Seeking: I am looking for a couple for some amazing, kinky sex. Seeking chemistry with the right couple, this means a little chatting online before an in-person meet to ensure compatibility.
About me: * 25 * 5’10" tall * White * Very good looking (if I do say so myself) * Athletic * Healthy * Experienced bull * 7” + thick * Love the cuckolding, hotwife, stag/vixen dynamics and am very flexible in this respect * Tested (April 2023), DDF, and discreet * College educated professional * Dominant in the bedroom * Respectful of your relationship and all limits * Bi-friendly
You: * Cuckold/vixen-stag/hotwife couple (couples only) * Real and serious about meeting in-person (have had a lot of poor communication and flakes, so please don’t waste my time) * Strong relationship and good communication with both partners 100% on board * Tested and DDF, or willing to get tested (required)
Location: Pittsburgh, PA and surrounding areas. I may be able to host if it comes to it, but the first meet will be at a public location (drinks or coffee).
Pics: In an effort to prevent pic collectors I will only share pics through kik (in app picture) or snapchat (preferred). I can provide a few pics on here/kik, but I will not be sharing any face pictures outside of snapchat. I am very good looking and confident you'll like what you see.
Reply: Please send your age, general location, and some information about yourself to catch my attention and get the conversation started. An image (PG or NSFW) would be very appreciated. Reddit DM or chat both work.

I’ve had C. difficile 5x, what if I get another bout during my step 1 and gotta spend 4 hours in Prometrics bathroom taking dumps? What happens to my Step 1 score and my money? It comes on suddenly in past so I can’t really plan for this. One time, I was on a trip home from another state, 8 hour car ride and had to tell my friends to pull over, spent 1 hour in a Canes fast food 🐔 restaurant taking 20 dumpz in their dumpster then had to stop an hour later at a coffee shop for more … can’t imagine if this happened during Step 1 😬🙏🏽

Gustong gusto ko gumala after manood ng Little Mermaid pero parang mas gusto ko na lang tumambay sa condo. Hays, tagal pa kasi dumating nung boardgame ko para makapag-aya na ng friends 🥲🥹
Hello, kayo? Kamusta weekend niyo? Sana masaya! ☺️
Any girls out there na near Commonwealth, QC? Hmu!! Baka neighbor tayo. Hahahaha! Nakakamiss magkaroon ng friend na malapit sa’yo. Huhu
Take care!

We are coming up on the one year anniversary of Roe v Wade being overturned, and I feel like now is a good time to bring attention to this common scam in the United States. In a nutshell, anti-abortion groups run these centers which intentionally make themselves seem like abortion clinics but do not offer abortions. There are approximately 3,000-4,000 crisis pregnancy centers in the United States.
Some ways that CPCs make themselves seem like abortion clinics:

• They give themselves names with words and phrases like "women's center" or "choice."
• They set their websites to appear in Google search results when people search for abortion clinics.
• The staff at the centers wear lab coats, and there is medical equipment in the centers to give the impression that the centers are legitimate medical clinics.
• When people call CPCs and ask how much they charge for abortions, it is common for staff to evade the question by saying that they don't discuss prices over the phone and by encouraging the caller to come to the CPC in person to discuss the matter.
• It is common for CPCs to set up shop very near, even next door, to actual abortion clinics and to direct people going to the abortion clinic into the CPC.

When a person goes to a CPC thinking it's an abortion clinic, the CPC staff might:

• Try to talk the person out of getting an abortion.
• Give medical misinformation that either exaggerates or fabricates the risks of abortion.
• Give false information about the viability of a pregnancy or the risks of the pregnancy to the pregnant person.
• Do an ultrasound and tell the person that the pregnancy is farther along than it is.
• Encourage the person to keep putting off the abortion until the pregnancy is too far along for the person to be able to have an abortion.
• Give the person food so that if they had booked an appointment for an abortion procedure that required them to fast and mistaken the CPC for a nearby abortion clinic, they wouldn't be able to have the abortion that day.

I (26m) am currently doing my MD, and I have my end of block exam coming up (right before the mid year break too). The exam is held at the uni, and runs from 12-2pm. After the exam the cohort normally walks about 200m from the exam room to the Uni bar, where everyone hangs out and chats about the exam, maybe grabs a beer or two. Sometimes there are bigger parties at some peoples houses in the evenings, but I don't really want to go to these, not my vibe (feel a bit too old for this sort of thing).
As the exam is quite content heavy, I told my partner that I won't really be able to see her the weekend before as I'll be studying. We live with our parents but will possibly be moving out together sometime in the next few months (rental crisis atm - tough to find a place), and normally spend 1 whole day together on the weekend, and sometimes 1 day together on a weekday if our schedules align (as well as seeing each other 1-2 other days of the week for 1-2 hours for a coffee or a meal at a restaurant).
When I told my partner that I want to hang out with the cohort and grab a beer or two after the exam, she had an issue with that, calling me disrespectful, an asshole, a bad partner, horrible person, for not wanting to spend time with her immediately after the exam to celebrate as I would not spend time with her over the weekend. She says that I have to make up for time lost together on the weekend, and since her parents won't be home, and to go straight to see her after the exam as she is more important than the people in my cohort and should be the priority. She's a 45m-1hr drive from the Uni and we would have about 1 hour together before her parents get home by the time I get there, which isn't really 'quality time' to me. We were planning on spending the evening together (dinner to celebrate end of exams) anyway, so I don't see why I couldn't spend an hour with the cohort and then see her in the evening. Not to mention that I have 4 weeks of holidays after this exam, and that nearly every day I can see my partner. She says time in the evening doesn't count as it's not 'quality time' at her house.
I'd also like to mention that I haven't really been able to make friends with much of the cohort yet, as I have abstained from going to these sorts of gatherings (as it makes my gf uncomfortable), so I'd really like to be able to solidify some friendships earlier into the Uni year (I'm a MD1) before everyone get set in their 'groups'.
AITA here or should I be prioritising my partner?

