Last year.

This feathered sentinel spent the better part of an hour examining weary travellers behind the glass doors that separate the passenger area of berth 5 from the outdoor deck. Most of us humans were sitting around, eyes locked on our phone screens. Two guys in their early 20s went outside and traded turns looking out at sea wistfully while the other took pictures. Both went inside immediately after their photoshoot to upload their artificially contemplative snapshots to the ‘gram. Witnessing this mini-photoshoot unfold amused me more than seeing a similar photo crop up on my* Instagram feed.

Continue reading “Last year.”

The Mystery of my Koumpounophobia.

“The credit offered is the support available through this program and doesn’t include covered shipping. If you’d prefer not to use it, no problem at all. There’s no obligation to accept.

It began with my decision to participate in a Zwift group ride outside of the RIOT squad. It was a 75km ride, which would typically take me about 2 and a half hours to complete, thus boring myself to tears. I wanted to get an endurance ride in and pondered whether a group ride would make it more interesting. You can send short messages during these rides until your phone’s touchscreen gives up on registering your sweaty fingertips.

I joined the ride just as the ride leader announced that there would be prizes for the male and female with the most sprint points.

Things briefly became more interesting until I realized that out of the group of about 80 participants, there were only three other women. None of them attempted to get out of their saddles to challenge me during the sprints. The prize was undoubtedly mine early into the ride. I had no idea what it was; for all I knew, it could be a virtual badge. Zwift likes to give out those.

I submitted my email address to the ride leader to claim my prize, and three days later, a rep from The Feed got in touch, offering to add credit to my account, which did not exist. So, he explained how I need to create an account to claim my prize.

Hmm.

As hinted by this post’s opener, I straight-up asked the rep if it was a true prize or if I was still expected to pay for shipping. In case it was the latter, I asked if they had a promo code I could offer to someone else. That was when they responded, “There’s no obligation to accept.”

Oh, for the love of Amway…

Continue reading “The Mystery of my Koumpounophobia.”

Panty thickets.

Tonight’s post has been made possible by CBG Happy Place Mango Peach and Yuzu Cannabis Infused Sparkling Beverage. Products like these make me glad I’m deaf: I get to point at whatever I want, and the staff will happily grab it for me. I’ve refined my pointing technique so the other person doesn’t have to follow my line of sight to connect my finger to an object 10+ feet away: I take a picture with my phone, then point to the thing on the monitor.

Onto pointless things: the knives on the magnetic knife rack above the kitchen sink. For someone who watches a lot of Hell’s Kitchen, I don’t know how the roomie doesn’t imagine Gordon Ramsay’s horrified expression whenever the roomie places the knives blade-edge down on the wire dish rack.

“Easy tiger, these aren’t Ginsu knives!”

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Letters mingle souls.

I feel like a medic when I transport my Scrabble board to someone’s home. My board folds into its own carrying case and features angled built-in casters that allow it to rotate as if on a pivot. It has a non-slip grid, which is essential for those who tend to bump into tables. The only thing it’s missing is a purple Crown Royal bag.

But I’m no medic: I want to hurt my opponents. In the calmest way possible.

Here’s where all 100 tiles ended up on Thursday night:

That’s right:

Wait…

Continue reading “Letters mingle souls.”