Keurig single coffee

How can I recycle single-use iced coffee cups like my Dutch Bros/Black Rock cups? Can they go in the normal recycling bins? Will Ridwell take them? Or is there any other place that will take them?
Also hot cups too if you know, although I mostly get iced drinks.

So I date on the apps, it's relatively new to me. I'm kind, patient, intelligent, decent looking, well groomed, tall, overweight but working on it, have a promising career, live on my own, don't have children.
I listen and can communicate, I can express my needs in a healthy way. I'm not in a hurry to sleep with anyone, am looking for a relationship and I communicate that early. I'll talk and date anywhere from a week to months before we do sleep together. I want them to be comfortable, ready and to enjoy it, it's not a priority for me. Attraction is high both ways, there's a lot of making out and heavy petting all long the way. I'm attentive, they enjoy it, finishing more often than me. I've been assured now several times it's not the sex.
We'll cuddle and spoon, sometimes we'll spend the night other times not. We'll spend the morning together if we do, get coffee/brunch. We part ways on good terms in the afterglow of a good night/weekend. We'll have had ideas for next dates we never get to. I'm decent and message that night/the next day, not into playing games.
Immediately after, every single time they lose interest. Communication immediately drops off a cliff compared to where things had been, yes people get busy, I'm not demanding immediate attention or double texting, just continuing communication as it was.
Initially it got to me and I wasn't good about it. Full blown anxious, you know the drill. But I've done a lot of work to not let it get to me, I don't indulge that anymore, I sit with the feelings on my own and will make my peace with it then follow up with them when I'm ready. Nothing ever comes of it, but there's closure in it whether I get a response or not and I move on.
I know part of it was the anxious avoidant dynamic initially, but I'm not dating for those firework feelings anymore. Instead cultivating and looking for something secure.
Am I being used for sex because I'm a safe option?
Is it compatibility? That's what I'm chalking it up to.
I don't know what I'm missing.

I barely drank coffee until this year- like, less than 10 cups in my life. Had tea irregularly. But probably averaged less than 50mgs of caffeine a week, you know? I started a job this year that has such irregular shifts that I needed to start drinking copious amounts of coffee and energy drinks just to regulate my sleep cycle. But a side effect is that basically every other part of my life has significantly improved- the improvement in social outgoing-ness is more than what I normally get from alcohol, I’m more clear-minded when doing hobbies or uni study. I also used to spend a lot of time just sitting around wasting time on my phone out of an “I’ll get around to it” mentality, but now I spend basically all my time actually doing things because I can’t not. It’s also made me noticeably less anxious? Obviously everyone knows caffeine is useful or whatever but this is literally the single most effective thing I’ve done to improve my life in the last 6 or 7 years. I might even lose my virginity, who knows. Maybe I’ll pick up smoking next?

Hello all!
Today is an unfortunate day on my end - my daily driver studio monitors of nearly 20 years, the ADAM A7s have gone kaput. I’m honestly devastated.
Today I booted them up and to my dismay when I loaded up the commercial I was doing some music editing for, the image was leaning aggressively right. I solo’d out each side and there’s certainly something wrong with the range below 100hz and the crossover range around 2k so I can’t use them in their current condition. My assumption is there’s a failing/leaking electrolytic cap like what this guy found a few years ago: https://www.pgmusic.com/forums/ubbthreads.php?ubb=showflat&Number=746967
Thankfully for now I have a set of B&O BeoVox 5700s I just finished restoring and recapping with polycaps and new resistors, and they sound excellent, so they’re a workable substitute for now (arguably better sounding than the A7s minus a bit of top end detail from the ribbon tweeters) but they’re 50 years old and there’s still some wonk to a few of the drivers so I don’t trust them completely.
On the horizon are a set of HiVi 3.1s that I’ll be building with the Sehlin Option #5 perfectionist crossover. With the AMT/ribbon tweeter and 6.5” woofer I’d imagine the HiVi 3.1s would pair super well with the remaining A7 components for a center speaker. I’d love to fix the ADAMs, but I’ve been looking at upgrading monitors for a while (always intending to keep the ADAMs as an alt set 😪) and really enjoy the midrange detail the 3-way B&O speakers provide. The B&Os have also gotten me really into crossover design and DIY stuff in general, so I figure building a super accurate 3-way like the HiVi 3.1s with the crossover mod would be a fun upgrade over trying to fix a 20 year old monitor with failing components or dropping $1.5-2k on a new set of ADAMs.
That got me thinking and the plan in question is to repurpose the right ADAM A7 as a center channel as it’s still fully operational. Since just the woofer amp has failed on the left speaker and there’s no damage to the drivers but I’m sure they’re still in good shape. That said, I’m also assuming the right amp is just behind the left and could go any day now, especially as some of the earlier symptoms of failure have been starting to happen on the right side.
Could I, in theory, build an MTM/MTTM style enclosure for the Right ADAM’s components and place either or both of the drivers from the left speaker in this new enclosure and build a frankenstein center channel a la the A77X, either in line with the A77X’s single tweeter or possibly with two tweeters? For said speaker, I see two real options - either building an MTM/MTTM 2.5 way speaker with the existing (failing) amps OR I build a passive 3-way crossover and make an A77X clone (plus an extra tweeter) that is a proper 3 way.
I’m imagining three ways of doing this that go up in complexity:

1. Put in only 3 drivers (MTM 2.5 Way) and use the working amps from the right speaker only to drive all 3 drivers by powering both woofers from the same amp. I’d imagine I could I’d just splice and solder two ends to each cable.
   • I’d assume here the woofers would receive less power, and that would either be extremely problematic and they won’t move properly, or they would miraculously combine together to add up to the equivalent power of one woofer powered by one amp, but as I write that it feels like a pipe dream.
2. Put in all 4 drivers (MTTM 2.5 Way with the tweeters vertically aligned) and use the amps from the right speaker and run a second set of wires to both the second woofer and second tweeter from their corresponding amp - again by splicing.
   • I’d assume this would give me half the power to both drivers, which could be problematic. If again somehow it’s not problematic, I’m sure I could compensate with level calibration as I’ve got a pretty flexible routing & output system in my home Atmos room and I’ve got 6db of headroom on the input gain dial.
3. Put in all 4 drivers (MTTM 3-Way) and build a new passive crossover around the driver specs. In a cabinet of that size I could either single or bi-amp with an internally mounted amp like a Fosi Audio V3.
   • I like this idea more than doing nothing and using the remaining A7 as a center as I’d have all new components in the crossover and another failing amp wouldn’t leave me without a center channel. Also don’t like the idea of an asymmetrical center and it would have to lay horizontally underneath my monitor.

Any thoughts on this idea? Did I drink too much coffee today and now I’m just tweaking or is this a potential project?
Sidenote: I’m not particularly worried about the enclosure, a woodworker friend of mine is collaborating with me to build some speakers for her house and she has unlimited access to a woodshop with free wood as a part of a fellowship she’s been accepted into.

I (M37) go out with a wonderful woman (47) every few weeks for coffee and walks. I made it more than once clear that I am attracted to her. We get nowhere beyond having 1-2h long walks, brunch or a burger somewhere for the last year. Neither of us has been at the others place and we are both single and know that about each other. She always wants to meet me alone. At times I ignore her and give up because I think „well, that is the way this nice woman tells me she is not interested“. But she reaches out every time again. We text a lot, which she mostly initiates. I enjoy her company very much but it confuses me.
So my question is, what do I experience here: Friend-Zone? Benching? Playing games? Someone overly careful? Someone deeply insecure? Is she hiding a relationship? Is she sceptical of the age gap? A pity date?