I’ve been waiting to talk about this. I’ve been looking for others with similar experiences, or… I dunno. Maybe I hoped I was insane. Months have passed, and I still don’t have the slightest idea what to believe. But no matter what is true and what isn’t, the memory of what happened to me is as true as can be.
And every time I put my hand to a door, I tremble.
​
I was looking for a house in the surrounding area. I know, being a homeowner at 27 seems like a dream. I know I’ve been fortunate. Even so, I wanted something remote, spacious, and comparably cheap.
I’d been looking for something nearby, but everything even close to a larger city quickly ran out of my price range. It wasn’t until I started looking at the rural outskirts that I started to see something realistic.
I’d been to four open house showings in the past week when I came across an ad that looked too good to be true. Another open house, but this one was just perfect. Apparently, they were looking to make a quick sale after a previous deal had fallen through.
​
I made my way to a small nearby town called Tomskog. There was a little billboard with a blue sunflower greeting me, and I took a hard right down a street named “Sunplenty Road”. There were only five houses there, and the one I came to look at was at the far end. Even from a distance, I could tell I wasn’t the only visitor.
I parked on the street outside and took in the sights. There was an “Open House” sign outside, again with the sunflower logo. There was a separate garage, and the house itself was smaller than expected. Homely, but small.
I was greeted by a cheerful man. He had thick glasses, a receding hairline, and the kind of “fun uncle” smile that told me he could get away with anything.
“Come on in,” he said. “You’re gonna love it.”
​
There was me, the realtor, and three other people. A middle-aged couple, and a younger woman. She had this messy black hair that kept poking her in the eye. Even at a glance I could tell the young woman was distraught. She wasn’t even looking around the house, she seemed more interested in the people wandering about.
The house had a simple and open layout. The bottom floor had a bathroom, a separate study room, an adjoining kitchen, and a lounge area. There were stairs leading to a sort of catwalk on the second floor, making the main room wide open. The second floor had another bathroom, a bedroom, and a guest room.
It had this sort of sullen 70’s vibe with grey and white flower-patterned wallpaper. There were little scuffs and tears pretty much everywhere, but the house itself seemed… fine.
​
The realtor, Anders, showed me all the details of the kitchen. He assured me that most of the appliances were to be replaced before the next homeowner moved in, and proudly displayed the new garbage disposal. It was a nice enough setup, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the young woman standing outside the study. I got the feeling that she was standing guard.
As the middle-aged couple walked downstairs, they asked her they could have a look.
“No,” she answered, with a shrug. “You can’t.”
“Don’t mind her,” Anders the realtor smiled. “Of course you can.”
“No,” she insisted. “They can’t.”
Anders walked up to her and leaned in. His demeanor shifted. They argued back and forth, and I could hear her repeat, over and over;
“This is not what we agreed to.”
​
The middle-aged couple and I just looked at one another. While the realtor and the young woman argued, we introduced ourselves. I smiled and gave them my name. They were named Helen and Sebastian, or ‘Seb’ for short. Typical midwestern salt-of-the-earth kind of people. They were suffering from an empty nest and seemed to want a place to start over. They made no secret about being interested in the place, although Helen wasn’t sure about having no direct access to the garage. Seb, on the other hand, wasn’t sure about the soil. He wanted a proper garden, and the soil seemed ill-fit to sustain greenery.
“Still,” Helen smiled. “Best place we’ve seen so far.”
“Sure is,” added Seb, giving Helen a little shake.
​
Anders kept arguing with the young woman. I could overhear her name as Whitney, and she was not willing to cooperate. Finally, Anders just pushed past her, putting his keys in the lock.
“Right this way, we’ll just take a quick peek.”
“We’re not done in there,” she said. “You can’t just-“
“It was supposed to be packed up, Whitney. I can’t help that you’re late.”
“That’s not… please. Give me an hour.”
“You’ve had plenty of hours.”
He clicked the door open and pushed it in. The three of us gave Whitney an apologetic look as we stepped inside.
​
The study was a mess. Old clothes strewn across various furniture, loose papers and books haphazardly thrown across a musky desk. An entire wall of bookshelves full of textbooks, ranging from discrete mathematics to philosophical physics. I stood there for a few seconds, taking it all in. Whitney pushed past us, grabbing an empty box from the floor.
“Don’t touch anything,” she sighed. “Just… look at it, and leave.”
Anders leaned over to us, lowering his voice.
“You have to excuse her,” he whispered. “There were some… complications, with the former owner.”
“Oh, she’s… the, uh, the daughter?” Seb asked.
Anders nodded.
​
While Anders told us about the east-facing windows and the top-of-the-line air conditioning system, I couldn’t help but to keep my eyes on Whitney. She was rummaging through the desk, dropping mementos, pictures, and notebooks into one of her many cardboard boxes. I could tell she was sleep deprived. She kept yawning.
Helen seemed eager to just leave Whitney to her grieving, while Seb kept to the practical details. He checked the hardwood floor, the insulation on the windows, the wall linings for pests. At one point, he almost knocked over a coffee table, and Whitney came running. She caught a vase that was about to topple off the table.
“Don’t… don’t touch anything!” she cried out. “Just… if you have to be here, stay… stay still!”
“I’m, uh… sorry,” Seb said. “I was just-“
“Just go over there!”
She waved her hands around, shaking the vase. There was a little rattle coming from it.
​
She shook it again, and I could see the color fade from her cheeks. Carefully, she tipped the vase, and something dark plopped into her hand.
A large bronze key.
Whitney pulled her hand back, letting the bronze key clatter to the floor. She covered her mouth, forgetting how to exhale. We just looked at her having what seemed, to us, like a mental breakdown.
“Nobody move,” she gasped. “Nobody… do anything.”
​
We all just stood there. Helen and Seb barely breathed, and I was suddenly hyper-aware of how still my feet were. Anders wasn’t impressed. If anything, he was fed up with this. He rolled his eyes, and picked up the key.
“Whitney, I’m sorry, you’re gonna have to wait outside.”
“Please, put… put that down.”
“You can put it with your things and take it outside.”
“Just… don’t move, you don’t know what you’re-“
Anders opened the door, stepped out of the study, and headed straight for the front door. Whitney dropped everything and ran after him. The rest of us followed suit.
“Wait!” she called out. “Please wait!”
​
As soon as Anders put his hand on the front door, Whitney stopped dead in her tracks.
“Anders, please, I’m sorry,” she said. “Just step away. Give me the key. I’ll leave, I promise. I swear.”
“That’s enough of that.”
“No!”
​
He opened the door and took a step forward. The bronze key passed the threshold.
​
We’d all stepped into the main lounge by now, and I heard the door to the study slam shut. There was a sort of pressure shift, making the wind move through the main lounge. Every door in the house slid shut with a click. All except the front door, which was wide open.
But there was nothing there.
Not nothing as in no one standing there. No, nothing as in “a nothing”. Just a blank, black space.
A viscous fluid where sunlight ought to be.
Endless, abyssal, ocean.
​
I stared at it, mesmerized. The contrast of the bright sun coming in from the windows, bouncing off the ripples of this deep ocean doorway.
And there, in the dark, humanoids. Tall, elongated silhouettes.
Anders stepped back, but it was as if parts of him refused to move. His arms were locked in place, seemingly by an invisible force. And as he stepped back, something started pulling him in.
His limbs grew long and twisted. His knees bending and snapping at impossible angles. His scalp pulled backwards, the loose skin of his face revealing the bottom white of his eyes.
“He… help!”
It was all he managed to say, as he was pulled into the dark. Limbs were quietly ripped from his sockets, as his human frame was bent, twisted, torn, and mangled. Black water mixing with marrow as dark shapes turned Anders into what resembled an underwater cloud of flesh and cloth.
Whitney threw herself forward, slamming the door shut, leaving the bronze key on the floor.
​
Screams erupted, and I didn’t even notice they were mine. It was this primal force being pulled out of me, this need to scream. Like a baby desperate for her mother. Helen backed into a corner and sunk to the floor, with Seb trying his best to comfort her. Whitney just sat there looking at the bronze key; her face breaking out in cold sweats.
I felt something turn in my stomach and headed for the bathroom. Whitney ran after me, but she couldn’t make it in time. I burst through the bathroom door and collapsed on the floor, hyperventilating. Whitney stayed outside, looking at me in shock.
“It’s… you’re… you’re fine,” she said. “You’re okay.”
I wasn’t. But compared to Anders, panicking on the bathroom floor seemed like a mercy.
​
Whitney stayed with me as I calmed down. Seb and Helen joined us. After a few minutes of silence, Whitney excused herself. She came back with pile of notebooks. She sat down across the hall from me, making sure not to enter the bathroom.
“My dad, he… found something,” she said. “I wasn’t sure exactly what.”
“We should… we should leave,” said Helen. “We should leave right now.”
“We can climb out a window,” said Seb. “If the, uh… the door is…”
“Just… please,” sighed Whitney. “Just stay. We’ll figure it out.”
“I-I mean no offense,” said Helen. “But what… what on earth was that?”
Whitney turned the notebook to a specific page and read aloud.
​
“I’ve been marooned in this house for thirty days. I never know where the Door is. Sometimes I can hear water, sometimes not. I tried the windows, but it nearly burst my eardrums from the pressure as water came rushing in. I can’t leave. I can’t move. They wait behind the Door. They wait for me to open.”
