post’s impromptu masquerade ball. The guests space doing what every guests perform at a masking ball, bob because that apples. Tiny do they recognize the apples have been poisoned. Anyone vomits and dies. What a joyous occasion.
Mead and also Venable walk to Langdon come tell castle what they’ve done, but Langdon is one action ahead of them. He speak the dup that the poisoned to apologize was component of his setup the entire time. Venable orders Mead to death him, yet instead, she death Venable. Mead was programmed by Langdon’s Grandmother, Constance Langdon so her allegiance lies with the devil and also co.
The illustration ends with the coven, Madison Montgomery, Cordelia Goode and Myrtle Snow arriving at the Outpost and also resurrecting Mallory, Coco and also Dinah. The witches are ago and for this reason is the antichrist! It’s around to go under on AHS Apocalypse.
Date: Wednesday, October 3, 2017Time: 10:00 P.M. ESTTV Channel: FXSeason: 8Episode: 4Title: “Could it Be…Satan?”Starring: sarah Paulson, Kathy Bates, Evan Peters, Joan Collins, Emma Roberts, Taissa Farmiga and also more.
You can watch the next episode of American horror Story online on FX if you authorize in using your TV provider. If friend don’t have a cable TV provider, you might be the end of luck… unless you have the right to bum a login indigenous a girlfriend or make the a day night v a male who also loves AHS.
Same transaction on mobile. If you’d rather not lug your pc to her favorite couch, download the FXNOW app and also sign in using your TV provider. From there you can watch the show on your portable device, but it’s probably finest not to watch the present in the dark at house alone.
In an ideal world, yes, probably.  If you care about Native American culture and philosophy, then you’d want to support their culture, right? And would either buy it directly from a Native American craftsman or learn to make it yourself using the same methods (or as close as you can get) to appreciate the authentic item, rather than buying Generic US Made In China Brand #334’s Totally Authentic Buckskin Dress that puts money into the hands of their white CEO and will probably fall apart after you wear it three times and end up rotting in a landfill?

In an ideal world, if you were sourcing it properly and wearing it respectfully, nobody would care and you could absolutely “get away with” wearing it.  In the world we actually live in, there will be people like OP’s friend who will think it’s offensive even if you’ve gone above and beyond and done everything possible to not cross the line from cultural appreciation into cultural appropriation. You still CAN wear it, nobody can really stop you, but not everyone will accept it.Recently I’ve been at my wits end trying to figure out how else to fill my time these days. Some days I am really good at it and others not so much. Some days I am up and at it, early, tackling every task on my list. And other days, I just lay on couch and watch endless hours of TV, and eat, and nap.
This week was a struggle trying to think about what I wanted to write because quite frankly I am a little tired of addressing COVID19. There are so many conflicting news reports that I am just tired. And it seems at this moment, that this is going to be the rest of our lives. Right?
The other day I decided to purge one more bin of paperwork, as if I haven’t purged enough and I found a bin full of journals and essays and writings going back about 20 years ago. Crazy right?
I started to read through some of it and I came across something I wanted to share with you that I wrote during a pretty low time in my life. I know am not alone when I tell you that as a teen and young adult, I struggled with depression. It followed me into my adulthood, but it wasn’t something I really knew how to articulate. It wasn’t something that was spoken about or even understood. But I have spent years going to therapy on and off to deal with general life issues.
Anyway, I was at a really low point in my life when I wrote this. I was feeling restless as you will read after having reunited with my husband after a three-year separation. I was confused and had this overwhelming sense of feeling like I just didn’t belong in the life I was living.
It didn’t have a title, so I am just going to share with you….
“I don’t know how I got to this – sitting in a motel that fits the perfect description of “seedy”. Come to think of it seedy might be too good of a word considering the dingy, faded yellow brocade comforter, the veneer TV stand that reminded me of something in my mother’s house growing up, and the carpet that had the ever so slight smell of mold mixed with disinfectant. I keep picturing an undercover operation and narcs busting through the door and me getting arrested for prostitution just because I am here. It’s that sort of place. But in my sadness and desperation to just get away, I just drove and drove and I ended up here. Tears in eyes, a heaviness in my chest and pen in hand.
I keep trying to retrace my steps – you know, how I ended up here, at this point in my life. How did I end up in this place, this motel, this sadness, this drunkenness, this dark hole that is threatening to swallow me whole?
I mean not too long ago I was living my life – the day to day mundane – going through the motions; being a wife, a mom, working and going to school. Hosting get togethers, writing research papers, cleaning and cooking and putting on a happy face. It was a routine that was all too familiar, so familiar, I could probably get through my days with my eyes closed. At times complacent, at other times overwhelming, but always routine.
I knew what to expect, all day every day. Speak when spoken to, pay bills, clean up when needed, have sex at least once a week, show the right amount of affection and reaction to not let on that I was barely awake. When I went out in public, I smiled and showed enough interest to keep the speaker talking about what I thought was an endless list of nothing. And tried really hard not to let the sadness, the depression take over me.
At night, when everything gets quiet and all I hear is the sound of the cars driving by, I lay there and think about my life and try to thank God for everything I have, my children, my loving family, my health and home, food and clothing -you know all the things I am supposed to be grateful for.
But once in a while in the midst of all those jumbled thoughts, in those quiet seconds in between wakefulness and drifting off to sleep, I’d make a wish. I’d wish that maybe tomorrow I’d wake up in somebody else’s shoes. I’d wish that maybe tomorrow I couldn’t carry the burden of so many people’s happiness. I’d wish that maybe tomorrow I wouldn’t wake up. I’d lay there with my eyes tightly closed.
When I went back to school, I swore it was to get an education, you know, so I could be a role model for my girls. I sacrificed many nights with my kids, school activities, or just down time at home. And though I loved school, I sometimes think, that I don’t know, subconsciously I used it as an escape from my everyday life. My escape from a life that at that moment didn’t feel like it quite fit; an escape at a time that I wasn’t even sure what I was escaping. It’s funny I never realized how our psyche knows just what we need when we need it.
My husband and I have been back together for five years now after a brief separation. Five years ago, it seemed the right thing to do. Get back together and raise our kids. Yet tonight I am not so sure. Again. Somewhere along the way the reasons I fought so hard for, to get my marriage back, became blurry, not so clear, other people’s reasons, not mine. Making my mother and in laws happy. My daughter’s happy. But I feel suffocated and I feel like I am drowning.
As I sit here writing, I wonder how many other women feel this way. Feel as if all the choices they’ve made weren’t really for themselves. Feel guilty for changing their minds, not feeling the same. Feel as if they are living a double life? You know the type – on the outside we seem to be leading a perfect life; happily married with great kids, a beautiful home and fulfilling career.
I think it’s funny because for a long time I thought that was a Latina thing, you know, being raised to believe that marriage was the end all be all. But, as I expanded my circle of friends, I realized that most, if not all little girls are brought up to want the “happily ever after” back then. It seemed that even if we achieved everything – a house, a great career, nice car – if we didn’t have a man, well there was just something wrong with us.
I mean that’s the way