Edit: I am going to be making a full post, including details/link to my episode, on another sub later today. Thank you all for your advice. Feel free to PM me if you have anything to share, since the thread is now locked.
The show was in CA. I live in the south.
A year ago, I appeared on a national TV show to tell my story after aggressive cancer resulted in numerous surgeries that have been disfiguring and cause constant discomfort.
For a little context and maybe to help underscore my disappointment, it might be helpful to add that I am young, have almost no family, and cannot work. I can't afford the surgeries I need, so I was really excited to be on the show.
I had a flight paid for and was put up in a hotel, but had to pay for all travel Ubers, including to/from the studio.
My journey and photos were documented on the episode. At the conclusion of my segment, the hosts had three surprises for me. I don’t want to quote the show/risk not being anonymous, but in the aired episode, it is explicit that these are all offered free of charge.
FREE RECONSTRUCTIVE SURGERY - it was outlined on the show just what I needed
FREE SPECIALIST TREATMENT
A SERIES OF FREE COUNSELING SESSIONS
In the year following the show, I have received only ONE thing:
The show booked me a flight to/from Las Vegas to meet with a specialist. Knowing I have significant upper respiratory problems, they booked me a room in a smoking casino hotel. When I expressed concern about this, I was told to "try not to breathe in the smoke." I had to pay for all my expenses, including my Uber to/from the airport and to/from the office (45 mins each way), which put my bank account in the negative for two months. The show made me wait 16 hours at the airport because my flight out was delayed and they didn't want to put me up in a hotel for another night. I had to go to the hospital as soon as I got home, because I had already developed infections. The specialist’s office has been non-responsive since.
I have not received anything further. No surgery, no treatments, no counseling. I have emailed the show's coordinator multiple times, and each time am told to sit tight, but nothing happens.
I'm not sure if I have a case here. If I have legal options, what kind of lawyer would I consult, and would they charge me upfront?
Edit: I signed papers for the giveaway, but wasn’t given a copy. I don’t have a copy of the contract I signed to appear on the show.
TL;DR Went on a tv talk show to talk about how cancer has disfigured me. Was promised lots of free services. It's been a year and I have received nothing. Do I have any options?
|GAME||GeorgiaGeorgia @ MissouriMissouri|
|Location||Missouri Memorial Stadium/Faurot Field|
|Time||12:00PM ET ¦ 11:00AM CT ¦ 10:00AM MT ¦ 9:00AM PT|
|Odds||Spread: UGA -14.0 - Over/Under: N/A|
|Teams||Missouri: Subreddit/Wiki ¦ Georgia: Subreddit/Wiki|
Please keep trash talk civil, and report any comments that violate our rules.
I am a professional social media marketer. Yes, I went to school and got a degree for my work. I am employed in a cubicle scheme (/s) where I do real work for my clients. And I am CONSTANTLY running into huns who call themselves "social media marketers". It drives me CRAZY. Not only that, but now I feel like it's beginning to bring down the reputation of my entire industry.
What does my job entail? Things like:
* Drawing up budgets for paid promotions across platforms and projected ROI
* Knowing legalities of different industries as they pertain to social media
* Keeping a meticulously planned social media calendar for my clients
* Working with our promotions team to offer digital-exclusive deals and rewards
* Jumping into crisis mode at a moment's notice with a pre-planned emergency strategy that is unique to our demographic and brand voice
What my job DOES NOT ENTAIL
* Harassing my friends and loved ones on my personal accounts to buy my shitty products
* Blaming them when they won't
* Asking people to not only model my stuff unpaid, but to PAY FOR IT THEMSELVES (if we use influencers, there are long-planned contracts and budgets)
* Posting desperate selfies
* Dropping into rando's DMs and telling them they're fat
* Lying about my products
It never fails. Whenever I go to a networking event, "I'm a social media marketer" "Oh, ME TOO! FOLLOW ME AT @KARENSYOUNIQUEDOTERRAROMANCE" No, you are not. You're a sucker with a smartphone. Stop dragging down my job.
This was in 1991, my son was 18 and going to a local college. Me and my wife considered ourselves sort of a normal new jersey italian catholic family, we were traditional and fairly ignorant to most things. We hated the perceived feminization of culture, images of drag queens in NYC and AIDS and the tight pants of modern kids made us recoil in horror.
