Latest News and Updates

Frozen "Detroit Style" pizza tonight.  

This sounds very much like Canada, as well. Using Canadian credit cards in the US can be a pain in the ass, because they often reject payments processed via a card swipe, preferring the chip and pin methodology that is universal in Canada. But in the US, depending on who the business banks with, and what POS equipment provider they have, they may not have chip/pin readers, or you have to walk over to the counter to use them, whereas most places in Canada have wireless readers. Having as many bank as they do in the US, is a blessing and a curse - a blessing because there is a lot of competition, whereas in Canada, everyone owns bank stocks, because it's the only way to get some of the money back, that you lose to fees - there are really only about 7 banks, and in terms of the ones with bricks and mortar on every corner, a big 4, so their "competing" is very muted. However, they are rock-stable, and their collusion has allowed for technological standardization.  Knock on wood, but I've never had an unauthorized debit card transaction, and usually, fraudulent credit card transactions get flagged by the bank, before you notice them, when they happen at all, which is relatively rare. And because they are charging you interest out the wazoo, if you carry a balance, plus service fees to the vendors, they want to incentivize credit card use, so they are pretty good about returning your money, if you get ripped off online. 

Chapter 3 - Next time The staff restroom was quiet, but not silent. Schools were rarely ever truly silent. Somewhere down the hall, a vacuum cleaner growled to life, and a cart rattled across the linoleum with the familiar squeak of a stubborn wheel. The intercom crackled once, muttered something unintelligible, then fell quiet again. Eli locked the door behind her and let out a long, slow breath she’d been holding for what felt like the last half hour. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. She leaned both hands against the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. From the outside, at first glance, nothing looked truly wrong. Her dark hair fell in its usual slightly messy waves around her shoulders, with a few pieces already escaping around her face. Her dark green cardigan was still neatly buttoned, its little collection of pins sitting crookedly across the front. Her striped shirt was still neat, and her eyeliner had somehow survived the entire day without smudging. She looked normal. At least from the outside. If somebody walked in right now, they wouldn’t think twice.  They certainly wouldn’t have guessed she was trying very hard not to cry over a pair of wet pants. “…Seriously?” she sighed to her reflection. The reflection, unhelpfully, offered no opinion. It simply stared back at her, looking about as tired as she felt. Eli looked down, checking herself as best she could. The dark fabric didn't give much away. Whatever had happened, at least it wasn't entirely obvious. She could still feel it, though. That was the annoying part. She grabbed a handful of paper towels and did her best to dry herself off, blotting carefully and trying not to think about how ridiculous the whole situation felt. She'd made it through the entire class. She'd made it through the bell. She'd made it more than halfway down the hallway. And somehow the last fifteen feet had been too much. She reached down into the bottom of her canvas tote and found the little zippered pouch she kept tucked inside. It had everything she might need. Fresh underwear. Stain remover. A couple of trash bags. A small pack of wipes. A supply of pads. The pouch itself was sky blue canvas, covered in tiny yellow umbrellas and raindrops. She'd bought it years ago at a street fair because she'd thought it was cute. But now she couldn't decide whether she appreciated the irony or resented it. She changed as quickly as she could and stood there for a moment, staring down at the soaked underwear she'd folded into the plastic bag, then at the black pants she was still wearing. There had been a time when getting dressed for work had been fun. She used to actually look forward to putting an outfit together. She'd worn patterned skirts and strange little dresses, colorful tights, and fun cardigans with ridiculous buttons. When she first started teaching, she still dressed like the old art school version of herself from college, much like she had back when she'd worked for that design firm Some days she missed that girl. Somewhere along the way, she'd started choosing clothes for other reasons. Dark colors felt safer. Black pants became easier. Layers gave her a bit of insurance, something to hide behind if she needed it.  