youre three months along! Emmie didnt need to be told that. Gestational dates leapt out of her brain nearly every morning; twelve weeks, six days. Thirteen weeks. And today, thirteen weeks, three days. It was true that Emmies belly had yet to move much beyond the gentle curve it had held prior to her pregnancy, though she had noticed other subtle shifts in her body. Her backside, in particular, seemed to have filled out. Shed almost fallen off the bed the other day when Ryker, who was in the perfect position to observe this part of her anatomy, had mentioned something about it being even more luscious than he remembered.
So, have you told Sam yet?
Hmm? Emmie was shaken out of what was an alarming but not entirely unpleasant memory. Oh Sam. No, I havent mentioned it.
Mentioned it? Emmie! Trisha hit her playfully on the shoulder. You have to! Poor guy, the longer you wait, the more difficult it will be.
And better that you tell him now rather than wait until he undresses you one day and discovers it because you grew a baby bump overnight.
I dont think thats how it works.
Its exactly how it works, and its exactly whats going to happen unless you grow a pair and tell him. Emmie sighed. Im aware that Ill have to say something if our relationship continues, but I dont really think its going to go anywhere.
Trisha didnt seem convinced. You keep telling yourself that, Hun. But if it seems at any point that it is going somewhere besides Splitsville, just woman-up and tell him. If hes a halfway decent guy, hell take it well. Take it well? Hey, weve been involved for a month and it sort of slipped my mind until now, but guess what? Im pregnant. Dont worry, though, its not yours. Emmie shook her head. Honestly, I wouldnt blame him if he never wanted to see me again.
Well, I would blame him. I bet hell be more understanding than you think.
Just dont go looking for china patterns for us, okay?
China? My, arent we presumptuous! No, Emmie, Ive already got your wedding all planned, and its going to feature Iolas specialty burgers served with a side of fries in our fancy red plastic baskets. Well cut the buns in the shape of hearts. Oh, and instead of you two sharing the first piece of cake, youll take a first sip from a chocolate milkshake. The guests can sit in the booths and well toss onion rings at you instead of rice as you walk down the aisle on your way to a lifetime of wedded bliss.
Youve thought about this way too much.
Sams your yes man. Not just because he gives you the best orgasms youve ever had. Theres something more to the two of you. I know these things! Trisha deposited two club sandwiches onto plates and slid them across the counter for Emmie to take. Anyways, you have to envision the world you want to create for yourself. And my world has me catering your wedding. Deal with it.
Taking the plates, Emmie did her best to scowl at her friend without bursting into belly laughs.
Youll thank me when he proposes! Trisha called after her as she headed out onto the floor.
Almost dropping the sandwiches, Emmie ran right into Ryker, who had evidently been on his way into the kitchen. When who proposes?
Emmies eyes grew wide. Hed heard that, dammit! No one, obviously. Just Trisha being catty. You look like youve been through a typhoon. His hair was slicked back, water dripping from it onto his slate grey Gore-Tex jacket. Shivering, he slid out of it and tossed it onto a nearby chair.
Have you seen it out there? He gestured to the outside world. Trees swayed like cornstalks as wind and rain battered against them while streams of water gushed out of the storm grates in the street just beyond the parking lot. Emmie winced. I wish I didnt have to go out in that soon. Hold on a second. She delivered the sandwiches to a waiting couple, then followed Ryker to a booth in the corner.
It should calm down.
The weather. By the time youre off work, the wind should have at least died down.
Yeah, but Im leaving early today. I have a doctors appointment.
He slid into the booth. Is everything okay?
Sure! Sure. Its a regular appointment. You know, just a check-up.
But you dont have a car. Let me give you a ride to the doctors office, at least. With all that wool you wear, youre going to smell like a wet sheep before you reach the corner.
Emmies limbs went stiff. She couldnt exactly have Ryker dropping her off at the obstetricians. Kind of a dead giveaway. Um, thanks for that. Its okay, though. Really. Ive got this.