My wife found gay porn magazines in my sons room. I came home to a shit storm, she was freaking out at him, I asked why and she showed me what it was. I felt my heart drop down into my stomach, it was like a punch to the gut. He was GAY? It felt like the ultimate betrayal to us, betraying our religion, betraying the normal, 'healthy' upbringing we gave him. We had zero concept of the idea of being born gay, we thought it was something you made a choice to engage in, and once you did it you couldn't stop. Everything that we had given him, a normal, religious, traditional home, with enough money to go to college and relative freedom to do what he wants, and he just threw it all away. At least, that is what I thought at the time. He was my only precious thing in the world, my son, the person who would inherit my families name, the man who I raised from a child to BE a man, but at that moment was the furthest thing from a real man in my mind I could imagine. I made the choice right then and there that he was no son of mine, he was just a sissy bitch who happened to live in my house.
I know how horrific this sounds, because it was horrific. And it was how almost everyone who lived in our community felt. We were constantly spewed with propaganda to hate gay people and ideas that the youth were all gay and experimenting and getting AIDS and dressing as women. The hair metal, men wearing makeup, David bowie, the drag queens in new york across the hudson, Freddy Mercury, the ridiculous clothing of the era, it all gave the worldview that the world was turning into some gay, womanly wonderland.
Anyways, I barely even spoke to him. My wife was the one who did all the yelling. I just went red in the face and couldn't even look at him. She told him to get the fuck out and go to new york to live with his friends, who she assumed were all gay (and she was right, mostly). She physically hit him, a lot, and got him to pack his stuff while he was crying and told him to get out.
Me and my wife were just devastated afterwards, we went to church a lot, my wife told all the other families in the area and they were horrified at my son. I remember when we told our priest, who was a very nice, accepting man, about our son he looked to be disgusted, but when we told him we kicked him out he looked at us in disgust, or at least hided it a tiny bit. Living without my son hurt. It also made me rethink things over time. I still saw him almost as a inhuman person, to be gay, to me at that time, was so sinful and horrific that it was impossible to truly consider accepting them as real, normal people.
Me and my wife grew apart in the 6 months following my son leaving. She started to drink a lot, and she was a nasty drunk. She had a history of alcoholism, I knew how bad it could get. This was the worst I had ever seen her. We fought constantly over stupid things, and all I could think about was that when our son was here, we never fought, he always calmed us down.
In the end, I got kicked out of my own home, she just told me to leave. I moved to New York to live with my brother in bay ridge, we got divorced officially a few months later. She would die from liver failure 7 years later.
I made the choice, a conscious choice, to find out where my son was. At that point my life was just in shambles and I was rethinking everything about how I viewed my religion, my life, and I was just so horribly depressed and lonely. Finding him was a nightmare of itself, it took two weeks of calling homeless shelters and asking around at them if they had seen my son months ago. I finally found him in an apartment in Williamsburg. I saw him and apologized, and I told him that I am so sorry I kicked him out. Part of me was still in the same mindset as before, I was still a raging homophobe, but I tried to push that part away and just be with my son and ignore everything else.
He was a severe alcoholic. My first thought when I saw him, sweaty and skinny and sickly looking, was AIDS. But no, it was alcoholism. It runs in the family. He said that it started soon after I kicked him out, and that he was horribly depressed and turned to drinking heavily. Even his roommates said it was a major problem.
For the next 3 months I spent a lot of time focusing on getting him clean. I met his friends, about half of whom were gay, and we worked together to help him. He went to a detox clinic, he went to rehab. We spent a lot of emotional days together. I didn't want to lose him, even though just a year before I was desperate to get rid of him. The thought of him dying, right after this... because we kicked him out... it was just too much to bear. I made the decision that if he died, I would probably commit suicide after. But he would get clean, then relapse 4 months later, then get clean again for 2 years, then relapse again. Then he quickly recovered. And he would never touch another drop again.
Spending that time with my son, and seeing how he lived and more importantly actually seeing how these gay men lived their lives, mostly completely normally, it completely changed me as a human being. In 1996, I went to my first pride parade with my son to support him and his boyfriend at the time. I took a heavy interest in the LGBT community and went with my son to visit his friends in AIDS clinics. If you were to have told me in 1991 that I would be going to an AIDS clinic with a drag queen and being friendly with everyone by 1997, I wouldn't believe you in the slightest.
