What are the Pros and Cons of Co-Ed and mixed Sport Teams or games?
Curling Latest News
Canada's Jennifer Jones locked up the top seed at the world women's curling championship Friday with an 8-5 win over Japan's Tori Koana.
I'm a relatively new skater. I was given a pair of used CCM Tacks 5052 in size 7D (edit: found the width). I usually wear size 9.5 in shoes (9 in dress shoes, 10 in running shoes). I get awful feet pain after about 5-10 minutes on the ice and need frequent breaks. The pain is mostly concentrated around the inside arches and does not subside until I take off the skates. My feet start feeling numb if I put my shoes right after skating. I also feel like I'm curling my toes which is the probably the cause for the cramps. I don't have flat feet or high arches. My friends/family tell me it's probably because the skates are too small for me. I tried loosening the laces to no avail. Can Superfeet help my situation or should I be looking to replace skates? This is very frustrating as I feel like the pain is really stalling my progress. :(
Thank you!submitted by /u/epicgasmic to r/hockeyplayers
How are you getting there?
Also, is the Korean team playing any other matches while they're here, closer to or in Toronto?submitted by /u/howlahowla to r/askTO
CBCSports.ca will have live coverage of the Canadian Senior Curling Championships from Stratford, Ont., beginning on Saturday at 9:30 a.m. ET.
I curl in a novice social league and we're having a board game night after our next game. I'm looking for ideas for some games that are easy to pickup and play. It's nice to relax with a drink after curling so I don't want people bogged down with learning a game or games that might be too thinky. This is a one time thing so more complicated games don't seem worth it.
There's about 32 of us and while I'm not supplying the games for everyone, but I'd like to bring a couple to help entertain some of these people. I'm betting not everyone will want to play too.
The age group is mainly 50+ year olds who are not familiar with the board gaming world. We might only have an hour to 2 hours to play.
So far I thought I'd bring:
- One Night Ultimate Werewolf
- Bang! The Dice Game
I'm curious to hear some recommendations.
Note: While we are curlers, I don't know if a dexterity game would be a good fit. I threw Crokinole in there because a lot of people are probably familiar with it (The world Crokinole championships are held in a town not far from the club).submitted by /u/the_shib to r/boardgames
The storm had been raging for days. Spring storms were always a problem, but this year Berk was being assaulted by a tempest with the fury of a hundred angry Skrill. The village was on lockdown, with all dragons being grounded. Gobber has been on constant repair duty keeping the huts from being destroyed by the wind. Everyone else has been ordered by Astrid to stay indoors.
Astrid was in charge right now, because her husband was currently missing. Hiccup had gone on a scouting mission a day before the storm hit, and nobody knew if he was alright. Astrid was usually confident in Hiccup's abilities to stay safe, but with a storm this large nothing was for sure. Having been married to the chief for almost 5 years now, she had seen Hiccup survive many near death disasters at this point, but she still worried. Valka tried to keep her reassured, but with the storm having been raging for over two weeks now, nothing seemed to bring her relief.
Part of the problem was that it had been a long time since she had been forced to go this long without some physical attention. Hiccup being the awkward guy he was, Astrid was always the one who had to initiate, but Hiccup rarely complained. With her active lifestyle, the blonde viking had a strong sex drive that had to be constantly worked on to keep her from getting irritable, which was both for her health, and for the health of those around her.
Returning home after a day of ordering people around and trying to keep Fishlegs from getting himself killed trying to study the storm, Astrid chose to just cuddle up with Stormfly, who was equally stressed because of Toothless' absence. After hearing the crack of a wooden roof nearby being damaged by another gust of wind, Astrid lost it, throwing her axe full force into the wall, spooking Stormfly who flew up into her nest in the attic, knowing it was best to not be next to her trainer right now.
The impact of the ax awoke Valka, who had been staying with them during the storm. She approached Astrid and gently hummed to calm her down. Placing a hand on her shoulder Valka simply asked Astrid to sit and tell her what was wrong.
Fist still clenched with frustration, she followed Valka's advice. Sitting down she started a deep breath, and explained. "I just don't like Hiccup being gone for this long, let alone him being out and about during a storm like this. We have no idea if he made it to land before this hit." she explained. Valka brought a cup of warm tea and simply responded, "He's fine and he will return as soon as the storm lets up even a little bit."