​
Whitney scratched her head. Helen looked back and forth, as if waiting for something to make sense. Seb just shook his head.
“What… what does that even mean?” asked Helen. “What happened?”
“It has to do with the doors,” Whitney explained. “They wait behind the Door.”
“There’s nothing there,” said Seb. “There’s light coming through the windows.”
“It’s… it’s not that easy. It’s when you open it.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
​
Whitney stood up and handed Helen three notebooks.
“We can argue the details of dad’s quantum entanglement experiment later, but that’s not gonna help us.”
“So… let’s just go then,” said Seb. “Let’s leave.”
“You wanna take your chances on the front door? That it won’t come back? Go ahead.”
Seb took a few tentative steps up to the front door. Helen wanted to protest, but she just started looking back and forth. Whitney crossed her arms and turned away.
“I can’t hear anything,” said Seb. “Are you sure it’s there?”
“It’s somewhere,” said Whitney. “I don’t… I don’t know the rules. It has to do with the doors.”
​
I got up off the bathroom floor and looked at them. Seb took his hand off the front door and stepped back. Whitney turned her attention to me.
“You put yourself at risk,” said Whitney. “That could’ve killed you.”
“The bathroom?”
“The door to the bathroom. Any or all of these doors, it… it could be connected. Here, let me-“
Whitney walked up to Helen and took one of the notebooks back. She turned to one of the latter pages.
​
“The framework of passageway. Concept of thought. Paired in alignment, the darkness standing shy from the mirrored back of Empyrean. Realm unwilled and unbound, misshapen by collective subconscious. We cannot pass, our world-forgotten blocks dissipated. Like a bridge cannot be built of water, and a house cannot be built of wind. But the great craftsman blames not their tools; and eternal gold can be found in humble bronze.”
​
“Bronze,” I said. “Like the key.”
“Look, my dad, he… we weren’t on speaking terms. I’ve looked at all this for days, and all I can tell is that he was off his rocker. He died in that room.”
Whitney pointed to the study. Helen hugged Seb tight, holding back a sob.
“He couldn’t leave. He was convinced that the… the door would eat him.”
​
Helen sat down by the kitchen table. Thankfully, there was no door in-between the kitchen and the main lounge. Seb walked straight up to Whitney, grabbed her by the collar of her blouse, and slammed her up against the wall; his calm demeanor cracking at the seams.
“We shouldn’t be here,” he said. “This is your fault!”
“I-I didn’t know! It was all just ramblings! I didn’t have time to clear it all out, how… how could I have known?!”
“You recognized the key,” said Helen. “You chased after him. You asked him to wait.”
“That’s the only part that keeps coming back!” Whitney yelled. “Check the notebooks! The key, it’s… it’s everywhere! It’s everything!”
“So what do we do?” Seb asked. “Do we use it or destroy it?”
Whitney looked at the pile of notebooks she’d managed to gather from the study. It was only a handful of everything we’d seen in there, but it might be enough to get some semblance of an answer.
​
The house had six doors. The front door, the bathroom door, the study room door. On the top floor, there was another bathroom door, a door to the guest bedroom, and the main bedroom door. The bathroom door on the bottom floor was already open and considered safe. I could step in and out without a problem.
Whitney explained as best as she could.
Her father had grown increasingly paranoid since divorcing Whitney’s mother. He’d locked himself in his house, committing fully to his studies. He’d always been a bit agoraphobic, and having a reason not to leave the house was a bit of a blessing in disguise. But over time, that blessing turned into a curse. An early entry read;
“For years, I’ve longed for the presence of mind to devote myself. And now that I can, I find myself wanting. I can’t be certain. There is a Door, a passage. It binds itself seemingly spontaneously. There is a risk involved, and it is a risk I cannot take.”
​
Seb tried to call for help, but water started pouring out of his phone. Whitney found a page about “semi-passages” or “shortcuts”. Things that could be used as portals to another person or place. They weren’t as conceptually clean as a door, and thus wouldn’t invite “Them”, but the connection would go through that dark place. The place that, somehow, her father had stumbled upon.
I looked at the key for a long time. I didn’t dare to touch it. It was unassuming, in a way. It was old and had this sort of blocky texture; like it was made of little squares. While Helen and Seb rifled through notebooks, Whitney looked up and talked to me.
“He just wanted a way to go wherever he wanted, without having to traverse the space in-between. To just go from one door to another. All he needed was a key.”
“But why now? Why is… how are we trapped?” I asked. “We got in here just fine.”
“The realtor,” sighed Whitney. “He tried to leave with the key. I think that triggered it.”
“So how do we un-trigger it?”
Whitney shrugged and pointed to the notebooks.
​
We had endless discussions. We compared notes, drew out theories. Helen thought we could force the bronze key out a window, but Whitney theorized that it’d just leave us locked inside. I suggested we listened at each door, just to eliminate which ones were safe and which weren’t. We tried, but there was seemingly no way to tell. Sometimes I could hear rushing water on the other side. Scratches on the wood. Other times, nothing. Even going back to the same door, it’d sound differently each time.
We considered opening several doors at once. We spread ourselves out. I was at the upstairs bedroom door, right next to Seb by the guest room door. Whitney was downstairs by the study door, and Helen insisted on the front door. We all put our hands on the handles. I wasn’t sure if I could hear something on the other side or not; my heart was pounding too loudly.
There were six doors. Five were closed, one open. Someone was probably going to die.
“There is only ever one Door. He only speaks of it as a singular. It can change over time,” said Whitney. “This is our best shot.”
“We can’t know for sure,” said Seb. “And why do we even want to open them all? There’s nothing in the bedrooms, right?”
“We’re excluding,” I said. “Like we did with the downstairs bathroom.”
“We should close it,” said Helen. “Shouldn’t that improve our chances of… of our other doors being okay?”
“I have no idea,” sighed Whitney. “Are we doing this?”
Seb backed away from his door, taking the hand off the handle.
“It ain’t right,” he said. “None of it. It ain’t right.”
​
Everything erupted into an argument. Seb couldn’t bring himself to risk his life for anything less than an exit, and Helen couldn’t stop crying at the thought of that dark abyss. I couldn’t blame her. To this day, I can’t stop imagining it. Whitney, trying to act as a voice of reason, read aloud from one of the notebooks.
“The concept of the passageway, the Door, changes at the flick of a thought. An alien thought, like an invisible, uncontrollable shadow of the psyche. It refuses to be controlled. My exit could be my end; or as likely, a wooden frame. Much like we cannot control the smoke of a campfire, we cannot foresee the turning of the passageway.”
We all looked at one another. Helen collapsed by the front door, crying. Whitney was close to a mental breakdown. I felt this enormous burden settle in my stomach, like I was missing something.
​
“Let’s take the door off the hinges”, said Seb. “We’ll turn it into a… an arch. Then it ain’t a door anymore. You think that’ll work?”
“In theory, maybe,” said Whitney. “But how do we do that without opening it?”
“We’ll… we’ll take the whole frame off,” Seb said. “There’s a crowbar under the sink. Saw it when I checked the garbage disposal.”
Helen bent down next to the sink, put her hand on the kitchen cabinet handle. I gasped.
Was that considered a door? Could it kill her? Would it?
​
I imagined that dark, cold abyss. That enormous force pulling me in, turning my very form into this unrecognizable mass. Where no screams can be heard. All I’d have to show for such unimaginable anguish would be a burst of bubbles; then nothing.
“No!” I cried out. “Stop!”
But it was too late.
​
Nothing happened. Helen opened it, pulled out the crowbar, and that was that. But for a brief moment, I realized how Whitney’s father must’ve felt. That uncertainty, not knowing for sure if that one flick of the wrist would be damnation; or nothing.
Helen handed the crowbar to Seb, while Whitney gave me a pat on the shoulder. I couldn’t stop crying. My whole body was shaking from the sudden rush of adrenaline. Meanwhile, Seb walked up to the front door and started tapping the wood.
The theory was this; if there was no door, nothing could come through. There was no point in doing a test run, because if it didn’t work, someone would lose their life either way. It was better to have an honest chance of getting out.
Whitney gathered towels. She had this idea that, maybe, water might start leaking if the door was turned into a semi-passage, like a window. If so, we might have to find a way to quickly stop the flow.
By the time we got the towels, Seb started working on the door frame. As that first crack rang out, I heard a click.
​
The front door slid open.
​
Without a moment’s thought, Seb pushed it close. It had barely opened an inch.
We all held our breaths. We were fine. Nothing was happening.
​
“It’s… it’s clear!” Helen called out. “There’s nothing there! I saw it, it… it was nothing!”
“It can change!” Whitney yelled back. “We can’t take that risk again!”
“Like hell we can’t.”
Seb put his hand on the front door, but Whitney tackled him. The crowbar fell to the floor as Helen rushed forward to help.
“Listen!” Whitney yelled. “Just listen!”
​
A rumble, like a great whale passing in the distance. It was right there; on the other side of the front door.
Without a word, they all stood up and backed away. The door shook from the passing force. Something was definitely there.
“Then… then the rest should be fine,” said Seb. “We can get to the study.”
Whitney nodded, and the two of them burst into a sprint. Helen wasn’t convinced, but didn’t know what to say. Whitney dropped her crowbar, and as she bent to pick it up, Seb opened the door to the study.