Little by little, she'd phased out the brighter things in her closet until one day she realized she could barely remember the last time she'd worn anything colorful. It was such a small thing. Most people would never notice.  But there were a lot of small things now. Eli tied the plastic bag shut and tucked it away in her tote. She washed her hands, dried them, and looked at herself in the mirror one last time. She still looked “normal”. That almost made it worse, because deep down she didn’t feel it. She unlocked the door and took another deep breath. By the time she stepped back into the hallway, the school felt different. The loudness had disappeared. Without hundreds of children filling the halls, the building seemed oddly oversized. Classroom doors stood open, lights switched off one by one as teachers drifted toward the parking lot carrying laptop bags and half finished conversations. Mrs. Alvarez from second grade waved from the other end of the hall. “see you tomorrow, Eliana.” “see you tomorrow.” Simple. Ordinary. Normal. She hoped it looked that way. Eli smiled until Mrs. Alvarez disappeared around the corner. Then she sighed.   Room 12 waited exactly where she’d left it. The late afternoon sunlight spilled through the tall windows in long golden rectangles, warming the tabletops and turning little flecks of fallen glitter into tiny stars. The paper mache possum still rotated lazily from its fishing line tether, its button eyes fixed somewhere in Eli’s direction, silently judging her with its all knowing gaze. Cleaning was usually something she looked forward to at the end of the day. Not because she particularly enjoyed cleaning, but because it was the only time the room belonged entirely to her. No questions. No raised hands. No one asking whether dragons could have feathers or if octopuses usually wore hats. Today, she wasn't particularly in the mood. She still felt vaguely uncomfortable, despite having checked her pants twice before leaving the restroom and making sure they didn't look wet. They looked fine. They just didn't feel fine. The damp denim clung unpleasantly to her legs, and she couldn't stop wondering if it was in her head or if anyone else could smell it. She just wanted to go home, take a shower, change into something comfortable, order take out and forget the whole afternoon had happened. Unfortunately, the room wasn't going to clean itself. And if she left it for tomorrow morning, she'd only have to deal with twice as much work. So she put her headphones on, started a familiar playlist, and got to work. She rinsed brushes until the water finally ran clear, stacked paint palettes, wiped dried glue from a table with the edge of her thumbnail, and rescued a tiny clay turtle that had somehow found its way beneath a bookshelf. She smiled. "Thought you could escape?" The turtle declined to answer. It joined the growing collection of forgotten projects on the windowsill. Without the noise and movement, the room looked less like a classroom and more like evidence that a mildly eccentric woman had slowly taken over public property. A cardboard dragon head perched above the cabinets. Paintbrushes lived in old soup cans and chipped coffee mugs. A collection of strange objects occupied the shelves beside her desk: painted rocks, tiny clay monsters, handmade cards, half finished sculptures. Mr. Pebbles, the ceramic raccoon made years ago by a former student, sat beside a stack of sketchbooks looking deeply haunted. The students adored him. Eli suspected he was cursed. She picked up a crumpled paper towel near the sink, straightened a stack of sketchbooks, and returned a pair of forgotten scissors to the supply bin. A blue dinosaur lunchbox sat abandoned beneath one of the tables. She sighed, picked it up, and placed it in the classrooms lost and found. Slowly, the room began to look normal again. Or at least normal for Room B12. Outside, the tops of eucalyptus trees swayed gently above the neighboring rooftops. Somewhere beyond them, hidden behind apartments and streets she knew by heart, she imagined the harbor beginning to fill with the late afternoon haze that always drifted in off the water. Westbridge had a way of softening around the edges by this time of day, as though the town itself were getting tired. Her eyes landed on her coffee, still there, still mostly full. The ice had completely melted now, turning what had once been carefully layered espresso and milk into a single sad shade of beige. She picked it up and looked at it.  “...Maybe next time.” The coffee landed in the trash with a plastic thud.  That made... what? Four coffees this month she'd barely touched?  Five?  