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I used to call her the “crazy crack lady” until I saw something I can’t forget

I don’t really know why I’m posting this. I guess it’s been sitting in my head for a long time and I never said it out loud. There was a woman on my street everyone called the “crazy crack lady.” Yellow house, busted porch, smelled weird all the time. She’d yell at nothing, laugh randomly, sometimes cry in the street. You know the type people warn their kids about. I crossed the street when I saw her. I laughed nervously with friends about her. I definitely judged her. One night I saw her barefoot in the road, screaming at the sky. Like *full-on begging*, yelling for something to be given back to her. Then she dropped to her knees and started crying in a way that didn’t sound fake or dramatic—just broken. I went inside and told myself it wasn’t my problem. A few weeks later, there were sirens right outside my house. Not the normal distant ones—the loud, right-there kind. A woman had collapsed, bleeding badly, and everyone was panicking. And the person helping her the most? The crazy c...

I’m related to my boyfriend

Just as the title says, I’m related to my boyfriend. I met my boyfriend on a dating app. We come from different cities and all that too. My dad is a genealogist on the side, he does it for fun. When I told him that me and my boyfriend were pretty serious- he looked him up, he found his family tree and all that. A few days later he came up to me with some papers, a bunch of handwritten notes and names. He straight up told me with a smile that my boyfriend and I were related. He laughed his ass off. I was genuinely shocked. Apparently we share a common ancestor from like 1600. Which I guess isn’t a huge deal but still crazy to me. What are the odds? Especially for it to have proof of it. I told my boyfriend and he was weirded out a little but honestly we didn’t care. Still going strong two years later! I think it’s hilarious now. He refuses to tell his family though.

My CEO tried to fire me for "Attitude Issues" to save on my salary. He didn't realize I’d spent 11 weeks preparing a $755,000 legal trap.

The meeting lasted exactly 11 minutes. Diane, the head of HR, sat behind her glass desk and told me I was being terminated for "attitude issues." No warnings, no performance plans—just a manila folder with seven documents they wanted me to sign and disappear. I had given 17 years to this company and brought in $9.2 million in new business last year alone. But the new 30-something CEO wanted me gone because, at 49, I was "obsolete overhead." What they didn't know was that I had been preparing for this day for 11 weeks. Six months ago, during a routine contract update, I did something they never expected. I took the company’s new confidentiality agreement to my lawyer. We made "subtle" adjustments—minor footnotes and cross-references to my original 2017 executive contract. HR filed it without looking. That was their first mistake. In the termination meeting, I signed everything. I even shook their hands. I went home, poured a glass of wine, and started ...

I am a "Digital Inheritance Auditor." I just found my father’s "Kill Switch," and it’s going to bankrupt the family that spent ten years ignoring me while I took care of him.

I have a job that sounds like it was invented by a science fiction writer: I am a "Digital Inheritance Auditor." When a high-net-worth individual dies, I am the one hired by the banks or the estate to find the "missing" digital assets Bitcoin, dormant offshore accounts, or encrypted intellectual property. Most of the time, I find nothing but unlinked Amazon accounts and embarrassing browser histories. But last month, my own father died, and for the first time in my career, the audit was personal. My father was the "Golden Boy" of our city. He founded a waste management empire that he sold for hundreds of millions in the late 90s. My siblings Tyler, the "aura farming" influencer, and Sarah, the "philanthropist" socialite spent the last decade flying to Dubai and the Maldives on his dime. I was the "invisible caretaker". I was the one who moved into his drafty estate to change his bandages, manage his medications, and endure h...

I was convinced my boyfriend was hiding something. I wish it was cheating.

For weeks, something felt off. He guarded his phone like it was classified information. Late walks. Random excuses. Different cologne. I finally snapped and checked his phone while he slept. No messages. No dating apps. Just a notes app. There was a list. Dozens of entries. All dated. Each one was about me. Things I’d said in passing. Stuff I didn’t even remember mentioning. Little details about my habits, things I like, things that make me upset. At the bottom of the note it said: “Don’t forget. She matters.” When I confronted him, he shrugged and said he writes things down so he doesn’t mess up. I don’t know if that’s thoughtful or mildly terrifying. Either way, I’m sleeping a little lighter now.

A friend of mine honestly thought subscriptions stop charging if you stop using them

This came up because he kept saying his bank balance never made sense to him. Not in a dramatic way, just this low-level confusion where he felt like money kept disappearing faster than it should. He wasn’t panicking about it, more annoyed and convinced something was off. One night we were hanging out and he mentioned it again, so I asked if we could actually look at his transactions. He shrugged and said sure, because he genuinely didn’t think we’d find anything. We scrolled for a bit and almost immediately saw a streaming service he hadn’t opened in months. Then a music app he said he “basically stopped using.” Then a random productivity app he downloaded during a short phase where he thought he’d suddenly become very organized. Each one was around $8–$15 a month, nothing huge on its own. When I added them up, it came out to just under $100 a month. And that was only what we noticed right away. He stared at the screen for a second and then said, completely serious, “Wait… they still...