Well, hello there, brother. I see youve battled Moon Beachs biggest storm of the year to grace us with your presence.
My appetite is bigger than this storm. He winked at Emmie, who turned away before Trisha could see how red her cheeks were about to get.
Uh-huh. Well, with Emmie leaving early and with basically no customers except for Grace and Ed, she waved to the older couple sitting in a nearby booth, Im closing up early today. Its amazing that we still have power, but Im not counting on that holding. So, what do you want?
Ryker gave her his order and she retreated into the kitchen while Emmie attended to Grace and Ed. Since Trisha wanted to shut down the diner early, she began her closing duties while Ryker waited for his food. As she scrubbed out the coffee-maker, the familiar earthy aroma of sandalwood overtook the smell of burnt grounds. She turned to find Ryker a foot away restocking the napkins. What the hell, Ryker?
I thought since you were ignoring me, Id come over so you could ignore me to my face.
You are so full of yourself. Im not ignoring you, Im working.
No, no youre ignoring me. I can tell.
Thats because She glanced around the restaurant and then lowered her voice. Thats because you winked suggestively at me, right in front of Trisha. Shes going to know somethings up.
First of all, I wink suggestively at a lot of women. Whos full of themselves now?
Still you. And could you use your inside voice please?
Secondly, he said in his shout across the playground voice, Trisha doesnt know anything. One little wink is hardly enough of a tell for her.
Why do I think thats not the first time youve underestimated her.
And it probably wont be the last either. But seriously, I think were safe. His phone buzzed, prompting him to stop stuffing napkin dispensers long enough to look at the text. Damn, thats Dan. Looks like Im needed back at the office. Ill just take my lunch to go. He ducked his head into the kitchen to let his sister know thered been a change of plans then headed towards his table. Are you sure I cant give you a ride?
Emmie shook her head. You need to get going anyways.
He peered outside at the storm, and then glanced back at her, a surprising level of confliction set into his expression. Its so nasty out, though. You shouldnt be walking all over town in this.
Dont worry, I wont. Ill ask Trisha to give me a ride.
Trisha chose that moment to come out of the kitchen, to-go box in hand. She handed it to her brother. Im on it. Our Emmie will be escorted to and from the doctors office. Happy now?
Ryker gave her one of his congenial smiles, followed by a kiss on the cheek. With a brief good-bye to Emmie, he jogged out the door, hood up to ward off the rain.
Oh. My. God… Trisha crossed her hands in front of her chest and glared at Emmie who stood there awkwardly biting her lip. You arent dating Sam, are you?
Please dont be mad at me, Trisha!
Trisha narrowed her eyes. I dont know if Im mad or amused or No, I know what I am. I am totally grossed out! My brother is your yes man!
Love can happen at any time, and it (or at least infatuation/lust) can make you immune to a hell of a lot of weird behavior. There are so many petty, insignificant things you’re willing to overlook in that honeymoon period of a relationship that, when the honeymoon is over, will set you more on edge than waking up with a spider webbing your nostrils shut. Things that may mean nothing today but could very well be the grounds to end your relationship tomorrow.
When you first start seeing someone, a food quirk is nothing. Hell, in some cases, it may even be adorable. “I love the way you pick all the sprinkles off of your doughnut and eat them one at a time.” “Oh, you like to eat Chef Boyardee three meals a day? Well, that’ll make shopping easy!”
Having a well-developed palate is really only important during one week of filming on Hell’s Kitchen when Gordon Ramsay makes you eat stuff blindfolded while screaming about what a donkey you are. Beyond that, it’s reasonable to know and appreciate the difference between a fish like branzino and, say, the severed foot of a longshoreman. One’s eating habits and appreciation for food are so far down the list of important things to care about that an “I’m good with anything” person doesn’t even register on your “something’s wrong” detector.