She'd stopped counting. Her phone buzzed from somewhere on her desk. Eli glanced toward it, but kept cleaning. A few seconds later, it buzzed again. Then again. She glanced over at her desk. The screen on the phone lit up THE GUMMIBEARS 🐻⭐💥✨💥 Seventeen unread messages. It buzzed again. Nineteen unread messages. Eli stared at it. How did they all have the energy to type that fast?  She went back to wiping down the tables, but the phone buzzed again, and again. Then again. There were only a few possible reasons her phones ever rang this much. Someone got engaged. Someone was pregnant. Or her friends were up to something.  She had a terrible feeling it was the third one.  With a small sigh, she finally walked over and picked it up. Most of the messages, unsurprisingly, were from Chris. She scrolled back to the top of the new messages. CHRIS: GUYS!!! GUESS WHO'S PLAYING AT THE BREAKWATER THIS WEEKEND!!!! Eli blinked. Her heart gave a strange little jump. Just hearing the words Breakwater and concert together brought back a rush of memories she hadn't thought about in a long time. More messages appeared almost immediately. JEN: Shut up. CASEY: You're lying!! EMILY: NO WAYYY! Are you serious?? CHRIS: IT'S THE INCISORS!!! Of course I am! Eli stopped scrolling. For a moment, the classroom seemed to disappear. The Incisors. They were basically the soundtrack of college. Sticky dive bars. Late night drives. Warehouse shows where the air smelled like cheap beer, sweat and cigarettes. That ridiculous festival they'd organized during their senior year. The one that somehow ended with the bomb squad being called. She never did find out what had actually happened. Something about a fake grenade belt buckle. Or maybe it had been somebody's weird art installation. Maybe both. The details had become fuzzy over the years. The messages kept coming. CASEY: Tickets? JEN: What time? EMILY: THIS SATURDAY?? CHRIS: WE ARE ALL GOING!! Then the messages became more pointed. EMILY: ELI! You have to come!! Immediately followed by: JEN: YEAH ELIIIIII Then: CHRIS: ELIIIIIIIIII CASEY: IIIIIIIIIIIIIII Eli stared at the screen. The room suddenly felt very still. The last time she'd gone to a concert…Actually, She wasn't entirely sure when that had been. Last summer? No. Before that. Maybe the previous winter? That couldn't be right. Could it? It wasn't like she wasn't invited. She was. And it wasn't like she didn't want to go. Because she did. She loved live music and she loved her friends. She'd just started saying no to things. She frowned at her reflection on the phone screen. When had she stopped doing things she liked? She tried to think of a specific moment. But there wasn't one. It had happened gradually. So gradually she hadn't even noticed. One, no, thank you at a time. One, maybe next week. One, I'm pretty tired tonight. One, maybe another time. Until somehow, months had gone by. She looked back down at the messages. The Gummibears were still chattering excitedly, arguing over tickets and what time they should meet and whether they should get food beforehand. Despite everything that had just happened after class, Eli smiled.  Just a little. Then her stomach sank, because she wanted to go. God. She really, really wanted to go. She missed her friends. She missed concerts. She missed music and people and feeling young and alive.  She missed late nights and laughing until her face hurt. She missed feeling like herself. But going out meant planning. Which bathroom. How long she'd be gone. Whether she'd have an accident again. Whether there would be somewhere private to change. Whether she'd make it through the night without having to leave early. Whether anyone would notice. Whether she'd have to explain everything. It was all too much and lately, it had simply become easier to stay home. Easier to say no. Easier to tell herself she'd go next time. But next time had a funny way of never arriving. Eli looked down at the screen again. The messages were still coming. EMILY: ELI??? CHRIS: HELLOOOOO JEN: WE KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS She laughed quietly. "Okay, okay.” Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, and for a moment, she almost typed I'm in. Instead, she locked her phone and set it back down. She wasn't ready to answer yet. But she kept looking at the screen, and for the first time in a long time, she let herself imagine what it might feel like to go out again.

LNGU Dragoonz tonight.  

Hewwo little ones! I need a help with diapers that can fits my size ;w;  I’m very thin, my hip circumference is approximately 85–90 centimeters, weight doesn’t exceed 58 kg, aaaaand my height is 175 centimeters. None of the ABDL diapers suits me at all, cause they tpp big for me. I’m in despair and I’m already thinking about using real baby diapers... wheah.   I use Drynites for 25-57 kg, and they fit me perfectly. But my problem is that it’s "pants", and I want diapers with velcro ;w;