Cewek komunis atau sosialis itu idamanku sih.

#sofiaflorina #ソフィアフロリナ #mybestfriend #bestfriend #myfriend #friend #mybestie #bestie #iloveyou #iloveher #loveyou #loveher #love #romance #mylove #romanticlove #platoniclove #friendship #friendships #relationship #relationships #friendshipismagic #romanticfriendship #romantic #platonicfriendship #platonic #romanticrelationship #platonicrelationship #communist #socialist #communism #socialism #comunista #socialista #comunismo #socialismo

> Synod report suggests homosexual ‘relationships’ may not be sinful
https://www.lifesitenews.com/news/synod-report-suggests-homosexual-relationships-may-not-be-sinful/

Damn it guys, so close and yet so far away.

#Catholic #Christian #religion #LGBTQ #relationships

Falling birth rates don’t have to be a crisis

https://fed.brid.gy/r/https://www.vox.com/health/487637/falling-birth-rates-aging-america-demographic-reality

Not exactly IN the city

https://internationaldatingcozycultures.com/2026/05/05/not-exactly-in-the-city/

Risk taking and the coffin on the horizon

A few months ago I signed up for a daily “newsletter.” This guy, this poet George Bilgere emails a poem he loves and then says a few words about why he picked it. And so every day for months now I’ve started each day with a poem, and besides dogs, I think it’s the best thing to happen to me in the last year. 

I’m not a poetry person. I would say that 95% of the poems I read, I either don’t understand, don’t like, or both. And yet I still keep reading a lot of poetry because the other 5% make it worth it. But for some reason this guy George gets me. We are on the same wavelength. 

The poems he sends are approachable, digestible by my middling intellect, but no less meaningful in the way that poetry can cut right through you and reveal something meaningful in just a few words. Anyway, his newsletter is called poetry town, with George Bilgere. A few of my favorites from the last few months have been The Coyote, by Alan Feldman; Fix, by Alicia Suskin Ostriker; a song in the front yard, by Gwendolyn Brooks; and Wild Turkeys, by Lawrence Kessenich.

Otherwise, not much is happening in my life besides that I’ve been so busy and stressed at work the last few months that I’ve wanted at times to blow up my life (which is barely held together in any case) and quit my job and hit the road and head to Mexico and then deep into South America and never look back. I’ve been skipping the gym and skipping my personal writing because I’ve been too exhausted to do either, which has only made everything worse. 

So the other day, instead of exploding, I signed up to do a reading at an open mic event this June. Terrified isn’t quite the word for how I’m feeling about it, but it will be a first for adult me, though back in grade school we had to read out loud in class (which also terrified me). 

As I’ve gotten older, especially within the last few years, I’ve made a direct effort to face some of my fears, like spiders and public speaking, though ideally not both simultaneously. I think this is just one of the many thrilling benefits of the increasing weight of mortality as one ages—the now-or-never risk-taking that comes from the contemplation of the coffin on the horizon.

My long-term goal for the past few years has been to take an improv class, and someday to get on stage and try to do stand-up comedy, which I will do in secret should it ever happen, probably in a town where no one knows me, a drifter passing through who no one in town has ever seen before and who they hope they will never see again after what transpires. But that is still far down the road.

The improv class has been on my radar for a couple years or more now as a thing I intend to do but never get around to doing, and so, baby steps. Foot in the door. Reading aloud to a small crowd who may judge me in the harsh stage light is the first step.

My thought is that this will begin to build my public-speaking courage, and after a few of these experiences, I’ll sign up for that improv class and become more comfortable without a script in my hand. Then I will someday put the storytelling and the improv together and get on a stage and tell a story or jokes that are perhaps rehearsed but not entirely memorized. And after I do that, I think I’ll go skydiving, because someday the chute won’t open for all of us. And when I hit the ground, I want to hit the ground unafraid.

Parents who don't address their differences because it could hurt the children are actually letting the children carry their fear of being strong individuals.
Somebody has to pay for what cannot be expressed.
But why do you put it on the children when in reality it's your current societies or even just your personal approach to individuality, relationship and parenting?

Cowards

#parenting #relationships #trueindividuality #relationshipneedsfriction

They haven't even finished talking and you're already drafting solutions. That speed is the first clue it's not really about them.

#behavior #communication #Psychology #Relationships #social

https://riftlymedia.com/the-reason-you-keep-giving-advice-is-rarely-about-helping-the-other-person/

What five years of data tells us about lasting relationships

https://hanker.dating/study

#HackerNews #Tech #Relationships

Let’s Unpack This Mess Brooke Alexis Nicole Love

Hey everyone. Today is one of those rare, quiet days where I find myself sitting here, getting paid to essentially do nothing. Usually, my life is moving a mile a minute—balancing work, school, and being a mom—but when the world slows down like this, my mind tends to wander into the “vault.” You know the one: that collection of life stories that are so wild they sound like fiction, yet they are 100% my reality.

I’ve decided it’s time to put something out in the open. I’m doing this not out of anger, but out of a desire for clarity and peace. It’s been sitting on my heart, and honestly, at this stage in my life, I’ve realized that speaking the truth with grace is the only way to truly close a chapter.

Years ago, I met a girl—let’s call her Brooke. Our meeting was like something out of a movie. I was at a bar for a modeling meeting that felt “off” from the start. A guy was buying me drink after drink while secretly sipping water, clearly trying to get me to a vulnerable place. Brooke walked in, clocked the situation immediately, and followed me to the restroom to warn me. She told me I wasn’t safe and offered me a way out.