I’m a fairly decent cook. So much so that I actually typed “chef” here at first, then erased it because I smoke pork roasts in my boxer shorts while drinking alcoholic root beer. But I can make a meal that’s fairly tasty and that’s all that matters. But I still feel that twinge in my spine when I have to ask someone what they want, and they refuse to commit to anything beyond “Whatever you’re having is good.” My ex, a person for whom I have no empirical evidence that they were human and not a lizard in a woman-suit, would constantly say she wanted “whatever” and then elect to eat nothing after I prepared an entire meal. Then an hour later would make a box of macaroni and cheese because she was starving.
You can only coast for so long on the “whatever” wave when it comes to eating. Because you need to eat every day, several times. It means nothing during a dating period (or courting, if you’re fancy like me). That’s the time when you go to a restaurant and you pick your arbitrary choice from a list and someone else makes it. You’ll both have the pig liver in chocolate sauce, sounds great!
When you’ve settled in to a relationship, the gloves come off. When they were putting their best foot forward by being agreeable to anything before, now they just want to be happy. They want to eat a whole pizza to themselves, or toast for four days straight, or they need the kid at McDonald’s to make them a burger with three pickles, 22 onion pieces, a dab of vanilla shake in the center of the ketchup, and all the fries need to face east. It’s at this point you start thinking “What the fuck side of a fry is the face?”
It’s not so much the individual food choices — a passion for Hot Pockets or ketchup on a steak — it’s that this person is now showing a side you’ve never seen before, and he or she is coming across as if nothing is ever good enough for them. Your effort is wasted and they don’t respect the time or work you put into trying to make them happy, to engage in what a lot of people consider one of the most basic and obvious forms of caring for another person: nourishing and feeding them. Instead they shit on it and wipe their ass on a corn dog, which is not how corn dogs work, let me assure you.
Missing Social Cues
There’s a really refreshing quality to being with someone who has a different way of viewing the world. Maybe they’re more brazen and bold while you’re conservative, or perhaps they’re contemplative and thoughtful in the face of your rash adventurousness. It’s the whole “opposites attract” thing that I once heard a cartoon cat and an American Idol judge singing about. Most of us don’t necessarily want to be with someone just like us, so someone who can challenge the way we approach the world is welcome and exciting. Yes, new person, I will get naked with you on this beach and dance on rocks while old people watch us. This is what my life has been missing!
But After a While…
Even a breath of fresh air can sometimes sour if the room gets filled with dog farts. Your partner’s tendency to yell “Fuck my face with a tire iron!” every time they taste a really good sandwich will start making you uncomfortable at the mall food court eventually. And it’s all well and good to say you don’t care what other people think, but come on. This is me, don’t treat me like a silly tit. I know you care about what other people think and as well you should. I do too because I don’t want to be the guy walking through Wal-mart in a pair of stained underpants drinking Robitussin and swearing at the produce. That guy is a creep and doesn’t get to meet fun, new people.
You care what people think, and if your partner is embarrassing you on a regular basis, that’s stressful as shit. Your partner can do something as simple as stopping in the middle of an aisle at the grocery store so other people can’t move past, or using their cellphone during a movie in a theater, or masturbating on the bus. These kinds of things make your pulse race a little at first because they’re not what you’d do. But later in a relationship they make your pulse race because they’re not what you want anyone doing. If there’s no happy medium between what you think is proper decorum for public behavior and what they think is proper, the tension will continue to mount.
This can even work in the opposite way. Maybe you’re the outgoing one and they become some kind of shitty Public Person robot who acts self-consciously around others, changing the way they speak and the kinds of jokes they tell. Maybe they do it because they’re adjusting to new personalities. Maybe they’re pandering to a crowd. My lizard ex was one of those people who would get with friends and explain not seeing them in a while with quips like “I get stuck doing all the boring shit this guy likes to do” in reference to me. Ha ha! I get it, I’m a dickhead you were sentenced by a judge to endure! Funny!