​
Darkness.
“…no.”
Panic exploded. Helen grabbed his arms, trying to pull him out. Whitney crawled backwards, closing her eyes and covering her ears. I couldn’t watch. All I heard was Helen, screaming his name, over and over. There was a gargle. A scream turning into an inhuman screech, like a burning pig.
“Sebastian!” Helen kept repeating. “Sebastian! Sebastian!”
There was a click, and then nothing but crying. I looked up to see Helen collapsed against the study door. It had slid shut from the pressure on the other side.
“I’m… I’m coming, Sebby,” she cried. “I’m… I’m-“
She opened the door again.
And there was the study, just as we’d left it.
​
Helen collapsed on the floor, curling up into a fetal position. She kept making this child-like yowling, scratching the surface of the hardwood floor, as if trying to dig Seb back into reality. But there was nothing left. Not even water droplets on the floor.
Then there were her arms. She’d held on until the door had slammed shut. Her sleeves were torn, and her arms bloody. Not much, but there were these round little suction marks. They were already bruising, with spots of blood poking through the skin.
I sat by Helen as Whitney started rifling through the study. There were more notebooks, more theories, more diaries. Notes about experiments, clever tricks, and attempts. So far, every idea to understand the rules were in vain. We couldn’t make sure. No matter what, we could never be truly sure.
​
Two open doors. Four closed.
​
I don’t know how many hours passed. I managed to get Helen to the couch, but she was inconsolable. She could barely comprehend words anymore. She didn’t blink, and she could barely breathe. There were no coherent thoughts in her mind, just… darkness. This awful, soul-sinking darkness.
Whitney propped up the open doors with books and towels, to make sure they wouldn’t accidentally close. All the while, she kept trying to convince herself.
“We keep opening them one by one,” she said. “If we can get it to manifest in one single place, and keep that door open, we should be able to leave by another.”
The sun had started to set outside. For all intents and purposes, this still just looked like a house. The windows were clear, showing the greenery outside. Maybe it was all a lie. Maybe none of it was really happening.
But looking down at Helen, and her unblinking eyes, I knew it was the realest thing I’d ever experienced.
​
“We… there’s three of us,” I said. “Four doors. We can’t make it.”
“No, that’s perfect,” nodded Whitney. “That’s… we open all but the front door. It manifests. Then we can get out through the one safe remaining door.”
“Unless we all die. There’s nothing that says it can only be in one place.”
“It is implied,” said Whitney. “If you got a better plan, just tell me. But unless you want to starve to death, we gotta-“
“Starve?” I interrupted. “Is that what…”
I looked back at the study, where Whitney said her father had died. No words were necessary. She took a deep breath and nodded.
“He couldn’t bring himself to try,” she said. “So we have to ask ourselves what we want. A long but certain death, or a violent risk at life?”
​
The fridge, the freezer, and all the cupboards had been cleared out. Whitney found some raisins for us to share while we pondered what to do. Helen couldn’t eat. She stared blankly ahead, waiting for her mind to come wandering back.
It was dark outside. Whitney rolled the bronze key between her fingers.
“I wonder how he did it,” she sighed. “He never made any sense to me.”
“Maybe it doesn’t make sense,” I shrugged. “At least not to us.”
“Then what made him so special?”
“Well, he did have a lot of books,” I said, reaching into a pile we’d gathered from the study. “Just look at some of these.”
“Astrology of Abraham, Channels of Esoteric Geometry…”
“I like this one,” I said, holding up a little red book. “Diary of Emmett Rask.”
“Right. But it doesn’t beat the…”
Whitney pulled out another book from the pile, turning it over.
“… the thirteen faiths of the blameless mother.”
I shook my head, looking over at Helen. A handful of raisins slipped between her fingers. She didn’t even bother closing her hand.
​
Looking back at Whitney, I sighed.
“You’re right,” I said. “We have to try.”
So we did.
​
We lined ourselves up on the top floor. Helen on the far right, near the bathroom. I was on the far left, by the guest room. Whitney was in the middle, by the bedroom. Helen didn’t understand. She just mimicked us.
“We’re gonna open on three,” said Whitney. “And no matter what we see, just run. Run downstairs, and just… go. Get out.”
I nodded. Helen didn’t.
“One.”
I tightened my grip. I saw Helen follow my lead, giving me an exhausted look. She could barely keep her eyes open.
“Two.”
I started doubting which way to turn the doorknob. I’d turned a million doorknobs throughout my life, but that was the first time I’d really thought about which way to turn it. I imagined myself hearing water. Bubbles. Distant rumbles. I tried telling myself that it was all imagined. Fake. Tricks of the mind.
But in my heart of hearts, I knew it wasn’t.
“Three.”
​
We opened our doors.
All I saw was a well-made bed. A bag of toiletries; probably Whitney’s. I left the door open and turned around.
​
Helen was smiling as the darkness welcomed her.
“Come on!” Whitney screamed. “Leave her!”
The door to the bedroom was open. Clear. But I was standing just ten feet away from an endless abyss. Helen looked at it, as if searching for something. She touched the surface with an outstretched hand.
“Seb, honey,” she cried. “Sebby, please.”
A pulse shot through her. I could see the hair on her arm stand up. Her veins turning black.
“Oh, Sebby…”
​
In an instant, her flesh unraveled as it flayed itself from the inside out. Her scream stifled as something pulled her in, leaving splotches of blood behind from the outline of her feet. A pained moan escaped her; only to be turned to harmless bubbles in the pressurized void.
Whitney grabbed me by the neck and pulled me downstairs. We ran to the front door. We looked back a final time, just to make sure it was still manifested upstairs.
It was still there. We’d sacrificed Helen, but we’d make it out.
​
Whitney pulled the front door open – and stopped.
Darkness.
​
We’d been wrong.
​
Whitney turned to run as an impossibly long arm grabbed the flesh of her back; straight through her clothes. It pulled her back.
I crawled away, not being able to close my eyes.
“Help me!” she cried out. “For God’s sake fucking help me!”
I shook my head, not knowing what to do. I’ll never forget those desperate eyes. The betrayal. The pleading. She fought every inch of the way. She dug her nails into the hardwood floor. She kicked. She pulled. She screamed. But for every second she stayed, the more painful it was.
With a final snap, the fingers dug into her spine; folding her like a lawn chair.
A lifeless body, dragged across the floor. Unceremoniously pulled into the dark with a quiet squelch.
And the door, slightly damaged by Seb and his crowbar, slid shut.
​
I was all alone.
The door to the guest bedroom and the main bedroom remained open. There was the bathroom and study downstairs. Just two closed doors left; the bathroom and the front door. Both closed. Both… wrong.
There was no right answer.
​
I must’ve stayed there for days. I found some trail mix in Whitney’s bag. I had water. I could shower. I had a change of clothes. I scoured the notebooks over and over and over, trying to find the slightest hint on what to do. There had to be some way of knowing for sure. There had to be.
It wasn’t until I came across a final note that I realized it was over. It read;
“By will alone, we cannot make ourselves right. Right is right, independently of our actions and intentions. We cannot control that which never was, and we cannot be part of that which will never be. There could be no more perils for me to face, and yet, I cannot bring myself to leave. There is no certainty in the unknown, and I choose not to live by chance alone.”
​
I cried myself to sleep at night. I banged on the walls. I even tried opening a window, only to have my left eardrum blown out from the pressure drop. Got a nasty nosebleed as well.
I tried reading. I tried making up little worlds in my head. I imagined myself safe and sound.
But it was useless. In those final hours of desperate loneliness, I knew I couldn’t fool myself any longer.
I was going to die.
​
I found myself with my hand on the front door. I learned every crease of the wood. The temperature of the metal handle. I listened to it. Studied it. At times, it was quiet. At other times, it wasn’t. Sometimes I imagined it quiet, other times, I imagined voices coming from the other side.
Maybe I wasn’t imagining it.
Finally, I grasped the bronze key. Starving, exhausted, and mentally broken – I opened the front door.
​
Sunshine.
And there, on the fresh-cut lawn, was another realtor.
Just as confused as I was.
​
So, turns out I was only in there for about 16 hours total. And to this day, no one seems to remember neither Anders, Seb, Helen, or Whitney. According to every document I can find, the owner of the house had no children. The cars parked outside were unregistered. On paper, it seemed like the entire world had forgotten that these people were ever part of this plane of existence.
I don’t think anyone’s lying here. There was a sincere disbelief and confusion to every piece of my story. To onlookers, I seemed like a squatter that’d gone insane.
I’ve tried to find anything about this. They won’t let me go back to read the notes. The investment firm who owns the real estate company swept it all under a rug and tore the place down. I suspect they were the ones who made the bronze key mysteriously disappear from the evidence room.
I’ve tried to find copies of the books I found in there. Some of them have been seen in passing on strange message boards, and one just keeps making my computer turn off whenever I try to google it. Who the hell is Emmett Rask anyway?
​
If anyone knew these people, or have heard about this phenomenon, please… I need to know I’m sane. I need to know this isn’t all a dream. I need to know I won’t wake up with my hand on that front door, having imagined living a life back outside.
This has to be real. I am real. There is nothing on the other side of the door.
Go ahead, listen. There’s nothing there.
It can’t be.
​
Can it?