TLDR: DF54✓ Blind Shaker ~
So, I'm going to revisit these two recently much discussed topics. I've personally posted about them before and wanted to share additional insight after using both of these tools for a while now in comparison to my previous setup.
SmartGrinder -> DF54:
I'm 3 weeks into using my DF54. I love it. For perspective, for nearly 10 years, I had been using a Breville SmartGrinder BSG800XL (not the Pro), which I bought used. As a total noob, it was OK, but as my knowledge and understanding of espresso making developed, it's weaknesses became more and more apparent, particularly its inability to really grind fine enough for espresso. This weakness became more and more apparent as I upgraded my Gaggia Classic, particularly after purchasing a performance basket. This prompted me to shim the lower burr, which was cheap, simple and thankfully effective. I was finally able to dial in adequately. The deeper weakness of this grinder is really the build quality, and although this used grinder lasted me almost 19 years, it finally failed, shortly after I pre-ordered my DF54 but before I recieved it. I've had a good look inside the SmartGrinder in order to assess the failure (main gear vs impeller) and have seen the weakness of both parts. I also posted recently about the MASSIVE amount of retention. So, today when I did my first cleaning of my DF54, I was very happy. Alone, the ability to easily access both burs and the grind chamber for cleaning is an order of magnitude difference. There was some static retention in the hopper (of all places), but the burrs and grind chamber had only the most minimal amount of grinds. <0.5g. Disassembling, cleaning and reassembly are super easy. The coffee I'm getting is excellent, and the adjustment mechanism is very good. Easy enough to move and firm enough to stay where it is set. The adjustment ring is large enough to make very small adjustments. Static was minimal to non existent, so I hadn't need to use any RDT, until...
Grind to Portafilter -> Blind Shaker -> Dosing Cup (and back?):
With my SmartGrinder, I always ground (single dose) to my portafilter with a makeshift dosing ring and RDT to mitigate static, then thorough WDT and leveling. I picked up a cheap blind shaker (total WW knock-off) like so many after watching Lance's videos. There was a minor increase in visible channelling/squirting, and my workflow time seems about the same, but I liked not needing a hack-job dosing ring. When I switched to the DF54, I kept using the blind shaker. It friction fits nicely in the portafilter holder. I didn't really notice a change in visible channelling, and it was still a bit worse than it had been with my SmartGrinder and WDT. So the other day I ditched the blind shaker. The DF54's portafilter fork does not play nice with my Gaggia portafilter's offset ears, or my dosing ring. It generally seems too big. (First negative) So, I pulled out the plastic dosing cup that shipped with the DF54. Static nightmare! I actually thing that this is what is responsible for the retained grounds in the hopper. It was awful. I'll never use that thing again. (Second negative) After wrangling the static mess, I tipped the catch cup into my portafilter and did my thorough WDT and then leveled with the tool as I have done for years. Got a very nice, spray free extraction, as with the next pull. So, the blind shaker is kind of a wash to a nevermind. Maybe I'll try and anodized/powder coated catch cup, or try to work out the portafilter fork issue, because that plastic catch cup is an unmitigated static disaster.
Neither of those negatives is remotely enough to get me to disparage the DF54 at all. I think it is by the best flat burr grinder out there for the money, and it is a vast improvement over what I was using, for about the same MRSP. Crazy.
It does prompt me to ask if anyone else out there has any tips about using the portafilter holder with offset Gaggia lugs, or if anyone has experience with static and metal catch cups with different finishes. Looking forward to any input.

Hello, fellows. So since a month ago i started talking to this girl that works at a coffee shop near my house. From day one she has shown interest and accepted every single advance i've made. She gave me her IG and phone number without any hesitations. We have gone out on two dates now and we kissed on the second date. When I go to the coffee shop we speak for hours. Here's my issue: when it comes to texting she barely engages at all, it has taken her as far as 24 hours to reply a simple text, I don't want to seem desperate so I just let her take as long as she wants. When she does, she replies and continues the conversation, sometimes even replying with long voice messages. However taking so long to reply texts and engaging in long distance conversation makes me think that she's really not that interested. Any advices? Does this mean something? Or I'm just tripping? Thanks for reading ;)

I met this girl on an app, and we seemed to get along really well. Shes intelligent and fun to talk to. We have some common interests but we also have a lot of differences. We are both fit and workout. She is very attractive and about 10 years younger than me. Shes Guatemalan and her English is a little rough, we are both single parents, but im an order of magnitude above her in socio economic status. We live in different cities so we didn’t meet for a while but we texted back and forth nearly all day for about a month. There is a mountain i had been wanting to hike in her city, and i was interested in meeting her, so I took a couple of vacation days and went for a long weekend in her city.
I thought we would spend some of the time together going on dates and maybe we would end up making out or something. I flew in and got a ride to where i was staying on Thursday evening. I didn’t have a car in her city and was planning to use uber while i was there. She suggested she come over to the airbnb i was at on Friday morning and then we could decide where to go from there. I was a little surprised that she would feel comfortable coming to the apartment i was staying at to meet me the first time. She came, i met her outside in the parking lot, she was cool and beautiful. We went inside and had coffee. We talked for a couple hours and then she put some latin music on and asked if i knew how to dance. We danced for maybe 4 minutes and then she started kissing me and then we went to the couch and she started taking clothes off.. we had sex within a couple hours of meeting. First time ive ever has sex on a first date. I was a little shocked. We spent the entire day together, it was great. She went home at night because her kid, and she lives with her mom. Shes divorced and 27.. She went hiking with me the next day, it was great, we went to some hot springs and swam together, had sex again. Spent Saturday and Sunday together and i left Monday morning.
We both said we had a really great time and the more time we spent together the more we both thought that we could be a serious couple and have something real, like a forever thing.
We took a lot of pictures together each day, but she took some pictures of herself when we were doing the hike. Tuesday i logged back into the app, and she had added a picture of herself from our hike to her dating profile. Today i asked her if she was still looking for people on the app. She said shes not talking to anyone else but if she did talk to someone on the app she would make it clear to them it was just for friendship.😬. It feels like a smack in the face to me that she added more pics to her profile after we did all that together and had both voiced interest in this being a serious relationship. It being a picture from out trip together feels like an extra insult.
I told her seeing that she added that pic hurts me a lot. She said i was controlling for checking her profile 😂. She said she would delete her profile and that she doesn’t need it and that i am very special to her. She did actually immediately delete her account.
I feel like just dropping her, like if she wants attention from other guys, i should just let her go. Am i overreacting? Or not?

I am tired of doing the same thing every day. I am tired of waking up and checking my phone. I am tired of rolling out of bed to go upstairs and making a cup of coffee. I am tired of taking a shower and trying to wake up for the day. I am tired on getting in my car and trying to find music to play on the way to work. I am tired of putting on a smile to greet people at the ass Crack of dawn. I am tired of finishing an 8 hour shift. I am tired of getting back in my car to go home. I am tired of making dinner for myself. I am tired of laying down and watching TV to unwind from the day. I am tired of doing this every single day of my life. I am so tired of only having 2 days off and barely getting to spend time with the people I love. I am tired of having to spend money just to survive. I am tired of trying to figure out what I should and shouldn't buy to better myself. I am tired of everyone saying this is just life.
Life shouldn't be a repeat thing. I want to live not just survive.
I want to travel and see new places, meet new people.
I am tired of just barely scraping by. I am tired of telling myself that next month will be better when it never is. I am tired of people asking me if I am OK. I am OK buy I'm not happy.
There is nothing for me to not be happy about. I have my own place. My own car. My own house. But my life is so dual. It's the same thing over and over again. Get up, go to work, come home, make dinner, go to bed, repeat. Day in and day out.
I am tired.