Taking a sip from the tea, Astrid asked, "How do you know? How can you know that he is ok?" her voice unusually shaky, her stressed mind starting to show some cracks in her usual armor. Valka just responded. "I just know."
Standing and stretching, walking over to Cloudjumper who was sleeping on the floor and patting his head. "I know the feeling of missing a wayward husband. Back before I had Hiccup Stoick was always out and about causing trouble and finding excuses to stay away for long periods of time. Heck this one time...." Valka trailed off into some story about Stoick starting a small war.
She stopped once she realized she was not being helpful, Astrid having slumped in her chair, her mind just stuck on a loop of worry. Valka pulled Astrid up and hugged her. "Astrid, he will be back, and I'm sure he misses you just as much."
"Alright..." is all Astrid could manage to say. Valka looked down at her daughter in law. "If you really want to keep your man around, there is only one surefire way to make sure he does." She offered.
"How?" the blonde asked, honestly desperate for any kind of way to keep Hiccup around right now.
Valka simply answered with a smile. "Stoick never left Berk once when we had Hiccup." Before walking over and curling up in Cloudjumper's wing.
Alright, this one has been a long time coming. I have quite a few prompts based off of my favorite shows, movies, books, and games that I need to write, but HTTYD had to come first. This once is a little more mushy than my usual style, but Astrid and Hiccup have such a beautiful love story that I felt it fit. All portrayed characters are over 18.
I am looking for a partner to play Hiccup returning battered by the storm, but alive, and Astrid isn't going to let him leave again until she is able to get pregnant. She is tired of him running off on his crazy missions, and wants to start a family with him.
This rp will probably consist of a few parts. First the return of Hiccup, with lots of love and romance, with sex and impregnation probably happening, then Hiccup going out again, much to Astrid's chagrin, and when he returns, she has a surprise for him! That's just an idea i had to go along with this prompt, but we can go a lot of other directions.
In general, I want my partners to be able to play awkward, sweet, and socially inept because that's really what Hiccup is. Astrid is the boss in the relationship, so if you want to be an alpha male, maybe look at one of my other prompts.
If you liked by writing, but this prompt isn't quite your speed, I have a large collection of prompts that are always open. You can find these prompts at my subreddit r/SmutCollectionsubmitted by /u/TheSmutWitch to r/eroticpenpals
Sleep never came easy to John.
As a baby he would cry for days at a stretch, curling arouns in invisible agony, like a fleshy grub. His parents could find nothing wrong with him. The doctors said it was colic, but had no idea why it was happening. Baby John just wouldn't sleep.
As a kid things got better. John would go on benders of wakefulness once in awhile, but most nights sleep came fairly easy, if a little late in the evening.
Puberty was where it all went down the drain. Sleep and John became fiery paramours, relishing each others company, sometimes for 24 hours at a stretch, only to fight and part ways, not to speak for days at a time.
When John went more than four days without sleep, which happened once a month at least, he would begin to write. Long, loping journal entries, encompassing every conceivable topic. He wrote stories and critiques, and - on especially long benders of awakedness - sometimes he wrote screeds. Genuine, senseless polemics on whatever topic his sleep deprived mind happened to fixate on.
Eventually, sleep would find John again, taking him in the most unexpected places - the middle of a supermarket, mid conversation with a friend, or just standing up, walking around the apartment.
Recently, at 18, John was on his longest stretch of insomnia yet. John looked up from his frenzied journaling, his eyes like two maraschino cherries sunk into a clay face.
"Mom." John's voice surprised himself and he twitched. The twitch felt like an electric jolt through his spine, a pure instinctual response. "Water." He called out again, but no answer.
John had not slept for three weeks. His parents left him briefly, just to go to the supermarket. The windows were all locked, as was the front door, both with keys John did not possess.
Time means less to the sleepless. John sat and waited for an answer, chewing his fingertips ragged and sucking up bits of blood. He could not have said whether 5 seconds or 5 hours had passed, but no answer came.