Hi, David here!
We often perform the role of secondary characters in our own lives, doing little to impact or direct the overall plot. In some cases, we even play the part of the villain by self-sabotaging ourselves. If this sounds like you, then it’s time to recast yourself as the hero of your own life.
The hero’s journey always contains struggle. Without a struggle to overcome, you can’t even be a hero. Be glad that having something to struggle over gives you this opportunity instead of complaining about it.
There are heroic choices constantly being presented to you. Think of how a hero would act when faced by them.
Would a hero introduce himself to a cute girl sitting at a coffee shop, or choose to say nothing and have the opportunity forever slip away?
Would a hero hide his true beliefs and desires, or unapologetically let them be known?
Would a hero work to get better, or instantly give up at the first sign of defeat?
Be a catalyst for things occurring. Organize events. Be the one that asks others to join you in doing something. And if no one else wants to join an activity, be brave enough to still do it by yourself.
Don’t wait for someone or something else to save you. Do your own bit of saving.
​
Adding to that, I just finished putting together my dating eBook "How to Date Any Girl" version 4.0 and would LOVE to get some honest feedback from you!
I decided to give it away for free for the first 100 people who join my mailing list.
​
By joining the mailing list You would get:
- 27 pages long eBook (free for subscribing) that gives you a practical step-by-step solution to meeting women (14+ years of knowledge put into it).
- bonus emails where I share awesome advice on how to improve your dating life.
​
You can get the eBook and join the list by clicking here!
​
This book is the result of going out and socializing with girls for over a decade. I have put in there all the fundamentals I have learned over that time so you know I have something to say ;)
P.S: You can unsubscribe at any time with a click of a button if you feel you don't like the content of the emails anymore (but I am sure you will ;)
​
What are your thoughts? Do you have any tips to add?
Let's discuss in the comments :)
Thanks for reading and have a GREAT day!
Coach David