Your tolerance for someone who can’t act normal in public has a lifespan, and it’s very intimately related to the number of times you have to go out in public with them. Eventually it’s going to lead to resentment and, if I learned anything from Yoda, it’s that this is a definite path to either the Dark Side or Hayden Christensen’s acting, and you want no part of either.
Being Possessive — No, Not That Kind Of Possessive
One of the strangest things to adjust to in a relationship is the concept of going from a me to a we. It’s not you anymore, it’s us. We do things, we make decisions together, we own things together. It makes sense in the beginning that you’re not used to this. I mean, up until that moment, you were single. Or you were if you’re not an asshole.
But let’s say that you move in together and you buy yourself a nice ham. You put it in the fridge for later. You come back that evening to celebrate Ham Time, and GASP! It’s gone. Your first instinct is “DID YOU FUCKING EAT MY FUCKING HAM??” But man, that ham ain’t your ham anymore. You put it in “our” fridge. That’s our ham. We ate it. Without you. Because we’re in this ham game together now.
But After a While…
If you can’t adopt a “we” attitude, you don’t really belong in a relationship. You’re together as a pair, and that selfishness is not going to fly. The day very well may come, when they have a nice slice of key lime pie and you’re looking at that pie thinking “I could use a bite of that pie.” And so you ask for the pie and they look at you the way a lion looks at a gazelle when it manages to get across a river to safety, that “fuck you and your entire lineage” look. If you want pie, you know where the fuckin’ pie shop is. Why don’t you sashay your pretty ass down there and buy all the pies you can handle?
No one expects a partner to give up a kidney or liver or anything during a relationship. But for God’s sake, not everything has to be yours all the time. If they were putting on an unselfish front at the beginning, and all these little things start popping up like that passive-aggressive “What happened to the last can of Fresca?” shit when they know damn well you’re the only other person in the house so you must have drank that delicious Fresca, you’re going to start feeling like you’re not with the same person anymore. You expected someone who, if not entirely generous, was at least reasonable. And now, suddenly, they aren’t.
My ex had a running tally of everything she contributed to our relationship and wanted back which I didn’t find out about until after we broke up. This included the dishes, the shower curtain and that mat you put at the base of the toilet. That pee-spattered, half shag ode to poor aim and Hans Gruberesque droplets that hold on as long as they can before tumbling to their demise amidst its fibers. No one has ever wanted one of those things when they were brand new let alone after a couple years of harrowing service at the foot of Turd Lagoon.
Selfishness ends a relationships. It has to because it’s not a singles sport like … oh, what’s a single’s sport? Bocci? Is that a thing? You know what sports are. It’s not one of those.
Affectations of speech are kind of cute and quirky at first. Hell, we even celebrate them in children. It’s just adorable when a baby says “shit” for the first time when they’re trying to say literally any other word. When you hit adulthood and still bust out the words “berfday” or “libarry,” well, that’s a thing that takes some getting used to. The newness of the relationship still makes those mispronunciations kind of delightful. And even if you don’t think it’s cute, it’s small. You may just pause a conversation long enough to tell them that the “C” in scissors is silent and move on.
But After a While…
If you’re with someone who legitimately thinks that big, orange squash is called a “punkin” and refers to it as such every Halloween, by Halloween number four you’re going to start getting that little twitch around your eye and gritting your teeth to keep from exploding like a landmine made out of suplexes. There comes a point where you need to wrestle with the realization you may be in a relationship with a dullard. And not just a hapless dullard, a committed dullard who, even with repeated corrections, will not undull themselves.
I once knew someone who continually called deodorant “derodorant.” I don’t know why. I don’t know what they thought the word meant, or how it related to actually deodorizing things. Was it in their minds de-roderant, and roder was a thing you needed to get rid of? Or was it der-orderant and der somehow vanquished stank? I can’t say. The one time I asked what deroderant meant, they looked at me like I was the idiot for not knowing. Because they didn’t get it, and that’s what’s infuriating about someone who doesn’t know they don’t know something.
