not labeled for individual retail sale


etiquette: not playing bridge base online when a string of people are waiting to check their emails

What did I expect? Intelligence? Everyone here is intelligent. But they're still so asleep, so not... moved. I stay up till six almost every night playing drinking games with vodka and a cranberry mixer. So what? So Joe has slept with at least six women, and Andrew has made a pass at Carrie once, and almost everyone present at the game has masturbated in Slovakia. That's not what I want to know. I want to know if they've ever swallowed so much snow they threw it back up. I want to know if they'd walk in one shoe size too small until their heels bleed - for an economically stranded stranger they've never met to finally receive a job.

Yesterday I chose truth, and my question was very simple: do I fancy any boys here at the camp? The answer was really no. But I said yes, because they wouldn't believe me if I denied. The funny thing was, the only boy who I think is attractive is nameless to me, and I'm not even that attracted to him. If I pass him by I'll remember; otherwise I just look on. Everybody else is dead, or very nice, or elegant. If it weren't for his face, he probably belongs in the dead/nice category. Why is elegant play so undervalued? Why is it only about taking the trick? If you have to scramble to make your contract, you're not a very good player: because you're hiding, dodging, making it - barely. People who make dangerous bids should have the stuff to back it up. I hate seeing "out of breath" thought bubbles above someone's head.

My favorite was six clubs redoubled. Hrefna's face was fucking pale when Karl pulled that ostensibly out of nowhere. Spoilers~they made. He was nervous, but his tempo was right: and they made. Bridge is music at a certain level.

Unsure if I should play waitress and kibitz, write in my novel, or flirt tonight. Maybe all three if I'm supersupersuperproductive. Maybe I'll just sleep.

I'm done. Only you would know what's behind this façade, and you're not even reading this.