I work in a convenience store/gas station, and my genius of a boss two years ago decided to let a taco bus set up behind our store.
They store everything in our beer cooler and freezer, which we already share with a coffee stand in our lot. Fresh meat, often-times bleeding (literally) onto the floor, as well as cooked. Lettuce, etc, they’ve got it all. Meanwhile it has taken up a good 1/3 of our already small cooler.
They don’t have porta-johns, so their customers come inside to use the stores bathroom. And let me tell you, these people are the nastiest and most inconsiderate customers (I’ve found soiled pants on the floor after a family came from the taco bus). We’ve had to call a plumber seven separate times since the start of this year because their customers have clogged the toilet so bad our plunger won’t plunge. But of course, I’m responsible for keeping the bathroom stocked and clean for customers that are not mine and do not purchase anything from my store.
And then there’s the parking. The bus gets so busy that their customers will take up every spot in our lot, including the gas pumps, even taking up the coffee shack’s line after the shack has closed for the evening. It’s bad enough that my customers can’t park in reasonable spots, and have to resort to double-stacking their parking behind someone at the taco bus. My parking lot has been full for the last two hours, but I haven’t helped a single customer and the pumps haven’t been pumped.
Idk, it’s just frustrating because I was against them being a permanent fixture at the store from the get-go. They’re good people (the owners and employees) but it’s not even summer yet and this is a daily issue.
And the best part? An Asian food cart has also been with us for the last year, and we’re sharing our cooler and freezer with them also.