From the other perspective, they may not have the linguistics game down but at least they’re not an asshole. No one likes to be corrected, we’re not grade schoolers here. The situation feeds off itself — one person can’t figure out that there’s an “r” in brisket and the other can’t quit pointing out that there is until you both hate interacting with one another because your partner is either making you constantly feel like a dullard or they’re making you feel like they just love being one. Neither of these feelings are a good way to foster any kind of positive emotion so expect the whole thing to fall apart pretty quickly.
The great thing about Netflix is not just the micro-budget horror movies produced in countries you’ve never even heard of, it’s the ability to make an entire day of sitting and staring while simultaneously calling it “couples time.” You can binge-watch Stranger Things and never move a muscle, and that’s an entire date night. Good work, team!
This etiquette extends to anything you do as a couple, anything involving even the slightest group effort, such as the kind you exert by both sitting on a sofa and looking at a TV together.
But say one of you has to work tomorrow and one of you doesn’t, so you get to the episode when Barb gets monster shanked and you call it a night, you down a few shots of Robitussin to keep the night terrors at bay, you give your crotch a quick spritz in the sink and it’s off to bed. Next morning you get up and- FUCK A DUCK! They’re on the episode where they find Barb’s monster-shanked corpse farting up that shitty slug baby in the woods. What gives?
But After a While…
This kind of self-centered thinking tends to fester. And Netflix is really just a placeholder here, standing in for anything that represents the idea of you two as a couple: going shopping together, meeting up with friends, setting old barns on fire. You do these things only partially because you need to do them, and partially because you want to do them with that other person. That’s how it’s supposed to work, anyway.
When someone disregards the couples aspect, when they finish a movie on their own, when they go buy that new set of decorative cat armor on their own, it’s like saying your half of the relationship is only relevant when they want to put the time and effort into including you. And you can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube, either. Watching it together later is always less satisfying, it’s like a pity watch. And it’s made so much worse if they’re the sort of person who will randomly say “Oh man, this is a good part, watch this!” like they’re now your helpful guide to how TV works.
If you can’t be considerate of your partner on even a basic level, enough to hold off on your own whim long enough to include them in something you planned to do together, then you probably suck and the rest of us don’t want to watch Netflix with you. Or do anything with you because you’re shitting on the idea of couplehood. Go watch Iron Fist. Watch it twice.
Remember, if someone can’t love you at your Netflix, they don’t deserve you at your Prime Video.
Start a relationship with Ian’s Twitter and it’ll never go behind your back with Facebook.
Use this simple test to find out if viewing the eclipse through a kitchen colander has blinded you
Hospitals around the country were inundated with people arriving at their emergency departments to see if they had sustained eye damage as a result of watching the eclipse.
Doctors across the country also reported a huge volume of calls requesting information about the possible long term effects of having stared at the eclipse. One doctor told the Guardian: If you cant read this piece, then …
(Turn around.) Every now and then I get a little bit lonely. And youre never coming round. (Turn around.) Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears. (Turn around.) Every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by. (Turn around.) Every now and then I get a little bit terrified. And then I see the look in your eyes.
(Turn around, bright eyes!) Every now and then I fall apart. (Turn around, bright eyes!) Every now and then I fall apart. (Turn around.) Every now and then I get a little bit restless. And I dream of something wild. (Turn around.)
Every now and then I get a little bit helpless. And Im lying like a child in your arms (Turn around). Every now and then I get a little bit angry and I know Ive got to get out and cry (Turn around). Every now and then I get a little bit terrified But then I see the look in your eyes.
(Turn around, bright eyes!) Every now and then I fall apart.
(Turn around, bright eyes!) Every now and then I fall apart.
And I need you now tonight. And I need you more than ever. And if you only hold me tight. Well be holding on forever. And well only be making it right. Cause well never be wrong together.
Today, Monday, August 21, is a day where the US and other parts of the world can come together and bathe in a stunning display of astronomy. However, some are seeing the phenomenon in a very different light.