An idea crawled into John's addled mind, to get up and get water himself. He allowed the notion to ripen, let it linger on the edge of action, until, at last, a decision was made.
John stood at the kitchen sink, a glass of water in his hands.
He had no memory of getting up and coming to the kitchen, picking out a glass and filling it with water. One moment he was in his room, ruminating on the kernel of a notion, the feint whiff of an idea to get water, the next he was here, water in hand.
"Impossible." John muttered to no one. He resolved to test an unlikely hypothesis. He brought to mind the image of his room. I will go there now he thought, closing his pained eyes and, when he opened them again, lo, he was on his bed, water on the nightstand.
John let out an excited yelp. What power had he uncovered? The implications were astounding. Feverishly, he wrote in his journal at length, and then did more tests. Snap, into the living room. Snap, into the bathroom. Snap, into the bedroom again.
It was real. Some fluke of human physiology, brought on, John reasoned, by the extreme psychic pressure of his sleeplessness. He had walked the ouroborus of normality and arrived at the super-normal.
But why restrain himself to the apartment then? This power was too great to waste on trivialities. John could change the world with his new found ability. What were the limits?
He envisioned the hallway. The apartment door, he knew, was locked. It was always locked. Could he, by sheer force of psychic will, circumvent that lock?
The hallway. John focused on the hallway, until the focus hurt. He closed his blood engorged eyes and when he opened them - there was the cheap carpet, the poor lighting. He had done it. He was in the hallway.
"Yes!" John loosed an ecstatic yell! A neighbor peeked out of a nearby apartment and John waved maniacally until the neighbor's head disappeared back behind her door.
His power was real! It was more than he could ever have dreamed. He closed his eyes and flitted back, easily and without strain, to his bedroom, where he augmented his journal entry, discussing one final test.
He would teleport to Central Park, to the Mind Tree, and back again. When he did this thing, he would know for certain, and then John would make greater plans, and see the world, one teleportation at a time.
John's father arrived home from the supermarket carrying several bags of food. He struggled to get at his keys as he approached the apartment door, only to drop everything and stand for an astonished moment.
The lock was smashed, the whole door torn from the door frame, as if someone had worked at it extensively. But there were no impact marks on the outside of the door.
Fear welling up, John's father pushed the door into the apartment, and it swung open without resistance. On the floor, among shards of woods and paint, was a dented hammer and bent screw driver.
"John!" He called into the apartment. The place was chaos. Water all over the floor, broken glass and fallen lamps. The bookshelf in the living room had toppled over. It looked like a burglary. "John!"
John's father ran to John's bedroom. The door was shut, open only a crack. With trepidation John's father reached out his hand to push it open and felt a cold breeze coming from inside the room. "John." He said again, helpless.
John was not there. On his bed, the pages of his journal flapped back and forth in the stiff wind from the shattered window. The symbols on the pages flew by, so much gibberish, hardly even discernible as a written language.
John's father walked toward the window, a couple of shards of glass near the bottom of the frame were covered in smatterings of blood.
He knew he needed to look out the window, that eventually he would have to look, and knew also what he would find there, 34 stories below. But he could not make himself do it.
Instead he sat on John's empty bed in silence, and he waited, though he knew not what for.submitted by /u/Gasdark to r/LFTM
Growing my hair out and dealing with that awkward in between phase where the hair is kinda long, but also a bit on the short side. What I'm wondering is am I growing it out right? Like I don't trim it or anything, but I wash it frequently. Is it all a waiting game until it gets long enough where it straightens out? The annoying part of it is my hair absolutely loves to curl upwards weirdly on both sides of my head and on the back of my head. It looks kinda neat as my hair never did that before (Never had it this long before), but it really looks strange. Not even brushing it when wet can tame the curling up.
One other thing: My hair is currently getting bushier rather than longer (as someone born male I assume this is normal), and I'm worried that it will just keep repeating the bushyness rather than getting long like I want. Just making sure I'm on track here.submitted by /u/AnnaBubblepop to r/asktransgender
Night had fallen and the streets were aglow with the contrasting incandescence of neon signs and environmentally friendly LED lamplights. The sidewalks were emptying as the nightlife whisked themselves to to the candle flames of popular nightclubs while others headed home to spend the night in peace and comfort.