Anyways this post has been days in the making. I love reddit even if I am a bit old for it haha. I have told my story before to a journalist and it was published. If you feel deja vu reading this, I would VERY MUCH prefer if you didn't reveal my identity on this post or post the article.
Reed Richards has never heard of Ligma before and the character in question has to make up a story on the spot about Ligma.
Both characters are in a restaurant and neither of them remembered to bring their cell-phones or any device that can access the internet. They're also alone in the restaurant.
The character cannot use any powers to convince Reed Richards that Ligma is an actual disease. It's all speaking skill.
Reed Richards will go berserk upon hearing the punchline to the joke, and the character needs to be able to survive the strongest punch Reed Richards is capable of throwing on short notice.
Hello redditors of r/drugs.
As the title stated, I'm a cop. Before anyone gets too heated, please hear me out.
My goal as a police officer is not to make the most busts, or arrest the most perps. My job is to serve the community, and at all times I strive to be as open-minded, compassionate, and fair as possible. That cop who treated you like garbage because you're a user? That ain't me.
Other than my time smoking a little weed at school, drugs and drug culture are a bit foreign to me. This is particularly true of harder drugs - meth, heroin, crack, etc.
I'm here because I'd like to start a dialogue, to learn about your perspectives. Culture. Experiences. Concerns. Attitudes towards police. Anything you think a cop should know to be more effective in the community.
In particular I'd like to know how I can best serve and help addicts, and what I need to know before doing so.
What do you say redditors? Can we have a proverbial coffee and chat?
UPDATE: Back again. Went out for food with the family. Now reading through all the comments. Thanks for having me as your guest, and for taking the time to chat to someone you would probably ordinarily try to avoid. It is appreciated.
UPDATE 2: Seriously humbled at this community for taking the time to engage. Thank you. Shout out to u/fuckthislifeee - appreciate the PM offering to have sex with my eye socket, I must however decline, and no I won't send you my address.
UPDATE 3: Cool front page. Would account for my exploding inbox. I've been on Reddit for far too long and will endeavour to come back on later to chat more.
To those who participated in a positive way, thank you. It's been great to have this dialogue. I have been endeavouring to read every post.
I'm on my phone, sorry. He's done a lot of mean things to me. He has hit me before on more than one occasion but only when I let things escalate to that point. I'm usually pretty good at keeping him happy and calm although I do feel like I'm walking in eggshells most of the time. We live together and he likes it when I tie his shoes before he goes to work. If I don't do this, or anything that he wants, he makes me feel bad. He will pout or say mean things until I do what he wants. I usually just do what he wants to avoid the drama. This includes sexual stuff as well. I have to make sure not too much time goes by between me getting him off or he complains saying he needs it to feel normal and content. He forces me to let him touch my breasts and if I resist he says my body is his body and I should be grateful he appreciates it. My parents are ready to move me out tomorrow. I've been staying with them since Wednesday night when he randomly started yelling at me in a restaurant, calling me a cunt and telling me to go fuck myself then kicking me out of our apartment without my phone or anything but the clothes on my back. It's been so long since something like this happened but I think it's only because I cave to everything he wants and anticipate his needs so well. This is abuse, right? Even if sometimes your happy and in love? And it doesn't happen all the time? Why do I feel like I don't want to leave him even though he makes me miserable and anxious? He keeps messaging me asking me to come back and saying that he will change but I don't think he sees his behaviour as a problem and he just expects things of me because I've been doing it for so long and don't complain. I feel like he's confused as to why I'm leaving because I've put up with it until this point. Sorry for rambling. I am very upset.
----Thank you mostly everyone for the kind words and support. You have no idea how much I needed to be told over and over that I'm not crazy or wrong. I know some people don't understand how stupid I have been. Seems so obvious to most people, I'm sure. I don't know how I convinced myself that this is ok.
I have read every reply. thank you. I will update.
To start, my parents are what I call “radical christians”. They are the ones who raise money to go to a foreign country to teach people about God. I have no problem with people doing this, after all, its their life, they can do as they please as long as it doesn’t hurt people. However, it does.