The Internet-dwelling flat-Earth community is poised and ready for the great solar eclipse, hoping it will poke holes in all that heliocentric stuff by proving the Earth is flat once and for all.
It’s worth noting that scientists can only predict solar eclipses thanks to the heliocentric model, the idea that the Earth and other planets revolve around the Sun, and the orbital mechanics of our Solar System. So, what could there be to argue with?
Some people on Twitter suggest NASA is encouraging people to wear special solar glasses to hide the truth. In reality, it’s because looking at the Sun will cause permanent damage to your sight by literally burning a dot into your retinas.
“#NASA really dont want u lookin up at the #Eclipse without there Special #Glasses incase u see its not the #Moon infront of it , #FlatEarth,” wrote one tweeter.
When asked what is blocking the Sun if it isn’t the Moon, they replied: “We will find out tomorrow when million see and film it.”
Unfortunately for this flat-Earth enthusiast, it’s a cloudy day where they live in Ireland. Although you might say that bad weather is not unusual in Ireland, they posted a video of the murky sky along with the caption: “Over here in Ireland they really covered our Skies.” “They,” presumably, is NASA.
A major “hole in the story” for the flat-Earthers is the Moon’s shadow. As YouTuber Jeremiah Daniel explains in his video, the shadow of an object cast from a spotlight shining onto a wall must always be at least the same size as the original object. Yet, they argue, the shadow of the Moon on Earth during a solar eclipse is not Moon-sized at all.
The Sun and a flashlight in your kitchen aren’t totally comparable. As Will Kinney, professor of physics at the University at Buffalo SUNY, told Mic: The Sun isn’t a simple “point source” like a flashlight. It’s a huge source of light, beaming out light in every direction from a considerable distance away relative to the Earth and the Moon. A better analogy would be the shadow of a marble in the light of a bonfire.
They also seem to question why the path of totality should travel from east to west if the Earth is spinning from west to east. Well, as professor Kinney and NASA explain, the moon is actually moving to the east in its orbit at about 3,400 kilometers (2,112 miles) per hour, while the Earth rotates a lot slower at 1,670 kilometers (1,037 miles) per hour.
Of course, none of this actually explains what’s blocking out the Sun, although one video tries to explain it with an odd rehash of Hindu mythology.
Anyway, that’s far enough down the rabbit hole for today. Now, go outside and enjoy the total solar eclipse!
She thought they were just whipping up pancakes, but instead, she walks into this…
A video posted by Facebook user Stylish Guruis melting the hearts of millions after one mom walked into the kitchen to find her husband and daughter slow-dancing up a storm to Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud.”
The video was captioned, “When a dad loves his daughter and shows her love and affection she will not go searching for this love outside these four walls.”
What a beautiful reminder that there is no greater gift than the love of a father. This is simply stunning!!
When Tess Morgan’s son came home with a tattoo, she was griefstricken. She knew her reaction was OTT (he’s 21) but it signalled a change in their relationship
Put out the bunting, crack open the beers, stand there in the kitchen smiling from ear to ear, because hes home our student son is home and the family is together again. And after supper, after the washing up is done, the others his younger siblings drift off to watch television, and he says: Would you like to see my tattoo?
I say, Youre joking.
He says, No, Im not.
But still I wait. Any minute hes going to laugh and say, You should see your faces because this has been a running joke for years, this idea of getting a tattoo the hard man act, iron muscles, shaved head, Jason Statham, Ross Kemp. Hes a clever boy. Maybe during his school years he thought a tattoo would balance the geeky glory of academic achievement.
His father says, Where?
On my arm, he says, and touches his bicep through his shirt.
His lovely shoulder.
In the silence, he says, I didnt think youd be this upset.
After a while, he says, It wasnt just a drunken whim. I thought about it. I went to a professional. It cost 150.
150? I think, briefly, of all the things I could buy with 150.