I accidentally posted this to my username instead of my subreddit so here is is:
The Mortgage, Part 3
“Fuck,” I said as I drove to work in the old beater that only started on the fourth try because it could tell that I was pissed off. Ray’s case started at two o’clock, and I was heading to the office to get ready. “Fuck fuck fuckity fucking fuck. Fuck.” I’d wanted to tell Angela about Ray’s case, and how I was sorry that I hadn’t wanted to help him, but now I would, I would help him, and I would win, but then I’d gotten her all riled up on something else, something totally different, something way more serious.
My wife had given me a triple ultimatum: fix things up with her father, save idiot Ray from Sy-Co Corp., and somehow find a downpayment for the place she wanted to buy, in the little townhouse infill project in Bixity. It was like demanding I do a double bank shot, and then run over to the baseball diamond and hit a home run after first pointing to where it would land, Babe Ruth style.
Angela was mad at me, seriously mad. She’d slipped out that morning before I was even awake, sliding quietly past me on the couch. I didn’t realize she was gone until I heard the faint click of the front door closing. I jumped up, tripped over a blanket, and by the time I got up and my robe on, the elevator down the hall dinged, and Angela was gone before I opened the apartment door.
I swore at myself some more and pounded the steering wheel, “I fucked up,” I said, several times as I hit the wheel over and over again, until I accidentally honked it, and then looked all sheepish when the guy in front of me gave me the finger. I reached my office without further incident, but instead of walking in the front door, I went further down the hall, and into the office of Mark Cecil-Rowe, Barrister, LL.D, the man with the finest speaking voice I ever heard. When I entered his office I forgot for a minute about Angela and her father and sleeping on the couch the night before. I forget about everything, except the reason that I had come to Cecil-Rowe’s office: to stump him with a legal problem that I had solved, but which I was pretty sure he could not. In other words, I had come to preen and to brag and to boast. No one likes a showoff, and I had come to show off. I put my hand on the door and turned the knob. After a brief pause, I flung open the door.
“I’m a goddamn genius,” I said as I strolled into the older man’s office.
I noticed the echo of a hastily closed desk drawer hanging in the air. In Aaron’s office, where I rented space, a sudden act of concealment implied cocaine, but with Cecil-Rowe, the item in question was probably a mickey of vodka. I had the sense that he’d been drinking a bit before I arrived, but his powers of observation were unimpaired, and when he looked into my face, his expression showed sympathy, and actual pain.
“What have you done now?” he said, as set the papers before him to one side, and readied himself to hear my latest tale of legal brilliance.
“I’m a genius,” I said.
“Oh dear. Have a seat.”
“No really, I am. I’m a genius. I got this case that everyone says you can’t win, but I’m gonna win it, and when I do, I’m gonna look like a genius.” Cecil-Rowe gave me a sad indulgent smile.
“Whenever you tell me you’re a genius, I am always concerned about what is to follow. When you get wrapped up in what you call your genius, you tend to ignore the more mundane things we lawyers have to do to win a case. You think you’re going to win by genius alone.”
“Let me tell you why I’m a goddamn genius.” With effort I wiped the smug, self-satisfied expression that was on my face.
“Tell me why you’re a genius,” Cecil-Rowe said, “while I pour us a coffee.” He heaved his bulky body up from his chair and shuffled over to a counter. He picked up a carafe of hot coffee sitting on a hot plate, and poured two cups. “Speak,” he said, handing me one. I took a sip of the coffee, and told Cecil-Rowe the tale of Cousin Ray: his purchase of a franchise from Sy-Co Corp, its swift demise, the crash and burn in Commercial Court, the Minutes of Settlement, the seventy-one kilometer limit, and lastly, Sy-Co’s motion scheduled for two p.m. that very day, seeking an interim injunction shutting down Ray’s place.
Cecil-Rowe absorbed all this without the need to take notes. Instead, he sat back while he eyed me, taking the occasional sip of coffee, and smiling at the extravagant flourishes and details that brought out Ray’s story to full effect.
“Obviously Ray is dead on arrival,” he said, “but I guess this is the part where you tell me how you’re going to win.”
So I told him how I was going to win, but it didn’t have the desired effect. “I told ya I’m a genius, Mr. C,” cueing him to applaud, to admit what a brilliant lawyer I was. But there was no applause from Mark Cecil-Rowe. He looked at me without so much as a smile.
“You can cling to that genius notion as a consolation prize, after you get whipped this afternoon in court.”
“No way,” I said, “not a chance. I got this thing won hands down. I’m gonna kick ass in court today and--”
“And how exactly do you plan to do that, if you don’t have evidence?”
“What?”
“Evidence, Calledinthe9os. It’s what lawyers like me use to beat geniuses like you.”
“But I’m gonna win without proof. I don’t need proof. The argument I’m gonna make, relies on simple facts that are totally obvious, so the judge is gonna--” Cecil-Rowe stuck up his hand.
“Stop right there. I know what’s coming. You’re going to ask the judge to take *judicial notice.”
And he was right. That was exactly what I was going to do.
There are some things so obvious that you didn’t have to prove them, things that everyone knew. You didn’t have to prove that water froze at zero degrees and boiled at a hundred, or that Bixity was between West Bay and East Bay.
“You got it,” I said, “judicial notice all the way.”
“You’re going to tell the judge that the centerpiece of your argument, the lynchpin of your case is a fact known to pretty well everyone, and so you don’t need proof.”
“Exactly,” I said. Cecil-Rowe took another sip of his coffee, and left me hanging in the silence for a while before he spoke.
“If that’s true, then why does coming up with that argument make you a genius?”
“Oh, I said,”I didn’t think of that.”
“It is acceptable to rely on judicial notice for minor, ancillary points. But you never should walk into court thinking that the court will take judicial notice of your entire defence. It’s just too risky.”
“But how am I going to rustle up a witness in time for this afternoon?”
“Worry about that after you leave my office. I can’t help you with that. What I want to know, is why you’re doing this at the last minute.”
“What makes you think I’m doing this at the last minute?”
“Because you never would have resorted to judicial notice if you were properly prepared. If you’d opened this case a bit earlier, you’ve have everything lined up. But you got to work on it late, and so you want to rely on judicial notice. You’ve messed up, Calledinthe90s, and you know what my rule is when you mess up.” Cecil-Rowe didn’t extend aid to me, until I admitted the error of my ways. It was infuriating, but he was inflexible. So I fessed up.
“My idiot cousin Ray’s been trying to retain me for almost two weeks, but I was putting him off because I was mad at him. So now my wife’s mad at me, and if I don’t win this case, I’m dead. Plus her dad’s mad at me too and --” My brain roared into overdrive, a mess of family and law and fear, and at the centre of it, thoughts of Angela’s anger and her father. My mind took off, and then came to an instant halt at a helpful destination.
“Yes?” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Sorry. I just realized how to solve the evidence problem. Look, can I ask you about the thing I actually came here to ask you about?”
“You have a problem that’s worse than having no evidence? What could be worse than -- oh. You don’t have a retainer. Your client doesn't have any money.”