My parents took me and my siblings (four kids aged 9-5) to the coldest capital city in the world in 2010, forcing me to say a tearful goodbye to my adorable cat and all my friends, and then attempted to homeschool us... only they failed. Miserably. My social life was nonexistent because they didn’t want me to go to school and deal with the non-christian rough kids of this country, and I became so lonely that I befriended a pack of stray dogs that lived behind my building, giving them food from my dogs bowl. At the time, I assumed it was normal. I never really thought friends were that important until in 8th grade they put me into a christian homeschool co-op and one girl there felt bad for me as I literally never spoke to anyone and was too shy to do anything other than nervously laugh. She befriended me, tried to draw me out of my shell, and introduced me to her small group of friends. I was happier than you could possibly imagine, even though I never really came out of my shell that year. I remember laughing at some dumb jokes they were making and thinking I wished that I could just be here forever, because I knew deep down that it wouldn’t last.
My parents decided to take a 6 month break to the states during summer break and into my first year of 9th grade. I thought it’d be fun, I’d miss my friends but I’d get a lot of candy I couldn’t get in the country I was in. Our mission organization (who told my parents when to come to the states, where to go and handled the finances for them) made us take a mandatory test to make sure our education wasn’t messed up, and the results came back that we were all (especially me) wayyyy behind. My math was a 3rd grade level, I wouldn’t be allowed to continue doing homeschool. That night was pretty sad. My parents got into a fight, ultimately decided to stay in America for one more year, and I cried my eyes out because Id leave my only friends in the whole world for a year.
The public school they sent me to was huge and I was unprepared for the kind of kids there. I had been extremely sheltered and ashamed to watch anything that had even one swear word in it, and suddenly I was in a school of 2500-3000 kids all talking about how they smoked weed, drank, and had sex. I was scared and shy and once again reverted to hiding in my hoodie rather than talking to peers. I was also extremely homophobic because of the upbringing my parents gave me, and was shocked to see one senior with a beard who wore fake nails and makeup every day and openly made out with his boyfriend. As the year went on, however, my views on many things changed. I realized gay people were just normal humans and not as evil as my parents made them out to be, I made friends, and even let a curse word or two slip out, to the surprise of my new friends.
Just as I was settled and getting up to the right level of math, my parents took me away yet again, back to the country we’d left. They tossed me into a British school that had a whole different school system, and I was left far behind in my education once again. The upside to my 10th grade year, however, was that I reconnected with my friend from eighth grade, even though she had to leave that December (Missionary kids have lives full of moving) but not before she introduced me to DnD and a lot of other people from our youth group. Finally, I made real, awesome friends with amazing people... unfortunately they were all male and I was rarely allowed to be involved in their movie night sleepovers. By December, I was truly out of my shell for the first time since 3rd grade. I was beyond happy, but my parents started getting annoyed I was out so much. In the summer, I started dating one of the boys in my friend group, and though they liked him, they started becoming more strict. We had fights over my phone or going out almost daily, but nothing big really happened.
In 11th grade, I made new friends at school, and I started becoming a normal teenager- swearing around my friends, sometimes, experimenting with alcohol, and even losing my virginity (I tried not to because I was a christian, but I was a horny teenager), and keeping these things from my parents. In December, all hell began to break loose. My boyfriend moved away to become a missionary for two years, and I was heartbroken. He rarely had internet, and my parents occasionally tried to threaten me when they were upset that they’d make me break up with him by cutting off all of my connections to him by doing stuff like selling my phone and all my siblings phones and buying a flip phone for me. And then, I made a mistake.
I left my facebook open on the computer like the idiot I am and my mom decided to scroll through my messages with my boyfriend. She found out what we had done, copied all the incriminating evidence and sent it to my dad. They kept it quiet for a few days before confronting me about it, in an argument that lead to my dad getting so upset he started hitting me. He had written a letter to my boyfriend telling him how he wanted to kill him and feed him to the dogs, and how if he had any remorse he would cut off all contact with me. He was in denial that I would consent to sex, and even though I was screaming at my dad that my boyfriend didn’t rape me, he didn’t believe me. He never sent the letter, but showed it to me. He told me he’d send it to my boyfriend’s parents, and I had to beg him not to. Finally I was able to beg him to let me go to one of my European friends house, and I thoroughly wanted to die. I had a problem with self harm from before, and Id often cut myself whenever my parents stressed me out too much because I had no other outlet. My parents lowered my curfew to 8 and tried to get me to give me the phone then too (which they’d been trying to do for a while) ignoring the fact that I could pretty much only talk to my boyfriend after 8. This resulted in me growing distant from him as I was only able to send a long message to him in the day and wait until he could respond the next day, but my parents insisted they did it because they loved me and it was bad for my mental and spiritual health. My parents also argued a lot over how to deal with my unacceptable behavior and my dad told me one day that if they got a divorce it would be my fault.