Its just a tattoo, he says, when the silence goes on so long that we have nearly fallen over the edge of it into a pit of black nothingness. Its not as if I came home and said Id got someone pregnant.
It seems to me, unhinged by shock, that this might have been the better option.
His father asks, Does it hurt?
Yes, I say, cutting across this male bonding. It does. Very much.
For three days, I cant speak to my son. I can hardly bear to look at him. I decide this is rational. The last thing we need, I think, is an explosion of white-hot words that everyone carries around for the rest of their lives, engraved on their hearts. In any case, Im not even sure what it is I want to say. In my minds eye I stand there, a bitter old woman with pursed lips wringing my black-gloved hands. Hes done the one thing that Ive said for years, please dont do this. It would really upset me if you did this. And now its happened. So theres nothing left to say.
I know you cant control what your children do. Why would you want to, anyway? If you controlled what they did, youd just pass on your own rubbish tip of imperfections. You hope the next generation will be better, stronger, more generous. I know all you can do as a parent is to pack their bags and wave as you watch them go.
So I cry instead. I have a lump in my throat that stops me from eating. I feel as if someone has died. I keep thinking of his skin, his precious skin, inked like a pig carcass.
My neighbour says, Theres a lot of it about. So many teenagers are doing it. I stare at pictures of David Beckham with his flowery sleeves, Angelina Jolie all veins and scrawls. Tattoos are everywhere. They seem no more alternative than piercings these days. But I still dont understand. Sam Cam with her smudgy dolphin, the heavily tattooed at Royal Ascot these people are role models?
My niece had doves tattooed on her breasts, says a friend, And her father said, you wait, in a few years time theyll be vultures.
Its the permanence that makes me weep. As if the Joker had made face paints from acid. Your youthful passion for ever on display, like a CD of the Smiths stapled to your forehead. The British Association of Dermatologists recently surveyed just under 600 patients with visible tattoos. Nearly half of them had been inked between the ages of 18 and 25, and nearly a third of them regretted it.
I look up laser removal. Which is a possibility, I think miserably, that only works if you want a tattoo removed. And Im not in charge here. My son is.
My husband asks, Have you seen it yet?
I shake my head. Like a child, I am hoping that if I keep my eyes tightly shut the whole thing will disappear.
Its his body, he says gently. His choice.
But what if he wants to be a lawyer?
Or an accountant.
Hell be wearing a suit. No one will ever know. And he doesnt want to be a lawyer. Or an accountant.
I know. I know.
I meet a colleague for lunch. He knew how much it would hurt me, I say, tears running down my face. For years Ive said, dont do it. Its there for ever, even after youve changed your mind about who you are and what you want to look like. Youre branded, like meat. It can damage your work prospects. It can turn people against you before youve even opened your mouth.
She says, Tell him how you feel.
But I cant. For a start, I know Im being completely unreasonable. This level of grief is absurd. Hes not dying, he hasnt killed anyone, he hasnt volunteered to fight on behalf of a military dictatorship. But I feel as though a knife is twisting in my guts.
I get angry with myself. This is nothing but snobbery, I think latent anxiety about the trappings of class. As if my son had deliberately turned his back on a light Victoria sponge and stuffed his face with cheap doughnuts. I am aware, too, that I associate tattoos on men with aggression, the kind of arrogant swagger that goes with vest tops, dogs on chains, broken beer glasses.
Is this what other women feel? Or perhaps, I think, with an uncomfortable lurch of realisation, just what older women feel. I stand, a lone tyrannosaurus, bellowing at a world I dont understand.
Tattoos used to be the preserve of criminals and toffs. And sailors. In the 1850s, the corpses of seamen washed up on the coast of north Cornwall were strangely decorated with blue, according to Robert Hawker, the vicar of Morwenstow initials, or drawings of anchors, flowers or religious symbols (Our blessed Saviour on His Cross, with on the one hand His mother, and on the other St John the Evangelist). It is their object and intent, when they assume these signs, says Hawker, to secure identity for their bodies if their lives are lost at sea.