Cool lil place. Double lanes & outside workers like Chicfila.
Richmond rd looks like its still being built, not open yet but it's less than 60 seconds from Starbucks, Krispy Kreme & Common Grounds so plenty of coffee options.
Coffee priced about how you'd expect... $5.50 for a medium specialty & would go back again, it was a good drink.
I'm all for more options

Diablo 4 is near perfect arpg so far, aside from some issues like cash shop, the game is amazing.
It's a redemption arc that Blizzard desperately needed, "from don't you guys have phones?" to Warcraft 3:reforged, to Diablo:Immortal to Overwatch 2, they failed the community big time in the past 3 years.
But with Diablo 4, they remined us why we loved them in the first place. An epic game that is smooth as butter to play. I can't wait for Diablo 4 expansions and new classes.

I have no idea if this is the right sub-reddit to ask this questions. So I apologize if this is the wrong place.

Summary

Basically, I have had poops the consistency of mashed potatoes since I started to get healthy over a year ago and I don't know how to get back to nice logs that I used to have. I only poop once in the morning and I don't have emergency urges during the day so I don't think it's health issues. It's just the consistency of the poops that have changed and I don't know why or how to solve it.

Background Information

I used to have an in-office job and my poops were great. One nice sized log every morning and I was good to go for the day. In the office I had a standing desk which I would use the vast majority of the day. I ate like shit though lots of junk food and sugar. I didn't exercise at all outside of the standing desk and walking around as needed in the office and to get lunch up town.
Over 2 years ago I got a new job that was 100% remote and I could work from home. I lost the standing desk and was sitting most of the day. My eating patterns did not change and I still ate like shit. Maybe even more so at home as I just ate pasta most days and still didn't exercise.
Over this time my poops turned in to the aforementioned mashed potatoes. I still had one poop in the morning, but some times a small second poop in the afternoon was needed. I didn't get satisfying poops any more and things didn't feel empty after my morning poop like when I was going in to the office everyday.
So over a year ago I felt very unhealthy and decided that I needed to get in to better shape. I had gained a lot of weight and wasn't feeling good everyday. I started to overhaul my daily routine and get on the right track, but my poops didn't really change all that much.
As part of my new routine I did the following

• No more soda
• No more coffee
• No more energy drinks
• No more sport drinks
• No more alcohol
• No more junk food
• No more candy
• No more chips
• No more fast food
• No more processed foods
• No more milk
• No more ice cream

​

• Only shop in the produce, meat, and dairy sections of the supermarket
• Cook all of my meals at home
• Do basic yoga daily
• Do light weight lifting daily
• Walk outside 20 minutes every day

​
My daily routine as of the last year is basically

• 9AM: Wake up, shit, shower, and get ready for the day
• 10AM: Start working from home
• 12PM: Lunch
  • The vast majority of time it's an egg sandwich with thick cut bread, 2 eggs, chives, 1/2 avocado, and few slices of Cabot habanero cheese.
  • I've played around the sandwich a bit, sometimes putting in some kimchi instead of avocado.
• 2PM: 20 minute walk outside
• 5PM: End working from home do home stuff
• 7PM: Eat dinner, a couple example are …
  • A stir-fry with white rice. The stir-fry always has lots of vegetables and a some meat. The vegetables vary from day to day, but there are always 2 or 3 different kinds with some pork.
  • Strip Steak, white rice, roasted Brussel sprouts, and baked yam / sweet potatoes
• 8:30 PM: Exercise
  • Yoga for core muscles / flexibility and weights
• 10PM: Snack
  • Roasted seaweed and an slightly green banana.
• 1AM: Bed time.

Through out the day I'm drinking lots of water and a bottle of GT Raw Kombucha. The Kombucha is for some probiotics, though I don't know home much Kombucha has made a difference.
I find when I eat too much soluble and insoluble fiber I get super gassy, bloated and just feel uncomfortable. I find drinking even more water than I already do counteracts this to some level. Though I think I feel like I'm over hydrated when I drink this much water as my pee will run clear all night and maybe even in the morning.
I'll also add that I am an asian born in the USA. So growing up it was a steady diet of real Chinese food every night and there was always white rice. I say real because its not the greasy deep fried stuff you get at the local take-out place. I'm not sure it matters, but it may be helpful if there are easy generalizations that can be made. For example I pretty sure most Chinese people are lactose intolerant.
I've lost lots of weight and gained some muscle with my routine. I went for 40 waist pants to 34 waist and the 34's are feeling a bit loose at this point. I could see needing to buy 32 pants by the end of the year.
I assume I'm doing something wrong to make my daily poops all mashed potatoes texture. Sorry this is so long and I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes. Hopefully somebody can give some advice or if there is a better place to post, please let me know.
Thanks for any responses!