“Exactly. How do I get paid? That’s the problem.” I explained that Ray had no money, as in none, and that if he did have money, he wouldn’t spend it on me. Instead, he’d go back downtown and throw his cash at some big firm, who would take on his case, and proceed to lose it in a calm, careful, sober manner, ending in a reporting letter to Ray telling him that he’d lost.
“Now that’s a problem I can solve,” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Really? ‘Cause I can’t see a way around it. I think I’m gonna have to do this for free, and that really pisses me off.” Cecil-Rowe shook his head.
“You may or may not get paid, but you can set things up so that if you win, you’ll win pretty good.”
“How? Ray’s a deadbeat. Tapped out.”
“But is he desperate?”
“Totally. The first time he failed, he lost his own money, but if he goes under this time, he’s taking family money with him, and he’ll be the black sheep forever.”
“And he’s using family to emotionally blackmail you into helping him?’
“Like no shit. That’s the part that pisses me off the most. I’m like a goddamn slave, being forced to work for free.”
“Never fear, young apprentice. I have just the thing in mind.” He reached into a drawer, and pulled out a form. “Fill in the blanks, and have him sign.”
I looked it over, and saw that the document was a retainer agreement. I whistled. “Holy shit. If he signs this, he’s almost my slave.”
“Close, but not quite” Cecil-Rowe said, “the Latin term for this is "contractus pro venditione animae"”. It’s the ultimate retainer agreement. Once Ray signs that, you own any cause of action he has against the person suing him. You can settle the case on any terms you like, and you get to keep whatever proceeds there are.” Cecil-Rowe placed the folder back in a drawer, and from his manner you could tell that the interview was over.
“Awesome, Mr. C. I’ll call you from Commercial Court when we’re done.”
“Commercial Court?” he said.
“Yeah, Commercial Court.”
“This just keeps getting worse. Take notes, Calledinthe90s, while I school you on Commercial Court. Commercial Court is a jungle, and without preparation, you’ll get savaged.”
“That’s what happened to Ray when--”
“Take notes, young apprentice,” he said, tossing me a pad and a pen. He started to lecture, and I took notes that I have with me to this day, in a safe deposit box downstairs in the vault at Mega Bank Main Branch.
* * *
By the time Cecil-Rowe finished schooling me, it was close to ten, and the case started at two. I didn’t have much time. I ran down the hall to my office, and called Ray’s restaurant. No answer. Then I called Ray’s house. I expected to get Ray’s wife, but the man himself answered.
“You’re not at work. Why aren’t you at work?”
“Sy-Co Corp served all my employees with a cease and desist letter. They all got scared and took off. The place is shut down.”
“You gotta fax machine at home?” He did, and asked why.
“I’m taking your case, but only if you sign the paper I’m about to send and fax it back.” I sent the fax, and five minutes later it came back signed, and it was official: Ray had sold me his legal soul.
I went out to the parking lot, got into my beater and drove fast. In less than thirty minutes I reached my destination. I knocked on the door, and when it opened, my diminutive mother-in-law poked out her head. “What a pleasant surprise,” she said.
“Sorry, Mrs. M, but I’m in a super hurry. I gotta rush to get to court to help Ray. But first, I gotta speak to Dr. M.”
“He’s not here,” she said.
“Not here?”
“He’s on his way to his bridge game. He left just a few minutes ago.”
“Where’s the club?”
“He’s walking there,” she said, and pointed down the street.
“Thanks.” I got into my car and headed where Mrs. M had pointed, passing big houses and new project with an “Opening Soon” sign. And walking past it was the figure of Dr. M.
“Hey, Dr. M,” I called out the window. He stopped and looked around, startled. But he didn’t see me, not at first.
“It’s me, Dr. M. Me, Calledin90s.” He leaned forward as if to see me better. I got out of the car.
“Is something wrong with Angela? Or the baby?”
“No, no not at all, sorry to scare you, it’s nothing like that. I need your help.”
“Oh.” He started walking again, and now it was my turn to be a bit stunned, watching my father-in-law walk away from me. I caught up with him in a few quick strides.
“Listen, I really need your help.”
“And I really need to get to a bridge game.”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about Ray.” That brought him to a halt. He turned to me, angrier even than he’d been the night before.
“Did you drive all the way out here just to make fun of me? To remind me of how you won, distracting me with nonsense about Ray’s case?”
“I mean it,” I said, “I can win Ray’s case. I can prove it in a few words.”
“Prove it, then.” So I did. I spoke words, only a few words, but they were the right words to speak to Dr. M, for the words I spoke were in his language, words that he understood perfectly.
“I understand,” he said, “you’ve come to boast some more, to prove that you were right after all.”
“I want to win Ray’s case, but I don’t have any proof of what I’m saying.”
“You don’t need to prove that two plus two is four.”
“This, I gotta prove, and I need you to help me prove it. I need you to come to court with me, as my witness.”
“I can’t do that. I didn’t witness anything.”
“As my witness. My expert witness.” Unlike a normal witness, an expert witness can give an opinion. An expert is there not to advocate, I explained to Dr. M but to instruct, to teach.
“My bridge partner won’t be very happy,” he said.
“But Ray will, and so will Mrs. M and Angela and--”
“Very well. Do you have a cell phone? We can call the bridge club from my car.”
* * *
We were on the highway getting close to the downtown exit, when my wife called my cell phone. Back then cell phone service was super expensive and my wife only used it for emergencies. Or when she was really angry. I picked up the phone, wondering which it would be.
“I’m so happy that you made things up with my father,” she said.
“How did you know?”
“My mother called. She says you took him with you, that you went out together.”
“He’s with me right now,” I said.
“Where are you going?”
“To court. Going to court to win Ray’s case for him.”
“And you brought my father with you to watch?” She was so happy, I could hear in her voice that she was smiling. “That’s a great way to bond with him, Calledinthe90s. Look, I’m sorry I got so mad at you earlier, I really am. My dad’s a bit too sensitive and--”
“Sorry, Angela, your dad’s not coming to watch me.”
“Why is he with you, then?”
“He’s my witness,” I said.
“What?”
“His expert witness,” Dr. M said, loudly enough for Angela to hear.
My wife’s anger exploded into the phone. She wanted to know how I could expose her elderly, vulnerable father to the stress of a court case. I tried to tell her how I needed him, how there was literally no one else I could turn to, that her father was an expert, a true expert, and the judge was legally bound to believe him, but Angela heard none of this.
“Look,’ I said, “I promise you that--” And then I lowered the phone and pushed the red button, terminating the call. I’d learned that the best way to hang up on someone, was to do it when I was doing the talking. That way it looked like the call had dropped.
“I’m going to steal that move,” Dr. M said.
We rolled into the parking lot. I grabbed the cloth bag out of the back of my car, the bag that held my law robes and shirt and tabs, plus the other stuff I needed for court. It was one-thirty, still thirty minutes to go, not a lot of time to get robed and ready for court. It was just past one-forty five when I, with Dr. M in tow, opened the door to a courtroom on the eighth floor of an old insurance building that had been converted into a courthouse, the home of Commercial Court.
“Commercial Court is an exclusive club,” Cecil-Rowe had explained to me earlier that day, “the legal playground of the rich and powerful. They’ll know instantly that you’re not one of them.” And he was right. It was clear from the moment I walked in that I did not belong, for I was the only lawyer in robes. Everyone else was wearing a suit, and not some cheap thing off the rack like I wore.
