Right next to pedophiles and people who talk in the theater.

What I wanna know, is inside the mind of these people, do they not know that at the top of the phone is a smaller quiet speaker for putting against their ear, cause the microphone is at the bottom of the phone? I can clearly see they know there’s a microphone at the bottom, but then they turn on the big speaker and hold the whole phone away from their face?

But she isn’t using phone speaker. And if she is, I’m gonna stare her down until she feels mildly uncomfortable about it and puts it away, cause this is my hill and I’m dying on it.

I really wish these people would understand that a tiny pair of wireless earbuds makes the audio sound so much better than a phone speaker.

Phone speaker should be silent and never used ever, no good has ever come out of a phone speaker. Use headphones instead all the time. I don’t even know why speakers exist on phones. I see kids and old ladies alike defaulting to speaker phone when they call people, they don’t use headphones (or, god forbid, put the phone up to their ear like we did for a hundred years).

Call me crotchety and grouchy or whatever, this is the hill I’m dying on.

Fuckers need to use some goddamn headphones.

Worst case scenario is that he gets a bath. Interesting scenario, he drowns to death cause he can’t survive in water that’s not rancid.

So we dump water on his head, clean water, and the parasite comes out?

I saw it happen with a praying mantis recently.

🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢🐢

Hang on, my audio processing disorder just let me understand the seventh time you said it just now.

Only windows device in the house is my work computer, which is mandated to have it for specific company demands.

Everything in the house otherwise is some nature of Unix.

I worry about getting a shit haircut from a stylist who gives me one on purpose.

I guess it’s why I haven’t been to a salon in a long, long time, even though I could benefit from it.

As a binary woman, hell no, I ain’t going there.

I just played a solo game of Nemesis: Lockdown at my table today. Somehow I made it through without even seeing an alien.

I hope what I’m doing in the privacy of my own home doesn’t outrage her too much.

I’m also fifteen years sober, but I’m sure she’s drinking my share too.

You don’t mow in a suit‽

Everybody, get a hold of this guy, he doesn’t mow in a suit!

NO GODDAMMIT

I’m 41 now. I still have the memories of that day, and absolutely nothing of the day before or the day after.

It’ll be 25 years this September.

I was sixteen when the towers fell.

I had woken up and started getting ready for school, and my mother was out in the LDK watching the news, cause sometimes she does that before she goes to work. I remember her standing there with her head and one arm in a sweater, just staring at the TV. I couldn’t see what was on it, but she must have heard me. She looked at me and took a step to the side, and I saw the South Tower in ruins on the ground. This was shortly after seven in the morning.

I didn’t quite understand the impact of what happened, but that was New York, this was Dundee, Oregon, and I had only been in America for five years at this point—my English was improving, but a lot of the cultural bits were still getting filled in. This was a tragedy, yeah, but how often did this happen?

On the schoolbus was hushed mumbling, no rambunctiousness, conjectures whispered and conspiracies flying unchecked. No one even knew who was dead or alive, but we were glad it was just the South Tower that hit.

When I got to my first period English class, the full literary one I still struggled with, there was no teaching, no handing back my essay with a C at the top, none of the usual. There was a belted cart television, and the news was playing, same as at home.

And that’s how I found out the North Tower fell on the bus ride to school.

All day long, we shuffled mindlessly from classroom to classroom, no teaching, watching belted TVs of firefighters picking through the rubble. Scores and scores of dead were found. Kevin Cosgrove’s last call was played so many times that I still remember that he had misspelled his boss’ name as Ostaru in stead of Ostrau, a fact I had later looked up when I was older in life as that call recording continues to haunt my very existence even now, can even hear his final “oh no oh god!” in my head as the tower collapsed.

At the start of the class, kids would be called out by name to the principal’s office and this naïve Tanis thought they were in trouble, but no, every single goddamn time they would come back thoroughly emotionally befucked and sad, angry, and I remember one kid named Kyle just walked back into the classroom after being called by the principal, he just started decking the whiteboard as hard and as fast as he could until there was a bloody smear; no one made a move to stop him, not even the teacher.

I ended up finding out sometime at lunch that the other kids getting called to the principal’s office had lost family; Kyle had lost his dad.

At the end of the day, we were still watching the belted TVs, and we all collectively realized this was the end, we didn’t know what it was the end of, but we knew something was over.

Turns out, it was our freedoms.

Yeah, this is gross. Let the girl have whatever aesthetic she wants, and don’t ascribe any notions to her.