Post-vax chillaxing.

My arm has been engorged with the Pfizer vaccine. The process of getting vaccinated was remarkably similar to going to the polls. You get to follow arrows on the ground going from the ID verification clerk to the line-up before getting shown to a booth. You also get offered a sticker to declare yourself a good citizen!

Except, Elections Canada doesn’t expect their voters to wait fifteen minutes after voting before leaving the building in case of an allergy reaction. The mass jabbing was so deliciously fluid. Nobody had to wait long and all the vaccination booths seemed to always be occupied. The nurses had paddles that they held up when they were ready for the next victim: green for go, red for no, and yellow for brb potty break, probably.

Tragically, the two days that followed Saturday’s noble jab were sunshine-filled and fraught with nausea, with a side of a sore arm. Those were my two days off. Although, the twenty minutes of sun I didn’t miss out on, I got burnt.

Ah, life as a Delicate Lady.

Zoée asked me last week if there were a Deaf edition of the show, Survivor, whether I’d sign up as a contestant. Fuck, no. I would be the first person in the show’s history to literally not survive. I’d make history by simultaneously freezing AND burning to death. On a hot summer day, if the breeze is cool enough, my lips turn blue, and my teeth start chattering.

Also, I don’t think I’m likable OR manipulative enough. At best, the producers might find me entertaining enough and rig the show in my favour. Or I’d sleep with Jeff Probst, and everyone will accuse me of doing so, and I’d be all, “Well, yeah, OUTPLAY, OUTWIT, OUTLAST.”

I know you guys think I’m joking, but for a million dollars, wouldn’t YOU sleep with Jeff Probst?

Other than the sunburn, the only thing I accomplished on my day off was posting the result of my Far Out Curio Contest. It was fun receiving all these submissions, and I look forward to mailing out the prizes once I receive them. To the winning trio: I promise it’s not garbage nor a box containing $1 million.

I’d like to do something like this again, except I’ll need an idea that guarantees a high participation rate. If I were to ask my friends to send me the most awkward photo in their camera roll, for example, they wouldn’t be into it. I was on Instagram for long enough to know that even my weird friends like to look good. (You guys are stunning, by the way.)

The picture I’ve posted in this entry because my “weekend” didn’t produce anything better is my contribution for “The Most Frivolous Purchase You’ve Ever Made” contest that I will not be holding:

It’s a gold anodized titanium cob pipe, handmade in Bozeman, MT. Thank Jesus it didn’t end up getting slapped with duty because it still cost me $85. All so that I can ingest smoke in my lungs with class.

Imagine the shit I’d buy if I’d slept with Jeff Probst for a million dollars.