There were a half-dozen lawyers present, and after they saw me, they exchanged knowing looks about the stranger amongst them. I ignored them, and walked up to the Registrar. I told him the case I was on, and he signed me in.
“First time in Commercial Court?” he said, eyeing my robes. “You know you don’t have to be robed in Commercial Court.” In other Superior Courts, you always had to bring your robes and get all dressed up. But Commercial Court had its own set of rules, and in the court for rich people, their lawyers did not have to wear robes.
“You’re here on the Sy-Co case?” a young woman asked. She was a junior like me, give a year or two either way. She was dressed in the finest downtown counsel fashion, some designer thing that Angela would know if she saw it.
“Just got retained,” I said.
“You know there’s no adjournments, right? We don’t do adjournments in Commercial Court. I’m just trying to be helpful, because I don’t think you've been here before. You know you don’t have to be robed, right?
“So I heard.”
“So where’s your material? You haven’t served anything, so how do you plan to argue your case?”
“I gotta witness,” I said.
She smiled. “There’s no viva voce evidence, either. Affidavit only.”
“We’ll see what the judge says.” There was a knock from the other side of the door to the judge’s chambers, and then the man himself entered.
I was amazed to see that even the judge wasn’t wearing a robe; instead, he was wearing a light coloured suit and a bright blue bow tie. He was dressed as good as the lawyers, all part of the downtown Commercial Court club, the playground of the richest and most powerful corporations in the City.
“Commercial Court’s not like other courts,” Cecil-Rowe told me earlier that day, explaining that most cases were over in fifteen minutes or less. A plaintiff showed up with some papers, and had a short consultation with the judge. The judge signed an order granting an injunction, or taking away a man’s business, or freezing his money. Commercial Court is where you went to get quick and simple court orders that eviscerated your opponent before the case even got going.
Defendants would appear sometimes in Commercial Court, Cecil-Rowe explained, but it was usually their last time up. Defendants always died a quick death in Commercial Court.
The judge took his seat, and then looked over the lawyers before him. His eyes moved along, and then stopped when they reached me, the one lawyer who was not like the others.
“You don’t need robes in Commercial Court,” the judge said to me.
“I’ll remember that for next time,” I said.
“What case are you on?”
I told him.
“He’s filed no responding materials,” my opponent said, “nothing at all.”
“I’m just vetting the list,” the judge said, “I’ll circle back to you two in a few minutes.” I listend while the judge vetted the rest of the afternoon list: a Mareva, plus a Norwich order, with counsel on those cases sent away in a matter of minutes.
Now the courtroom was almost empty, just the judge, two lawyers, the registrar and my star witness and father-in-law, Dr. M, who sat in the back of the courtroom dressed in an old business suit, put on hastily at his place two hours earlier, when I urged him to hurry it up, to not waste so much time on picking a suit.
“Back to you,” the judge said, addressing my opponent, “I thought this was an uncontested matter. That’s what your confirmation sheet said.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honour, but I didn’t know until I got here that the case was defended.”
“I got retained at the last minute,” I said, “barely three hours ago, the day after I read the papers. But I’m ready to go, ready to argue the case on the merits, so long as you grant me an indulgence, and let me call my witness, to let him testify in person instead of by affidavit, there being no time for me to draft anything.”
Opposing counsel was on her feet. “That’s not how things are done in Commercial Court,” she said, “or any court that I know of, for that matter. My friend (that’s what they make lawyers call each other in court, ‘my friend,’ even though you might hate the other guy’s guts),” the lawyer said, “my friend should have served his responding materials and filed them with the court. Instead, he’s taken us totally by surprise.”
“I’m sorry my friend is surprised by opposition,” I said, “but then consider, it’s my client’s livelihood that’s at stake. If my friend gets her injunction, Ray Telewu’s business is dead, and he loses everything. So yes, my client opposes the injunction, and yes, I’d like to call evidence.”
The judge didn’t consult the papers before him nor the books, but instead, he looked up at the big white clock on the courtroom wall. Its hands said two-fifteen.
“How long will your witness take, counsel?”
“In chief, ten minutes.” I’d practiced with Dr. M on the way in, and I was pretty sure he could do it in five, but I gave him a bit of extra time, just in case.
“We’ve got about two hours,” the judge said, “but I want to be fair to you and your client. Let’s take a fifteen minute recess so you can get instructions. Either we go ahead today with viva voce evidence, or we adjourn, and that will give Calledinthe90s time to file responding materials.”
When everyone came back, the junior’s boss was there, Senior Counsel, a heavy weight, one of those big guys downtown. Plus they brought this guy from Sy-Co Corp, the head of some bullshit division, with some bullshit title, Head of whatever, so that’s the title I’ll give him here. He was The Head. He was the man, the big cheese, the signer of the affidavit on which Sy-Co relied that day.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked Senior Counsel.
He stared at me, all lean and steel grey, looking every inch the hard hitting lawyer that commanded the biggest fees. “If you’re calling a live witness, then so can we. The Head will give evidence today, in advance of your client, so that the judge hears it from him first.” His junior smirked at me, and the two of them sat down, delighted that they’d thought of a way to one up me.
Except that they’d done it by exposing their client to cross-examination. The judge came in, allowed the Head to testify, and when he was done, I stood up.
“Just a few questions,” I said. Senior Counsel was stunned for an instant, and then he stood.
“This serves no purpose, Your Honour. The witness has confirmed the simple facts of his affidavit, and there’s no disputing it. Ray Telewu opened a restaurant less than seventy-one kilometres from Bixity City Hall, and that’s in breach of the Minutes of Settlement he signed.”
I did not bother to respond. Instead, I just stood, and I started to ask questions.
“Have a look at that map in your affidavit,” I said, and he did. I picked up my copy, and tore the map out of it. I passed it up to him.
“What do you notice about this map?”
“That it’s accurate,” the Head said, repeating his evidence in chief, amplifying it, talking about how the map contained perfect measurement.
“You will notice that the map is flat,” I said, laying it on the witness box before him.
“Of course it’s flat. That’s what maps are. Maps are flat.”
“But the earth is round,” I said, “or more properly, a sphere.” Senior Counsel was on his feet in an instant.
“What difference does that make?” he said.
“What you’ll hear from my expert witness, is that a flat map cannot accurately show Earth’s curves. A flat map distorts distances, and in this case, reduces them.”
“But that can’t be by very much.”
“In this case, by just over twenty meters,” Dr. M said from the back of the court.
“That’s my expert witness, the esteemed Dr. M.” I didn’t actually say Dr. M. Instead, I said his real name. But I’m not going to use the real names of my family here, so I’ll just keep calling him Dr. M. “Dr. M was a professor of Physics at the University of Bixity for almost thirty years. He has published numerous papers on particle physics, and is the first Canadian winner of the Wolf Prize for physics.”

