• 4 Posts
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Joined 1 year ago
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Cake day: July 16th, 2023

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  • I might be boring, but I would hate a climbing gym first date. It’s public and easy to leave, but requires certain clothing, involves weird contortions and angles, and I’d get red and sweaty af. I’m not especially femme (so no makeup problems), but that’s still a recipe for self consciousness for me.

    Obviously if you float it beforehand and they accept, that’s great (and they’re probably more what you’re looking for), I would just not suggest that as an extension of a coffee date. I could see it going either way from your comment, so I just wanted to note it.








  • I mean, yeah. He can’t gnaw through his own limb to save himself from the bear trap. And if the democrats were less supportive of Israel, it would be an easier choice. It’s natural for him to blame them fully, because he doesn’t want to blame himself. I don’t see this as crazy logic, he’s just in an incredibly difficult emotional state.

    It’s a Sophie’s choice and he’s blaming the democrats for making their side of the choice unappealing. It’s a double standard, but that’s just because everyone expects republicans to be anti Muslim. He expected democrats to be on his side in a meaningful way and they weren’t.




  • Bad, but I found this. It may be a translation issue, but it seems significantly less spiteful and more regretful than I how read your description.

    I do get it, it’s like getting a limb caught in a bear trap and not chewing through it. Sure, we’d all hope we would do it and know that it’s the best chance of survival, but it’s not easy to do. I’m not confused, just sad, worried and tbh, a little angry at the democrats. They could have made this an easier choice for us, and they might have won. I’m also angry at people who didn’t vote for Harris, but I really can’t understand how difficult it is for people like Abed Hammoud, so I’m going to save my anger more for the people who voted for trump







  • My dad treated me like that. After my mom died, my dad treated me like a small adult over whom he had no authority for the entirety of my teenage years, didn’t go through my room, didn’t tell me what to do, but tried to reason with me and convince me.

    It didn’t work out well, because I was a child. I was nowhere near mature enough to handle that responsibility (my siblings and I were three stereotypes of too much freedom when we were younger- a recovering alcoholic, a born again Christian, and a kleptomaniac) and it made me feel unloved and like a burden. He does love me and was living the golden rule, but it turns out it’s not universally applicable.