But not you, not tonight. Instead your footsteps took you off the brightly lit sidewalk and your waiting driver and down into a darkened alley where a solid, worn oak door stood, half-glimpsed, behind a corner of age-pocked brick. It was exactly as your friend had described; dark, dingy, a brass handle that gleamed from the shadows like a yellow eye. There was something almost predatory in that sight, as if the door itself looked your way and hungered for what it saw.
Elysium. A club, your friend had said. Very exclusive. Free from cameras and phones and all the paparazzi trash which haunted your usual dens of depravity. A place where you could unwind with other celebrity's like yourself, let down your hair and be completely free for a night. And wasn't that exactly what you needed? To get away from it all, to enjoy some no-strings attached excitement? Your friend had regaled you about the sights and intrigues to be found within, but it all seemed a little far fetched. Exclusive, maybe. Expensive, probably. Unspeakably scandalous? Doubtful. But from the smile on her lips and the wicked glimmer in her eyes you could almost imagine that it was real. Maybe that was why she never went out clubbing with you anymore, perhaps this was where she spent those nights instead.
The door stood before you, awaiting your knock upon it. From the corer of the alley shadows flitted, cast onto the adjacent wall from the pedestrians walking the distant sidewalk. Your friend had advised you to travel incognito, to wear a long coat or hooded jacket to hide your face and the dress you wore beneath. The club was a secret, she had said, and you would only find your way inside if no one was following you. From the other side of the door was the faint sound of music. Throbbing beats that spilled through the cracks and vibrated that ancient wood.
You're left waiting for a few moments, but just as you're about to leave you can hear the sound of a heavy lock and latch releasing from behind the door. The beats grow louder, a sinful invitation bouncing off the stone walls behind a large figure who now dominates the doorway. Black clothing, dark skin, bold eyes. Without a word he beckons you inside.. to a long corridor curling down into the earth from which the pounding beats of music echoed forth.
Looking for a partner who enjoys deep, descriptive play. A definite preference for multi-paragraphs and longterm, though I'm not opposed to a short and exciting one-off. I'm also very visually oriented, so sending me a picture of how you imagine your character to look like in the play will add quite a bit to the vividness of my responses.
Usual limits apply: no hardcore violence, noncon, underage, scat/piss, bestiality and most incest pairings.submitted by /u/Flashes_of_Fantasy to r/dirtypenpals
A curling frenzy is about to begin in Leduc, Alta. as the top university and collegiate curlers from across the country descend on the Alberta town just outside of Edmonton for their respective national championships.
First, I only got about 4 hours of sleep last night.
Then at 8:50am I found out a work meeting was at 9, not 11. I was at home, in workout gear. I got there only 2 minutes late! (in work clothes! with makeup!)
After that, and dealing with another minor crisis, an idiot driver almost killed himself & the rest of us, by overtaking with an oncoming car right in front of him, on an expressway (high speed road).
Finally (I hope), I was just eating takeout at the park with my daughter when I started choking. Like, for real choking. She ran & got a lady nearby, and I managed to breathe again - finally - and I'm ok, apart from a very raw throat.
That's 3, right? It'll stop now? Please?
Like I said, it's been real. Makes me cherish life, for sure. I'm looking forward to getting home & curling up in bed with a nice, calming tea, and hugging my family close.
IWNDWYT. Life's just too damn short.submitted by /u/1smolpenguin to r/stopdrinking
A Project Gutenberg find: a 1906 book about a New Hampshire woman's trip to Coronado, San Diego, and other CA cities not of interest to this sub
I don't know if I'm the only one around here who sometimes trawls the Project Gutenberg depths for old California stuff, but A Truthful Woman in Southern California by Kate Sanborn, published in 1906 was definitely a nice find. I'll just throw some choice quotes in here.
Starting with a complimentary one:
San Diego is the Naples of America, with the San Jacinto Mountains for a background and the blue sunlit bay to gaze upon, and one of the finest harbors in the world.