We talked less and less, and eventually I broke up with him because I just couldn’t do it anymore. I renounced my faith in God which had been hanging from a thread for the past few years, which broke my parents heart. I started dating another boy from the friend group, and it was great. His parents loved me, his dog loved me, he loved me, and I loved being at his house. It was my favorite place in the whole world, and I loved every second of being there. I’d stopped cutting for him, and things would have been going well... if it hadn’t been for my parents. I had a friend from Germany who invited to me to come visit her during summer break, and my parents decided I should go. I didnt object to the idea and was happy when they told me God told them to send me, but I soon realized it was because they wanted to take me to counseling and get me meds for depression because I didn’t talk much to them (I didn’t have depression) and they were spending thousands of dollars for it so whats a couple thousand more. All their good deeds were documented in a newsletter to all their supporters with wording painting them as hard working parents who were struggling to cope with their rebellious God hating daughter. The day I left for Germany, my mom tried to install Qustodio (a program many christian parents my parents knew would use on their kids to spy on them and ensure they weren’t engaging in ungodly activities like porn) and while I was compliant, I made different social media accounts so she couldn’t read my old messages. She lost her shit at this and we got into a huge fight, until she locked herself in the bathroom with my phone, I heard water running, and I knew that I probably wasn’t getting my phone back. I later learned she ran water over my phone, then put it in a bucket filled with water and kept it by her bed for two days to ensure my phone was broken.
I had a good time in Germany, but I dreaded going to counseling and it was just as bad as I expected. I told my parents that I was dating my new boyfriend (I hid this from them because I knew that they wanted me to marry my ex since I’d had sex with him and was, in their eyes, already married to him) and they lost their shit again. My dad called him my sex toy, my mom called me his sex toy, they argued over who was whose sex toy, they insisted he was lazy and I would be happier with literally anyone else, and told me he was too fat for me, then during the heat of it my mom screamed that she hated me. The counselors (it was a christian counseling facility) advised my parents to make a list of rules, and my parents told me that if I didn’t follow the rules they would force me to stay in the states and not finish my international baccalaureate (a 2 year program). Though I said I’d do anything to go back to be with my friends and boyfriend, my parents refused to tell me if we’d go back or not for a whole month as we travelled around. I was extremely stressed by this to the point where I couldn’t eat because I had no appetite and I had no desire to do anything or go anywhere. My parents often got upset at me for being sad because it was “your own fault anyway”, which, surprisingly did not help my mood. Finally, a day before our return flights were to leave, they read to me and my siblings a 14-page list of rules we would have to abide by if we were to go back. They included:
• I would not be allowed outside for more than 30 minutes, then I would have to go back inside and show myself to my parents
• I would not be allowed to go into my boyfriends house at all or have sex with him
• I would have qustodio on my new shitty phone to track my every move so they know where I am at all times
• They are allowed to randomly take my phone and read my messages whenever I want
• I am not allowed to go to Europe for college (even though its my dream/life goal to live in Europe)
• They will not pay for my college in America (which I cant afford as I dont want to drown in debt as soon as I’m 18)
I could go on, but I’m sure by this point you’re getting bored of reading. If I dont abide by their rules they will take me back to the states and not allow me to finish my IB diploma in January, and if I break them after January they’ll take my phone and limit my time outside to 20 minutes. My boyfriends mom was sad when she learned I couldn’t come over anymore, and is being extremely generous to me, sending little gifts to me through my boyfriend. It is currently my 12th grade year, my second year of my IB diploma, and I am drowning in stress, counting down the days until I can move out and be free from them. The thing that annoys me the most is that all the time they’re doing this, they are doing it with a self righteous attitude insisting they’re not to blame for any of the questionable things they did. My mom changes the order of events of things when I bring up her breaking my phone to make her look like a victim, writes letters to her supporters and family about how much of a victim she is, painting herself as a martyr doing this because she loves me. She wrote a long facebook post about one of her children being rebellious and hateful and while nobody was named, she mentioned at one point that the child in question was the oldest. I may be overreacting, I know that many people have it worse, but I am just so ready to move out and get as far away from them as possible. They’ve ruined my education, relationships with people, my faith in God, my social life, and they are trying to ruin me financially when I go to college so that I cant afford to move out.