• * * *

It went downhill after that for Sy-Co Corp. My father-in-law testified, explaining in simple language, language that even a child could understand, that the Earth was a sphere, that the shortest distance between two points on Earth was a curve, not a straight line. He summarized his calculations in plain English, dumbing down the math, so that everyone present imagined, if only for the moment, that they shared his understanding of a difficult mathematical equation.
Senior Counsel tried to cross-examine Dr. M, but it did not go well, my father-in-law indulging him, gently chiding him, continuing his explanations until the lawyer sat down, defeated by Dr. M’s mastery of the subject,his own lack of preparation and his inability to improvise. When counsel said that he had no further questions, the judge addressed us all.
“I’m not going to reserve, and I don’t think I need to tell everyone why. I think it will take about a minute for me to write a decision saying that the Earth is not flat. I’ll give you some more time after that, but after fifteen minutes, I”ll be back to render my decision.” He rose, everyone bowed, and he disappeared behind the door to judge’s chambers.
I pulled a piece of paper out of my file, and slammed it on the desk before Senior Counsel and his junior. “Fill in the blanks, and sign,” I said.
Dr. M’s head shot up at the commotion, and he shuffled over to see what was going on.
“What’s this?” Senior Counsel said, picking up the paper I gave him..
“Minutes of Settlement. You fill in a number, a big number, for the costs you gotta pay me. Your client signs, and then we’re done.” Senior Counsel opened his mouth to bargain, but I overrode him.
“You know your client’s going to lose; the judge made that obvious. Hurry up if you want to settle; we don’t have much time.”
At the end of most Canadian court cases, the loser has to pay at least part of the winner’s legal fees. That’s the way it’s been since forever, and I think it’s a good rule. Sy-Co Corp had lost, so it had to pay a good chunk of Ray’s costs, and Ray’s costs were somewhere between whatever bullshit figure I claimed they were, and where they actually ought to be. Senior Counsel took the paper over to his client. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back, with the form signed, and a number written in the blank space.
I’ll give it to Sy-Co Corp and their lawyer. It wasn’t a bullshit number, a low ball number. They gave me a real number, a number more like something I’d actually accept, a number that made sense to pay me in costs, in light of the success I’d had, and how I got it. It was a respectful number, a common sense number, and I appreciated it an awful lot.
I tossed the paper back at them.
“Add a zero,” I said, continuing on when Senior Counsel blanched, and his junior retreated a step. “I know what’s going on here. Your client sold mine a bullshit franchise, one with a history of failing.” The franchise had opened up again under a new owner not long after Ray had lost it and then it promptly failed again. Like I said at the start of this story, it’s an old story. It’s how some franchise companies make money. “Your client makes more money selling bullshit franchises doomed to fail, then it does from the honest ones that make money. So add a zero to that number, or Ray’s gonna sue you, class action and all that, for all the people you’ve fucked.”
The Head stepped forward from the benches and spoke to me.
“We get threats like that all the time, but no one follows through. They don’t have the money to fight us, and neither does your client. So go ahead and sue.”
“It’s true that Ray doesn’t have jack shit,” I said, “not a pot to piss in, but he’s my cousin, Ray is, and even if he doesn’t have money, he’s got me. Ray’s family, and for Ray, I’ll sue you guys for free. Hell, I’ll even pay the expenses. Plus I’m gonna put a jury notice in, too, come to think of it, ‘cause juries--”
Senior Counsel cut me off, and moved his client to the back of the courtroom. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back. I watched as Senior Counsel wrote a single digit on the Minutes, a zero, written right where I wanted it.
“You’ll have to initial the change,” I said to the Head of Sy-C0, and it gave me great satisfaction to watch him sign.
“Don’t forget,” I said the moment his pen stopped moving, “for the settlement to be valid, I need to get the money today. Right now.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” the Head said.
“Not if you want the settlement to stay in place. I’ll follow you back to your office, and you can put a cheque in my hands.”

• * * *

“What’s this?” my wife said when I entered the apartment later that day, after I’d driven Dr. M home, stopping first at a local pub for beers.
“It’s an absurdly expensive bunch of flowers,” I said, “although no flowers, however beautiful, however expensive, could expiate my--”
She took the flowers, and gave a kiss.
“My mom called. She told me what happened. You fixed things with my dad.”
“Yup,” I said. I had certainly done that. I’d made Dr. M a professor again, if only for a few minutes. Not only a professor, but an expert witness. The judge had declared him an expert in plain terms and Dr.M had beamed when he’d heard those words.
“And you won Ray’s case, too. But my mom didn’t know how, and I don’t know how you did it either.”
“I’ll tell you over dinner tonight,” I said.
“But we agreed no more dinners out; we have to save money, now that a baby’s coming.”
I passed her the envelope that I’d received a few hours before. She opened it, and took out a cheque, a cheque drawn up for an amount I specified, made payable to Mr. and Mrs. Calledinthe90s.
The moment I got that cheque, all I could think about was how my wife would react when I put it into her hands. I could not wait to see her eyes bulge, to hear her voice say “oh my god,” to hear her laugh.
She did none of these things. Instead, she cried.
“Does this mean we can buy a house?” The money wouldn’t be enough to buy a house, not nowadays, with prices being so crazy. But things were different back then in the 90s. Sure, the internet was barely a thing and cell phones were super expensive and a lot of things sucked, but I’ll give the nineties one thing: houses were cheap.
“I think so,” I said.

Okay so this will be a long one but bear with me. It has been an ongoing situation for more than a year now.
I live in a 2br in a reasonably okay area, I’ve been here since 2018. It’s my 14yr old, myself and my big lab that is fully trained. In 2020 right before the pandemic, a family moved in downstairs (mom, dad, a high school are girl and a younger daughter, sometimes their older son visits). When they first moved in, I introduced myself and after introductions she told me that they thought drug addicts lived up there because of the noise. I apologized and told her it could have been my dog and to please feel comfortable enough to knock if we were ever too loud. We’ve never really talked, just polite greetings when our paths crossed.
Everything has been fine the last couple of years until last March while my 14 yr old was home by herself, she was recording herself doing her makeup and in the video we could hear banging coming from underneath the floor. She texted me about it and I told her that perhaps they were hammering something on the wall. From then on, it never stopped. We’d come in during the daytime and within minutes of it, they would be banging with a broomstick on their ceiling. I contacted management about it and let them know. The manager was surprised but said she’d talk to them about it. I’m not sure what she said or if she did, but it escalated, she went and spoke to a neighbor I get along with well and asked her to speak to me. The neighbor instead spoke to my now boyfriend who doesn’t live with me who was walking my dog. Neighbor downstairs then told my mother in passing that my boyfriend tried to get my (trained and super sweet) lab to bite her. Every single time that she has banged on the ceiling (a rough estimate of 15 times in the last year), I’ve called the security agency and followed up with management the next day. Last October I got a first notice to comply or quit in 3 days. It only gave me the date of the noise but not the time or nature of the noise. I was confused because I’d been working at my desk but figured perhaps I rolled my chair too loud. A month later, security came to my door at 10:30, I spoke to them through my doorbell since I was not home. They said there had been a noise complaint but I explained I wasn’t home and he left. I went to management the next day and she said that the lady had been in there crying and sobbing that we were incessantly making noise and stomping all day and her anxiety was getting bad. Management then asked if there was bad blood between us and I told her I hardly spoke to her since the first time we met. In January of this year, I bought 1/2 inch floor padding and carpeting and put it down all over my living room to try and make the effort to fix the situation before it got worse. I also went out and bought slippers for myself, my daughter and extra for visitors or bf. I sent video and photos to management to prove the modification. The banging stopped but only for about a month. In March, we came home on a Sunday at 1 pm and her door was open as we came up the stairs, she was looking at us from her hallway which made me uncomfortable. Within a minute of walking in, the banging started. I got angry and walked downstairs in plain view of the apartment camera and my own and told her she needed to stop because she had just seen us walk in, I didn’t really hear what else she said to me but I ignored her and went back up. When I went to management the next day, she told me that the downstairs tenant had gone to her apartment on the property crying that I had walked into her apartment and threatened her in front of her child. I was completely shocked and told my manager to review her tapes and gave her the time. She believed me and my mistake was not getting it in writing. She told me that her husband had also been in to complain and her children had gone in with her as well. Then asked me if I really thought they would all lie about the noise. I became more paranoid because now it seemed like management was not believing me about the noise even though I wasn’t home. I complained again after she started banging on the ceiling one morning around 8 while I was getting ready for work. They said a notice would be sent to her. In late April, I was out with friends and got back around midnight. Next morning I had work and when I got back there was a 2nd notice on my door. Along with it, a report from the night security saying that there was a complaint at 11 pm for moving furniture around and another one at 2 am for arguing and screaming but that both times when he approached my apartment, all was dark and quiet. I sent a video to management dragging my heavy coffee table to prove that on my carpet it doesn’t make any noise. I told them I’d been asleep and never heard the door at all. Unfortunately they upheld their 2nd notice. Last Thursday the 9th around 11 pm, I was washing my face getting ready to go to bed and I heard a loud knock. It was security, saying there was a noise complaint and asking if I was okay. I told him everything was fine and that I was just getting ready for bed. I asked if it came from downstairs and he said he could not tell me. The next day (5/10/24) I received a final notice to comply or quit. It states that on the 8th and the 10th there were noise complaints from downstairs. Again no time or nature of disturbances. I called management about it because I wasn’t even home on the 8th and had video of me leaving and coming back around 9 pm. I showered and went to sleep for my 7 am shift next day (I work an hour away). My lease was up April 30th, I emailed them twice in that month about lease renewal and management kept saying that corporate had not sent an offer for me and some other residents.
Again I’ve been there for 6 years, got along with the family that lived there before, get along with neighbors around the complex, I’m friendly with my side neighbors and currently there isn’t anyone on the other side of me. According to the property’s website, the apartment I’m at has a monthly rate of $2600, because of the pandemic and how long I’ve been there, I pay $1960 for mine. In the final notice, there’s also this paragraph that I’m not sure I understand too well since I automatically transferred to a month-to-month lease.
“You are further notified that the Owner hereby elects to declare the forfeiture of your Rental Agreement under which you hold possession of the above-described premises. If you fail to perform or otherwise comply, Owner will institute legal proceedings to recover any sums due plus possession of said premises which could result in a judgment against you and all other residents in possession including attorneys' fees and court costs as allowed by law, plus Owner may recover an additional punitive award of six hundred dollars ($600) in accordance with California law for such unlawful detention.”
I’ve always followed the rules, always complied with anything they asked, I genuinely am not doing anything to this family on purpose. But I am at the point where I don’t have company over, I don’t use my living room past 10, I don’t let my dog play with anything or chew on anything at home. My life feels like it is revolving around keeping the people downstairs happy.
Please, I need all of the advice, insight and help I can get. Thank you in advance!