I left with her, and the very next day, the news reported a tragedy involving a young woman just miles from where we had been. In my eyes, Brooke was a guardian angel. I felt a debt of gratitude that turned into five years of deep, sisterly loyalty. I was her “calm” to her “fireball.” I stood by her through every hardship—miscarriages, abortions, and personal struggles. I even advocated for her with my own military recruiter to help her get into the training she wanted when others said no. I gave her my last dollar and my full heart because I believed in the bond we had.

Life eventually took us in different directions, but we reconnected when I was at a very vulnerable point—married, with my son, and pregnant with my daughter. Despite my husband’s initial hesitation, I opened my home to her when she needed a place to stay. I truly thought we were picking up where we left off.

However, the peace was an illusion. When neighbors started telling me that “voices” were coming from my home while I was at work, and that my husband and my “friend” were together behind my back, my world shattered. I chose the path of a mother—I didn’t want an altercation or a fight. I was protecting the life inside me. I had her legally removed from my home. On her way out, she took my EBT card and sold it. It was a sharp, painful ending to a five-year investment of love.

Years passed. We didn’t speak. But my nature is to look for the good in people, and when I faced difficulties with my son’s father, I made the mistake of reaching out to her for help. Instead of being a bridge, she became a wedge. She entered a relationship with him, got pregnant by him, and to this day, she exerts a level of control over his life that is honestly baffling.

What’s even more concerning is the behavior that followed. I haven’t spoken to this woman since 2017 or 2018, yet she recently reached out with a casual “Hi.” Behind the scenes, however, she has been posting my photos, my son’s photos, and even private, sensitive content I’ve discussed in previous blogs.

It’s fascinating, really, to watch someone become entirely addicted to the drama of hating you. Over the years, it’s become abundantly clear that she thrives on playing the victim. She has this uncanny, almost psychopathic ability to twist stories, using calculated reverse psychology to manipulate anyone and any situation to benefit her narrative. She will stalk, copy, and harass, but the moment she is called out, she immediately cries foul.

She loves to paint others—especially me—as the villain who is “unhinged,” when the terrifying reality is that she is constantly projecting her own severe, dark mental health struggles onto everyone else. She is literally trying to wear my life like a costume, right down to involving herself with the father of my children, simply because her own insecurity won’t let her build an identity of her own. It takes a profound, scary lack of grip on reality to behave this maliciously while trying to convince the world you are the one who has been wronged.

Brooke, if you are reading this—and I know you are, because an obsession like yours doesn’t take days off—I want to speak to you woman-to-woman, with nothing but respect and a deep, genuine concern for your well-being.

It has been nearly a decade. I am not competing with you. I am not in a race with anyone but the woman I was yesterday. I am busy being a mother, a professional, and a student. It is exhausting to watch someone try to “win” a contest that doesn’t exist. Your deep-seated jealousy is screaming through every single post you make. You’re trying so hard to act like you’re better than me, showing off on social media for an audience of strangers just to get a fraction of the attention you are so desperately starved for. We both know it’s a façade to cover up how insecure you truly are, barely holding on while trying to compete with a woman who isn’t even looking in your direction.

To the world, you act tough and “fireball” online, but we both know that in person, you are always mute. You shrink. Let me make one thing abundantly clear: I am not afraid of you. Trying to look scary or intimidating behind a screen doesn’t work on me. It just looks like a desperate cry for the attention you clearly didn’t get enough of as a child. You use shock value—my private photos, my innocent child—because you know you have nothing else of substance to offer. Harboring this much hate, jealousy, and obsession for someone from your distant past is a heavy burden to carry. I truly, sincerely hope you seek the serious psychiatric help you need to find peace in your own mind, so you can finally stop obsessing over mine.

If you actually wanted to hash things out or talk like the adults we are, you have plenty of ways to reach me. You have my email. I know you have ways of finding my number. You can even ask my son’s father for my phone number—he will give it to you. There is no need for the public tantrums or the manipulative, calculated social media displays designed to get a reaction out of me.

Trying to use a gun to look “scary” or “cool” online doesn’t make you brave, Brooke, and it certainly doesn’t frighten me. It makes you look like someone who is desperately overcompensating for a complete lack of internal strength and character. Real strength is sitting down and having a conversation, not posing for photos to intimidate a woman you haven’t seen in eight years.

While I am handling this with grace, I have to be clear about the lines being crossed. This isn’t just “mess”; it’s a series of legal liabilities that can follow you for a lifetime, especially given your history:

• Nonconsensual Distribution of Private Images (CPC §647(j)(4)): In California, “revenge porn” carries significant jail time and fines.

• Stalking & Cyber-Harassment (CPC §646.9): Repeatedly posting about me and my family to cause distress is a “wobbler” offense that can lead to up to three years in state prison.

• Felony Distribution of Minor’s Likeness: Posting images of a minor without consent, especially in a harassing context, is a massive legal risk.

• Military Repercussions: For someone who fought so hard to get into the military, a pattern of cyberbullying and criminal harassment can lead to a loss of security clearance and administrative separation.

• Brandishing/Intimidation: Using a firearm in a threatening manner, even digitally, can fall under Penal Code 417, which carries jail time and can permanently strip away your right to own that weapon.

I have let the past go. I have moved on to a life filled with purpose and love. If you and my son’s father have built a bond over a mutual dislike for me, then I hope that bond brings you whatever comfort you are looking for. But please, focus on your own family. Focus on your own growth.

I am choosing to remain calm, graceful, and kind, but I am also choosing to be firm. My peace is not up for negotiation. I hope you find the strength to heal from the toxic hate you’re holding inside and finally move forward. The “adult” world is much more fulfilling than the one you’re currently fabricating online.

Be well, and please—keep my children and my name off your page.

— Tina