Expanding on that chart equating driving distance to tee box selection…
What if courses had a trackman/gcquad/R10/Mevo near the starter shack, first tee, or pro shop, and you got three swings into a net with your driver before you teed off, and your average distance determined which tees you played from?
My thought is that people who pound it wouldn’t give a shit, but it would be a rude awakening for guys who think they carry it 260 but in actuality carry it 215, and that it would be a tremendous help for pace of play issues across the board.
Not saying it should be implemented nationwide, but fuck it would be cool and fun if places like goat hill or sweetens tested the waters with it.

I'm asking about the store, not the region. They are a coffee shop in Dearborn MI that is now franchising all over the US, and specialize in Yemini-style drinks which are served with cardamom and other spices. They are opening up a cafe very close to my home.
I would be interested in brewing espresso from their (non-spiced) beans.
https://harazcoffeehouse.com/collections/our-products

Day 1. I guess no one is ever going to read this. I’m not even sure if this is being recorded… somewhere. The Internet has been down since all this started. Is there still a cloud? I found this laptop, but it doesn’t work like any computer I’ve used before. I don’t even know if this is a real notepad app.
What the fuck is “vim”?
Sorry… I’ve never written a diary before. I’m not used to having enough time to keep a diary.
Looks like I spoke too soon. Another explosion…
Day 2. Something weird happened last night. I’m trying not to think about it. There's one other person at the shelter here, Merlin. He smokes a lot of cigarettes, basically all the time.
Day 3. Taking inventory. I managed to get into one of the houses on the outskirts of town last night. Mostly I snuck through, only had to take one down with a pointy stick. It was a kid... I got in through an open window, tied a sheet around my shoulders, and stuffed in everything I could before running back.
I feel a little like a hoarder going over things like this, but these are now my only posessions in the world, so I’d better keep track of them:

• Two permanent markers
• A hammer and screwdriver
• A fresh T-shirt and some socks
• Three small cola bottles and a can of beer
• Some cheese, dried beans, and bread
  At this rate, the plastic water bottles in the shelter will run out in two days.
  

Day 4. Saw a weird dog today.
Day 5. The blue house on the corner has bugs in the basement. Big, mean bugs. Hulking, skittering roaches that screamed bloody murder…
What is happening?
I managed to get out and shut the door, so I wrote a note on the door just in case some unlucky soul stumbles on it later.
Day 6. Found a motorcycle and managed to get it back to the shelter without dying. That might come in handy.
Day 7. If this is the apocalypse, it's surprisingly routine already. I wile away the daylight reading comic books and survival manuals so I can sneak into the city at night. I break into a house, tie a makeshift sling from some curtains and scoop whatever looks useful or edible into it. I always bring some gallon jugs in my walkabout bag to fill with water to boil from their heaters and toilet basins. I usually have to kill and scrap with at least five of them per night. Sometimes it gets bad and I have to take out my pistol. When I get home, I take an aspirin, disinfect and bandage my wounds, reload my pistol magazines, write in here and go to bed.
Day 12. Ever had a pickle and spam sandwich? Nowhere near as bad as you might expect. Better than starving to death, that’s for sure. Tonight I’m washing it down with some room-temperature beer, celebrating my first week.
Day 13. I woke up to one of them on top of me today. Another fucking corpse for the pit out back. I think they can smell us. One of them got Merlin pretty bad, but he’s just standing outside where it happened smoking. He won’t say anything to me. I ripped up some curtains and dipped them in some bleach I found in the basement to dress the wounds… he’s really bleeding a lot.
Day 15. Saw the dog again. It was blurry, like a nightmare on an old VHS tape.
Day 19. They swarmed me today. I might need to get out of here at some point. I’ve been making an inventory of all the surrounding vehicles. Most are out of gas or otherwise inoperable.
Day 20. It took me an hour of fiddling in the pitch dark, but I managed to hotwire a sports car with all four wheels and some fuel still in the tank. Something came over me as I started driving it back to the shelter, though. I turned on the headlights, and I saw four or five of them, just walking around the street. They all turned to me, and I just gunned it. I blew through them and kept gunning it, and crashed into the side of a house.
It’s totaled.
Back to the drawing board, I guess.
Day 22. Organizing my weapons tonight. I was able to take down a loiterer in the lockroom of the pawn shop on the corner through the bars with my duct-taped knife spear, which I have dubbed "Glamdring". The hacksaw I found in the blue house’s garage made short work of the lockroom bars, and I made it back with an assortment of pistols. I unloaded everything and managed to produce two fully-loaded magazines. 34 bullets and some change… once I use those, that’s it until I scavenge some more. I rifled through the heap of clothing I’ve scavenged and found an ammo pouch to strap to my leg. I’m still not great with the pistol, and the noise is not helpful, but having it makes me feel a lot better.
Day 30. I finally made it to the fucking hardware store, and I still couldn’t find a wood saw. So much for my advanced fortifications and spear repairs. At least I’ve got all the windows boarded up, except one. It’s nice to have a little sunlight to read and sew by during the day.
Day 32. The weird dog bit me. It chased me back to the shelter and Merlin fended it off. I hope he’s okay.
Day 33. Merlin won’t come back to the shelter. He’s just standing out there, bleeding and smoking. Like always.
Day 37. Today I found some binoculars on another little kid. I think I recognized it... her.
It.
On the way back to the shelter, I climbed up on the roof of that three-story house on the outskirts of town and took a look around. I think a plane went down in the forest. I’m going to get that bicycle I saw in front of the pawn shop and investigate. I’m only alive because Merlin saved me… maybe it’s time to pay it forward.
What else is there to do besides practice stabbing and cooking spam?
Day 40. They were all dead. One of them almost electrocuted me. The sparks started a fire and I managed to lead them into it, one by one. There was a flare gun in the cockpit and some more food in the back. But that first one... it's been over a month, and I've never seen anything like that before. I'm pretty sure it threw lightning at me. Like... on purpose. I couldn't move for a few seconds, and it just kept getting closer, I thought I...
That thing that happened... on my first night
Fuck. They’re tearing out the windows again.
What’s the point in fighting?
Day whatever the fuck it is. 59 I think. I’m still trying to process the shit that happened on day one, so does it really matter?
I can’t stop thinking about their faces. When they’re eating, because I saw one eating yesterday, it didn't know I was there and I was just.... hypnotized, I guess. But when they eat, their faces are like... caricatures, cartoons, contorted in throes of passion that could be agony or pleasure. Some of them could almost be human. Others clearly died and rotted long before this all started.
Day 60. It was me.
That first night, I saw ... myself. It was so cold out when I was falling asleep on the bench, winter’s last chill. And as I was falling asleep, I thought to myself, “This is how inexperienced idiots like you die, you know. If one of them doesn’t crawl in through the broken windows, the cold will do you instead.” But after the things I saw that day, I wasn’t sure I wanted to wake up. So I just... let myself fall asleep.
I was so, so cold. I could barely feel anything, except, then ... my heart started racing, because I realized how close I came. And I fell flailing off the bench, bruised my forehead.
I finally came to my senses and stood up, and realized there had been someone next to me on the bench.
Me.
I was there, physically, in front of myself, except dead and naked, all my clothes on the floor in front of the corpse.
No, not all of them, actually. Everything, from my jeans to my wristwatch… except the face wrap and mittens that I scrounged together from rags.
That’s right. When I woke up, I couldn’t feel my face or my hands, and before I even stood and turned back to the bench, I went and ripped up some curtains to wrap around them. So it was everything I was wearing when…
I stuffed it all in a locker and dragged the corpse outside to put it in the pile. I was panicking because I was sure Merlin would notice, but he just stood there smoking his cigarette.
Everyone is dead. The laptop, the binoculars… I took them all off the corpses of people I killed. Or, killed again, I guess. I can’t imagine it makes a difference. The kid almost killed me. I guess I killed me, too.
Day 61. Sorry. That plane crash really fucked me up. I don’t know why I thought there’d be anyone alive.
I don’t know why I’m alive. Is it just dumb luck? I’m here. I’ve adapted. For better or worse.
Day 62. They broke in through the last intact window. I just finished boarding it up. Now there’ll be no sunlight in here again unless I leave the door wide open.
I need to fucking get out of here.
Day 63. hey... tHere's another app on this computer
Day 64. It was an emergency message. It's not just me. There are other people out there. Survivors. I'm leaving tonight. I couldn't convince Merlin to come with me. How does he still have cigarettes?! Whatever... this rancid shelter will be in my past forever soon.
Some kind of huge abomination chased me out of town this afternoon. I thought I had cleared this area out. It was ... giant, like a fleshy skeleton with horrible bug eyes... I'm getting out of here. I hope it doesn't get Merlin.
The survivor hub is a month's walk away, and that's if I can't find a car on the way. Too bad my bike exploded...
I've hoarded enough gear that I can camp out to sleep through the day, and creep through the cities for supplies at night. I hope there's someone there to greet me when I arrive...