A complaint about the weather:
Bill Nye, with his usual good sense, refused to drive in a pouring rain to view the scenery and orchards when visiting San Diego in March, and says: "Orange orchards are rare and beautiful sights, but when I can sit in this warm room, gathered about a big coal fire, and see miles of them from the window, why should I put on my fur overcoat and a mackintosh in order to freeze and cry out with assumed delight every half-mile while I gradually get Pomona of the lungs?"
On visiting Tijuana, or as she says, "Tia Juana (Aunt Jane)":
It does not pay to take the trip to Mexico if time is limited, there is so little of Mexico in it. After leaving the train and getting into an omnibus, the voluble darkey in charge soon shouts out, "We are now crossing the line," but as no difference of scene is observed, it is not deeply impressive. One young fellow got out and jumped back and forth over the line, so that if asked on his return if he had been to Mexico he could conscientiously answer, "Oh yes, many times." We were then taken to the custom-house, where we mailed some hastily scribbled letters for the sake of using a Mexican stamp,—some preferred it stamped on a handkerchief. And near by is the curio store, where you find the same things which are seen everywhere, and where you will doubtless buy a lot of stuff and be sorry for it. But whatever other folly you may be led into, let me implore you to wholly abstain from that deadly concoction, the Mexican tamale. Ugh! I can taste mine now.
A tamale is a curious and dubious combination of chicken hash, meal, olives, red pepper, and I know not what, enclosed in a corn-husk, steamed until furiously hot, and then offered for sale by Mexicans in such a sweet, appealing way that few can resist the novelty. It has a more uncertain pedigree than the sausage, and its effects are serious.
What is probably a tall tale about Alonzo Horton:
The founder of San Diego is still living, still hopeful, still young at heart. "Father" Horton, the typical pioneer, deserves more honors than he has yet received. Coming from Connecticut to California in 1851, he soon made a small fortune in mining, buying and selling gold-dust, and providing the diggers with ice and water for their work. He rode over the country in those lawless times selling the precious dust disguised as a poverty-stricken good-for-naught, with trusty revolver always in his right hand on the pommel of the saddle—the handsome green saddle covered with an old potato sack. In this way he evaded the very men who had been on his track for weeks. Once he came near capture. He passed a bad-looking lot of horsemen, one of whom had a deep red scar the whole length of his cheek. He got by safely, but one, looking round, exclaimed, "My God! That's Horton! I see the green saddle." And back they dashed to kill him and gain his treasure, but he escaped into a cañon, and they lost their one chance.
And yyyyep, my expectation-born-of-Victorian-novel-experience that it was going to be super-racist eventually has been borne out:
Mr. Robinson, after a twenty years' residence among them, said: "The Indian of California is a species of monkey; he imitates and copies white men, but selects vice in preference to virtue. He is hypocritical and treacherous, never looks at any one in conversation, but has a wandering, malicious gaze. Truth is not in him."
Holy crap, I had no idea the Surfliner name was so old:
On the Surf Line from San Diego to Los Angeles, a seventy-mile run along the coast, there is so much to see, admire, and think about, that the time passes rapidly without napping or nodding. Take a chair seat on the left of car—the ocean side—and enjoy the panoramic view from the window: the broad expanse of the Pacific, its long curling breakers, the seals and porpoises tumbling about in clumsy frolics, the graceful gulls circling above them, the picturesque cañons, and the flocks of birds starting from the ground, frightened by our approach. This we watch for more than an hour; then the scene changes, and, leaving the water, we have glimpses of wondrous carpets of wild-flowers, the golden poppy predominant, miles of brilliant green on either hand, peeps at the three missions, the groves at Orange, the town of Santa Ana, and Anaheim, the parent colony, the first of all the irrigated settlements of Southern California, now a wealthy city.
And that's it for San Diego. Up to LA she goes.submitted by /u/R_damascena to r/sandiego
Do all brushes curl at the tips once you start using them or am I doing something that causes this? I’ve had it happen on citadel brushes and some brushes I got on amazon. After a couple uses the tips always seem to have a bit of a curl to them and it can give me some issues when trying to paint small details. I store them with the plastic protectors on, I clean them with thinner and water every use, store them upright, any suggestions?submitted by /u/SAnewt to r/Warhammer40k
I'm getting my LO's tongue and possibly lip tie revised with a laser and I'm absolutely terrified of performing the stretches on her after the procedure. I'm just so scared of hurting her and hearing her blood curling screams.