tldr: My parents dragged me around the world ever since I was 9, ruined my education, and now hate me and my boyfriend because I had sex with 2 people in my life.
Edit: Thank you for all the helpful comments, but I want to clarify that I am not in the UK, I am in Mongolia attending a school that uses the British curriculum and offers IB.
We got that one African photography game on PS but it wasnt really the same.
Its such a simple formula, yet with the unlockable items and photo points system, I got WAY more playtime than I bargained for. I think in general the game is viewed positively. The backtracking with new items to gain access to new areas, special tricks to lure/evolve pokemon, bonuses for an endless amount of criteria. It seems like it would be a no-brainer for someone to have tried to make another one.
29F 5’9” weighed in at 140.2lbs this morning. I was originally 191. I’m essentially one pee away from my goal weight of 140. I lost by doing 90% CICO sticking to an average of 1400-1500 calories with mostly good months, kind of plateaued over the summer bc of a lot of cheating. I don’t work out currently, I only got in the gym for a total of 3 months out of this time because [insert shitty excuse here]. I do have a job that keeps me on my feet all day long which I think helps a lot.
I have this weight loss poster on my wall that keeps track of how much I lost with index cards. I took a Snapchat of it since I’m “done” and shared it with a handful of friends. Before that the only people to see it were my boyfriend and my sister.
My literal best friend (I don’t get to see her too often) wrote back instantly asking if I was alive and said “squishypants, that seems like healthy. You weigh significantly less than me.” For reference she is around 5’1”.
Another person took a screen shot so I jokingly was like hey why’d you do that. She responded by saying because she’s jealous since apparently I also weigh less than her and she’s short as well. She then proceeded to say that this was a lot of weight loss and that she’s “worried about me.” I gave this long response about how my BMI is normal and what not and that she’s probably a lot more muscular than me (she works out) but she never responded.
I guess today I learned that I can’t share my current weight with these people...
I can’t help but feel down now. Is there truth to what they are saying? My BMI is 20.7, underweight would be around 18.5 or 125lbs for me which is 15lbs less than my current weight. I lost most of this weight (38.6lbs of it) since November 28, 2017. That’s an average of about 1lb/week (technically a little less). So in one moment I tell myself I had a normal weight loss journey but their voices just keep ringing in my head. Do I seriously need to worry about being “too skinny” when all of my adult life I was too fat? What the hell man.
Idk. Anyone go through something similar? Any thoughts would be appreciated.
Totally anon for this.
I'm across the hall from a woman with serious mental problems. She tells me (and other staff members including admin) about her homicidal and suicidal delusions. I've had to drive her home more than once at the direction of admin because she was "melting down." She often disappears and I am forced to babysit her class while trying to teach mine.
The problem is...she plays the disability card. And, she's friends with one of the administrators. This has been going on for years, but has been worse this year because she recently broke up with her long time partner and is now taking out her rage/sadness/whatever on the kids and the teachers.
The kids are complaining. I'm complaining. Other teachers are complaining. This woman needs to GO.
I'm at my wit's end. I told my administrators I REFUSE to drive her home any more. It is not my responsibility and I'm afraid of her because the last time they made me do it, she was screaming and ranting at things that weren't there in my car. I'm 26. This is my 3rd year teaching. This woman is in her 40s. I feel like I'm being abused by my administrator as being forced to be her "caregiver." Admin who is her friend said I wouldn't have to drive her any more but that she was "disappointed in (me) not wanting to be (this teacher's) support system." FUCK NO THAT IS NOT MY GODDAMN JOB.
Should I go to HR? Will that make me look like a crybaby? How do I talk to them? What do I do?
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