It's all in the hands of the Psychiatrists. UTHSCSA now steers the Police Department's public policy, funds our nonprofit agencies and their screams for drugs for mental illness. Simultaneously the nonprofits scream against the right to self-defense and accuse people assaulted by the homeless population. The motive is that San Antonio's mental illness problem is a watershed of research money. It was UTHSCSA who told Susan Reed (former head DA, 2000-2014) Marijuana as harmless, pushed for the state's money-grubbing "cite and release" programs which don't really guarantee anything. While the pot-shops open up and make money, the State busts drug users on the other end for extra cash.
And yet more and more people have mental illness, and criminals are getting more and more violent with less and less of a traceable motive. The city is on fire. They know it, and law enforcement is now the hands of a private institution which receives massive amounts of money from drug companies and law enforcement for research into mental illness, generating new Psychiatrists which interestingly don't seem to stay in San Antonio, and those that do stay aren't nearly enough to meet the city's needs. There is no research if they actually solve something (or someone kills their patients when they threaten their own lives) ... and you'll eventually realize these people really don't care about you.
They want San Antonio to be in this state, as crying and sobbing and pleading for help attracts an image of compassion and care while more and more people get shot, robbed, and raped. When you get angry, you're just as sick as everyone else. They cash out and go home.

Hey all. My husband is going to be getting his PhD at UB, so we’re moving to Buffalo from Denver in August. I’ve read the pinned “moving to Buffalo” post ( thank you for the helpful info!) and have scoured this sub for ideas of where to live.
We have been homeowners for more than a decade, so I’m not enthusiastic about renting, but it seems like the smartest thing to do for the first 6 mos to a year—esp since we haven’t even been to Buffalo yet (we’re visiting in 2 weeks).
Seems like Allentown and Elmwood Village are fun places to be/live but also pricier, busier, nosier, more crowded. We have lived in Chicago and Los Angeles, so part of us loves the energy of places like that…but we’re also now in our 40s and really enjoy a quiet street when it’s bedtime. And less people (but Buffalo has less people than either of those cities and Denver, which is great). And parking. Omg I don’t want to have to park on the street.
Someone on an intro call to UB recommended Country Club Manor apts in Williamsville. Anyone have any experience with them? They look pretty bland & suburban online, but maybe less hassle comes with that…I was looking at properties owned by Ellicott Development, many of which seem to be cool, old warehouses and the like that have been renovated. Anyone have any experience with these guys?
Does anyone have any recommendations for a place that won’t be full of 20-somethings (sorry, younger Millennials & elder Gen Z friends, we’re just at different places in life! No shade intended. Love & value you.) but isn’t going to be super beige and depressing after relocating from my much-loved block in Denver and 117-year-old house?
Thanks in advance! I originally hail from the Rust Belt, so I’m sure Buffalo will quickly feel like home.
PS Bonus points if I can walk to a bookstore, coffee shop and/or grocery store. Thanks!

Hey!
I own a small realm called DadCraft that is fairly young, started around a month and a half ago.
We are a small group of dads (and one mom) from all over the world who are looking to fill a few more empty spots (maxing at 10). There are 7 of us currently. We are looking for other dads (or moms) who love Minecraft and big bases and cool builds who want a Hermitcraft style realm to call home.
Details of the realm: -Long term world, no reset for foreseeable future. -No mods besides connected glass and one player sleep (discussing a couple more simple ones). -No griefing, cheating, hacks, or PvP. -Shopping district near spawn on a mushroom island. -Individual bases. -Community XP farm. -Parent life community feel where you don't feel obligated to play 6+ hrs a day to keep up. -Active and friendly discord.
If you think you fit the bill and want to crack a dad joke or two, let me know!

Hi future neighbors! My partner and I are moving to Brooklyn / Fort Greene this summer and we are ecstatic. Although we’ve spent a good amount of time in Brooklyn the past few years, we haven’t spent much time in Fort Greene.
What are some of your favorite restaurants, bars, coffee shops, or local happenings that we should visit within our first few weeks?