For those that have had this done on their little ones, is it really that bad? Does it hurt them? How often and how long did you have to do.them?submitted by /u/piperok27 to r/breastfeeding
A well-manicured footman in Blackfyre livery briskly makes the climb up Aegon's High Hill to the Red Keep, a leather courier's satchel slung over his shoulder. After exchanging brief pleasantries with the other working-class guys at the gate, he hands over two letters, both sealed with black wax in the curling form of Daemon's Dragon. One is addressed to the Crown Prince, and the other is bound for Highgarden.
The men of Brindlewood stand ready outside King's Landing, prepared for whatever task they are called upon to carry out. The stalwart gatesmen of this fine city denied them entry, so their tents dot the landscape. My officers and I remain at the Blackfyre Manse, awaiting your call.
It's high time for Aegon to come home, and ride at my side. You've done a great service to my family once again in taking him in, training him, and teaching him to be honorable as you once did for me. Has he earned a knighthood yet? Ah, surely not; that I believe I would have heard. The roads are dangerous now- if Lord Tyrell could spare a sufficient escort to keep him safe on his journey, he would have my deepest thanks. I have already lost one son I left in the Reach; I would prefer to leave that tally as it stands. If you could break away yourself, I'm sure the boy would love the company and it would do my heart good to see you, old friend.
Daemonsubmitted by /u/decapitating_punch to r/SevenKingdoms
I just picked up a curling iron today. I've never really used one so I know a big part will just be practicing but here's my issue:
I've watched a lot of video tutorials about curling hair. Most suggest clamping and starting the curl closer to the scalp, and say to loosen the clamp and slide the iron towards the ends and then curl it back up again until you've curled the entire strand, down to the tips.
When I try it though, I can never get the tips of my hair into the iron. I can clamp/curl/slide maybe twice, but then when I try to slide a third time, my hair is stuck around the iron (not in the clamps, just curled around it in such a way that it won't move or something) and I can't get to the ends of my hair. My hair is maybe 2-3 inches past shoulder length, and it's relatively thin/fine. It's naturally very slightly wavy and frizzy. No color or other treatments at all.
Is this just a matter of me having to toy around with it until I spontaneously correct whatever stupid thing I'm doing that's making me get stuck? Or does anyone have any tips or suggestions for how to make sure the hair glides through smoothly when you're trying to curl from the roots down to the ends? I tried Googling for this particular issue but didn't find anything anywhere.submitted by /u/LuckyLady89 to r/FancyFollicles
[F4F] Hello, Ladies...I'm Very Thirsty and I Have A Taste For Something Sweet and Thick and Warm....Got Any Ideas?
You whimper, just a small one, as you feel my tongue slip in between the soft edges of your pussy lips, shiny and moist with the first blush of your juices. You feel my tongue trace the the delicate folds of flesh, the gateway to the deeper pleasures within, and you start to breathe a little faster, a bit more shallow as the first tendrils of arousal start to slip through you. The next pass of my tongue across your pussy is deeper, a little firmer, my tongue curling a little bit to scoop up the nectar of your arousal - thick and sweet like warm honey. I pause to swirl my tongue around the hard little bud of your clitoris, peeking out from the junction of your pussy lips, and as I softly suckle on it I hear the sharp intake of breath that tells me you like what I am doing. I curl my arms around your velvety soft thighs and bring my fingers together at the sides of your now slick and shiny pussy lips and the tips of my fingers pull you open like the petals of a flower. I gaze inside and lower my lips to your wide-open hole and fasten them to you and suck deeply, trying to get to the succulent flesh deep inside you, scarlet and engorged with arousal. The need is growing inside you with each stroke of my tongue, each deep draught I take of your warm juices, the need, the hunger, like a living thing, uncoils inside you and spreads through your arms and legs...you hips now moving, trying to draw my mouth tighter into you, so i can slither my tongue deeper into you like a snake..
How do you taste right now?submitted by /u/wetyoubet to r/dirtypenpals