I have three exams in a single day today. I haven't slept. Coffee isn't working anymore. Who tf had the idea to take Chem P2, P5 and Maths P3 on the same fucking day. I'm sleepy as fuck. I have to drive myself to exam hall. I don't know wtf to revise rn. Can't even think straight.

Look at all the feeds related to issues brewing coffee/de-scaling. Starting to think Keurig is a really shitty coffee maker. Had 3 K-Supreme plus’s that maybe lasted a year. Descale never worked, and had to take the machine apart to reset the thermostat. My parents have a Bunn and Mr.Coffee that are 30 years old, and work good as new. ITS A COFFEE MAKER, shouldn’t be that complex! Thought the Germans knew how to built stuff.

New Chapter on every MWF (Monday, Wednesday,Friday)
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Chapter 20: The Storm's Fury
Gribble huddled in the depths of the cave, his heart pounding wildly as the fierce thunderstorm raged outside. The heavy rain and ear-splitting thunder created a scary symphony, unlike anything Gribble had ever heard before. Each booming thunderclap made the cave walls shake, and small rocks fell from the ceiling. Gribble's eyes darted around the small space, looking for any sign of safety, but the storm's anger seemed to fill every nook and cranny. Fear gripped his heart as he worried that the whole hillside might cave in, trapping him alive in the cave. The damp air was thick with the smell of wet dirt and the sharp tang of fear, and Gribble's skin tingled with goosebumps as the temperature dropped. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stay warm and calm his frazzled nerves, but the storm's power only seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.
The shadowy figure stood tall at the mouth of the cave, its form unmoving despite the heavy rain that pounded the outside. Gribble squinted his eyes, trying to figure out what the creature was through the curtain of darkness and the never-ending rain, but the details stayed hidden. The figure's posture was steady and scary, its broad shoulders and muscular build hinting at a tough enemy. Gribble's heart raced as he watched the figure, his mind imagining all sorts of terrifying possibilities. The creature's stillness was creepy, as if it was waiting for just the right moment to attack. A wave of dread washed over Gribble, and he instinctively pressed himself further into the cave's shadows, desperate to avoid being seen. The figure's presence was a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the cave's walls, and Gribble's survival instincts kicked into high gear as he thought about his next move.
A blinding flash of lightning tore through the night sky, filling the cave with an eerie, otherworldly light. For a split second, the creature's identity was revealed, and Gribble's eyes widened in horror as he took in the sight before him. Standing at the cave's entrance was a dark blue Thundercat, its muscular body rippling with power beneath its sleek, electric blue fur. The Thundercat's eyes gleamed with a predatory intensity, reflecting the lightning's flash like two pools of melted gold. Gribble's gaze was drawn to the creature's long, razor-sharp sabertooth fangs, which glinted menacingly in the momentary light. The sight of the Thundercat sent a wave of primal fear rushing through Gribble's veins, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. The stories he had heard of these legendary beasts paled in comparison to the reality that stood before him, and Gribble knew that he was facing a creature of unimaginable strength and ferocity.
Gribble's panic reached a fever pitch, his breath coming in short, labored gasps as he stared at the Thundercat. The tales of these feared creatures flooded his mind – whispers of the electric sparks that danced through their fur, of their immense strength that was said to rival even the most fearsome Owlbear. Gribble's heart pounded against his ribcage, and he could feel the cold sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill in the air. He knew that he was facing a daunting adversary, one that could easily overpower him in a head-on confrontation. The odds of survival seemed to dwindle with each passing second, and Gribble's mind raced as he desperately tried to come up with a plan. The Thundercat's presence loomed over him like a suffocating shadow, and Gribble could feel the weight of its gaze boring into him, even from across the cave. He understood that he must act quickly and decisively if he hoped to escape this encounter with his life.
Reacting on instinct, Gribble called upon his innate power to conjure bean-sized fireballs. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a barrage of the tiny, flaming projectiles hurtling towards the cave entrance, where they burst into brilliant flashes of light upon impact. The fiery assault illuminated the cave, casting dancing shadows on the walls and bathing the Thundercat in an orange glow. The heat from the flames was intense, and Gribble could feel the scorching air brushing against his skin. The fireballs sizzled and crackled as they hit the stone, sending sparks flying in all directions. For a moment, the cave was filled with a dazzling display of light and sound, a stark contrast to the dark, scary storm that raged outside. Gribble's heart pounded with a mixture of fear and excitement as he watched the fireballs explode, hoping that the sudden attack would be enough to distract the Thundercat and give him a chance to escape.
Gribble's mind raced as he sent the fireballs towards the Thundercat, desperately hoping that the sudden attack would give him the distraction he needed to make his escape. He focused his thoughts, tapping into his teleportation powers and trying to picture a safe place outside the cave. However, the tiredness and the fear that gripped his heart made it hard to concentrate. Gribble's brow furrowed as he tried to gather the needed energy, but his body felt heavy and sluggish, as if he was moving through water. The image of the safe haven he sought flickered in his mind's eye, tantalizingly close but just out of reach. Gribble gritted his teeth, pushing himself to the limits of his mental and physical strength as he struggled to keep his focus. The cave seemed to spin around him, and he could feel the cold tendrils of despair creeping into his heart as he realized that his teleportation powers might fail him in this critical moment.
Gribble's heart sank as he watched the Thundercat emerge unharmed from the fiery assault. The creature's electric blue fur crackled with energy, the sparks dancing across its body like tiny bolts of lightning. The Thundercat's eyes blazed with an otherworldly intensity, and it let out a deafening roar that shook the very foundations of the cave. The sound was unlike anything Gribble had ever heard before – a primal, guttural cry that seemed to echo through his very bones. The cave walls trembled, and small rocks and debris rained down from the ceiling, adding to the chaos of the moment. Gribble realized with a sinking feeling that the Thundercat was not only unharmed but enraged by his attack. The creature's muscles rippled beneath its fur as it prepared to charge, and Gribble knew that a battle was now unavoidable. He steeled himself, summoning every ounce of courage and determination he possessed, knowing that he must fight with all his might if he hoped to survive this encounter.
The Thundercat sprang into action, its powerful legs propelling it towards Gribble with a speed that defied belief. The creature moved with a fluid grace, its body a blur of electric blue as it closed the distance between them in mere seconds. Gribble barely had time to react before the Thundercat was upon him, its razor-sharp claws slashing through the air with deadly precision. He threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the initial attack, but the Thundercat's agility was unmatched. The creature pivoted mid-leap, its tail lashing out like a whip and its claws finding purchase on the cave wall as it redirected its momentum. Gribble's heart raced as he realized the true extent of the Thundercat's physical prowess – its reflexes were lightning-fast, and its strength was beyond anything he had ever encountered. The creature's eyes locked onto Gribble, and he could see the predatory gleam within them, the raw hunger for the hunt. Gribble knew that he must keep moving, keep dodging, if he hoped to stay alive long enough to find a way to counter the Thundercat's relentless assault.
Despite the fatigue that weighed heavily upon him, Gribble mustered the last reserves of his energy and called upon his earth vine powers. He focused his mind, reaching out to the cave floor and seeking the dormant life that lay beneath the stone. With a surge of effort, Gribble summoned a single, thick green tendril from the ground, watching as it burst forth and snaked its way towards the Thundercat. The vine wrapped itself around one of the creature's muscular legs, momentarily halting its advance and giving Gribble a fleeting moment of hope. However, the Thundercat's strength was too great, and it easily ripped through the vine with a snarl of annoyance. The severed tendril fell to the cave floor, writhing like a dying snake before going still. Gribble's heart sank as he realized that his earth vine powers, once a reliable ally in battle, were no match for the Thundercat's raw power. The creature's gaze turned back to Gribble, its eyes narrowing with a mixture of anger and predatory anticipation, and he knew that he must find another way to defend himself before it was too late.
Gribble's mind raced as he desperately searched for a way to gain the upper hand against the relentless Thundercat. In a last-ditch effort, he summoned another volley of bean-sized fireballs, pouring every ounce of his remaining energy into the attack. The tiny flames erupted from his fingertips in rapid succession, streaking through the air like miniature comets and striking the Thundercat's fur with sizzling precision. The creature hissed in pain as the fireballs singed its coat, but its anger only seemed to grow with each passing second. Gribble's exhaustion began to take its toll, his movements becoming sluggish and uncoordinated as he struggled to maintain the barrage. His vision blurred, and his limbs felt heavy, as if he was moving through molasses. The Thundercat pressed its advantage, its claws and fangs flashing in the dim light of the cave as it lunged towards Gribble with renewed ferocity. He knew that he could not keep up this pace for much longer, and a sense of despair began to creep into his heart as he realized that his efforts might not be enough to save him from the Thundercat's wrath.
The Thundercat seized the opportunity presented by Gribble's faltering defense, delivering a devastating blow that sent the young adventurer flying across the cave. Gribble felt the air rush from his lungs as he slammed into the unyielding rock wall, his body crumpling to the ground in a heap of pain and exhaustion. Stars danced before his eyes, and he gasped for breath, each inhalation sending shockwaves of agony through his battered frame. Gribble's mind reeled as he tried to assess the extent of his injuries, but the pain was too great, too all-consuming. He could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth, and he knew that he was badly hurt. The Thundercat's shadow fell over him, and Gribble looked up to see the creature looming above, its eyes glinting with a mixture of triumph and bloodlust. He tried to move, to crawl away, but his body refused to cooperate, and he collapsed back to the ground, his strength utterly spent. Gribble's heart pounded with the realization that he might not survive this encounter, and a cold sense of dread settled in the pit of his stomach.
Gribble lay broken and helpless on the cave floor, his vision swimming as he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness. The Thundercat stood over him, its electric blue fur crackling with energy as it prepared to deliver the final, fatal blow. Gribble's mind raced, desperately searching for a way out, for some last-minute miracle that could save him from this dire fate. He tried to summon his powers, to call upon the earth or conjure another fireball, but his body was too weak, too battered to respond. The Thundercat's eyes bore into him, and Gribble could see the raw, primal hunger that burned within them – the desire to end his life and claim victory. His heart hammered in his chest, and he could feel the cold tendrils of fear wrapping around his soul as he stared death in the face.
Would he find a way to overcome the Thundercat, or would his journey come to a tragic end in the depths of the cave? The fate of the young goblin hung in the balance, and only time would tell if he had the strength and cunning to emerge victorious.

I’m trying to make stickers to go on single use plastic iced coffee cups for a local small coffee shop in my area (about 500 stickers a week). I started out trying them on printable vinyl and laminating them so the condensation didn’t smear the ink, but my lamination comes out streaky no matter how careful and precise I am. I’ve tried both self adhesive and thermal laminate, the thermal laminate came out almost cloudy looking?? And the sticker logos are all black with white lettering on them so the amount of ink I was using with my regular printer was insane.
Then I tried sublimating them on sublimation sticker paper and those came out REALLY good, and they cut perfectly for the first 3 sheets I did. Then they started cutting completely off the sticker, like not even close to being accurate. I recalibrated the cricut and it’s still way off. I need recommendations on how to either get my cricut to cut correctly again or the best cost effective printers to use for large ink usage and tips for how to get my lamination to turn out correctly. I’m wasting so much money on material at this point

Hi guys,
I recently got a Keurig for free, but I don’t really drink coffee. I’d love it try it again, but I’ve never enjoyed it.
I am excited to try some of the other options though. I hear cider is pretty good and that they have hot chocolate. What are some of the best tasting brands and options out there? I think I’ve heard of lemonades existing, but couldn’t find much on it.
Any response is appreciated. Thanks!

If a female said 'we should get go out some time and i'll get you a drink' would that ever be interpreted as anything besides a date?
I had a partner on a uni assignment and I couldn't tell if he was into me. He bought me coffee and a brownie once and taking the opportunity I said that back... I'm also like 80% sure I was blushing and was pretty coy about it. He seemed pretty keen on the idea but there was no other real signs -- everything was very friendly, almost chummy even after.
I'm wondering if a male would ever interpret this as just two acquaintances going out for a drink, or if it is more like a date? I mean the circumstances -- we aren't friends, it'll just be us two, we're both straight and (I think) single (side note: if a guy hasn't mentioned he has a girlfriend in three weeks of knowing him should I assume he's single) -- idk, I'm prolly thinking too much into this.

If you're a Keurig user, Staples is having a sale right now on 44 ct. k-cups for only $19.99 and shipping is free. Usually, it's around $30 at the grocery store to get a 44 ct. box.
https://www.staples.com/dunkin-original-blend-coffee-keurig-k-cup-pods-medium-roast-44-box-006933/product_2091512
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