Tattoos, then, were intensely practical, like brightly coloured smit marks on sheep.
Perhaps even then this was a fashion statement, a badge of belonging. Or just what you did after too much rum. Later, the aristocracy flirted with body art. According to the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich (they know a lot about tattoos), Edward VII had a Jerusalem cross on his arm while both his sons, the Duke of Clarence and the Duke of York (later George V), had dragon tattoos. Lady Randolph Churchill, Winstons mum, had a snake on her wrist.
But you can do what you like if youre rich.
On day three, still in a fog of misery, I say to him, Shall we talk?
We sit down with cups of coffee. I open my mouth to speak and end up crying instead. I say, You couldnt have done anything to hurt me more.
He is cool and detached. He says, I think you need to re-examine your prejudices.
I think, but I have! Ive done nothing else for three days! But I dont say that because we arent really talking to each other. These are rehearsed lines, clever insults flung across the dispatch box. (This is what comes of not exploding in anger in the heat of the moment.)
I say, Why couldnt you have waited until youd left home? Why now when youre living here half the year?
Its something Ive been thinking about for a long time. There didnt seem any reason to wait.
Which makes it worse.
Im an adult, he says. I paid for it with my own money. Money I earned.
But were supporting you as well, I think. As far as I know, you dont have separate bank accounts for your various income streams. So who knows? Maybe we paid for it. If you dont want to see it, thats fine, he says. When Im at home, Ill cover it up. Your house, your rules.
In my head, I think, I thought it was your house, too.
He says, Im upset that youre upset. But Im not going to apologise.
I dont want you to apologise, I say. (A lie. Grovelling self-abasement might help.)
He says, Im still the same person.
I look at him, sitting there, my 21-year-old son. I feel Im being interviewed for a job I dont even want. I say, But youre not. Youre different. I will never look at you in the same way again. Its a visceral feeling. Maybe because Im your mother. All those years of looking after your body taking you to the dentist and making you drink milk and worrying about green leafy vegetables and sunscreen and cancer from mobile phones. And then you let some stranger inject ink under your skin. To me, it seems like self-mutilation. If youd lost your arm in a car accident, I would have understood. I would have done everything to make you feel better. But this this is desecration. And I hate it.
We look at each other. There seems nothing left to say.
Over the next few days, my son always covered up talks to me as if the row had never happened. I talk to him, too, but warily. Because Im no longer sure I know him.
And this is when I realise that all my endless self-examination was completely pointless. What I think, or dont think, about tattoos is irrelevant. Because this is the point. Tattoos are fashionable. They may even be beautiful. (Just because I hate them doesnt mean Im right.) But by deciding to have a tattoo, my son took a meat cleaver to my apron strings. He may not have wanted to hurt me. I hope he didnt. But my feelings, as he made his decision, were completely unimportant.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
I am redundant. And thats a legitimate cause for grief, I think.
Does your partner mistake the shells of pistachio nuts for seashells? Perhaps they lock the keys of their padlock TO their padlock so they don’t lose them? Or maybe they make you cheese sandwiches for lunch without taking the plastic off first?
If you answered yes to any of these things then I’m sorry to break it to you but your partner is probably an idiot. Don’t despair however, because as you can see from this funny list compiled by Bored Panda, you’re certainly not alone. From boyfriends who think World War One started because of 9/11, to girlfriends who think dog treats are actually delicious Christmas cookies, this collection of epic partner fails will make you realize that there’s always somebody dumber than you. Don’t forget to vote for the funniest!
Hey Pandas! Recently we asked you to send us your pictures of your dogs acting weird, and as you can see from this hilarious list compiled by Bored Panda, you certainly didn’t disappoint us! We’ve taken a bunch of your best pictures and combined them with some of our own favorites from across the internet to create this loving homage to our canine companions acting too weird for words. Scroll down to see if you can find your own crazy pooch, and feel free to send us your pictures if you haven’t already done so!