I'm sitting at the airport on a Sunday morning waiting for my flight to Las Vegas for the now-annual pilgrimage to the NamesCon conference. A few years ago, Vegas was one of my "bucket list" places one of those iconic cities that one should visit at least once in their life. For me, once was enough. This is now my 4th (I think?) trip to Vegas, and while the city has a lot to offer, it's just not my cup of tea. For one thing, I'm not a gambler, like at all. I don't have anything against it, I just don't enjoy it. It either feels pointless or stressful to me. The city itself makes me a little sad in some cases, it reeks of desperation. Last time I was there, my cab driver entertained me with stories of how she was working 3 jobs to save up enough to join some mega-massive bingo game. She won a small jackpot a few years back and that allowed her to work only one job for a few months. She was hoping to win again so she could cut back to 1 or 2 jobs. I wondered how many people do similar things gambling their money away, in big or small chunks, in the hopes of that big score and in the process, putting themselves in a not-great financial situation. I suppose as long it makes them happy, then it's all OK, but I can't help but think someone like my cab driver might be happier overall if she only worked 1 job instead of 3, instead of working extra jobs to save up money to gamble her way to financial freedom. But that's for her to decide, not me. The juxtaposition of extreme and in-your-face wealth and the homeless people on the Strip also makes me sad. It's difficult to see people begging for food and sleeping on the street while all around you, millions of dollars are poured into creating a massive playground with every type of indulgence possible. But I'm the first to say that I've enjoyed staying in some of the nicer hotel properties there and eating several excellent meals at some of the finer restaurants in the area, so I'm not exactly helping to solve the problem. When did the author sit at the airport waiting to go to Las Vegas? A. on a Thursday B. not enough information C. on a Friday D. on a Sunday
D

I will never own a Chanel suit. It is unlikely that I will ever own a (genuine) Chanel handbag. However, a Chanel nail polish was definitely attainable. Whilst they are ridiculously expensive compared with most other nail polishes ($AU39), they are still much more affordable than the $AU1,000,000,000 a handbag costs (or so I estimate as I have never actually priced one). After seeing swatches of Peridot online, I knew that baby would one day be mine. The other two polishes in the collection - Quartz and Graphite - did not excite me the way Peridot did. That was until I read this review of Graphite on the Polish Police. Suddenly, Graphite was on my radar. It was stuck in my head like an ear worm; another baby, soon to be adopted. I argued with myself for about a month on whether to get these polishes or not. Could I really spend nearly $80 on nail polish. It did seem rather excessive to me. Then, Myers sent me a $10 voucher for my birthday and I got a $30 voucher for doing a survey so the decision was made. For $38 of my own money (less than the cost of two OPI's!) I became the proud owner of Peridot and Graphite. Here is my review of Graphite. Graphite is the most stunningly intriguing nail polish I have ever owned. In the bottle it looks a little bit dull and boring - grey and bland. But on the nail it is completely different. In some lights it is silvery, others a more gun metal grey, and in others it has almost a goldish tone to it. It is super sparkly, yet is not a glitter polish - though in saying that it appears more glitter than shimmer. It is quite opaque. Two coats and you can't see the nail line. In the photos below I have actually applied three coats (plus an addition two top coats of clear) because I was going to a wedding and I wanted it to be perfect. But ordinarily two would be sufficient. Who most likely purchased the nail polish? A. A Sephora customer B. not enough information C. A Luis Vuitton customer D. A Chanel customer
D

Greg said goodbye to his last student at 8:15 PM, locked up the studio, and got into his car. He always looked forward to his evening rendezvous with Bonnie--his nickname for the Bonneville. He liked to put her top down, and drive her around town in the moonlight. Their route varied from night to night, but the ultimate destination was never in question. "May I help you?" The worn-out speaker was crackly, but he still recognized the particularly twangy East Texas voice of Fontana Fry. Over his six years of vocal training, he had become acutely aware of accents. This is true of all classically trained singers. Great emphasis is placed on precise pronunciation and enunciation. It is mandatory that the singer's repertoire include works written in English, Latin, Italian, German, and French. So, by the time Greg finished his graduate degree, his accent had been all but eliminated. He sounded somewhat like a network news anchor instead of an East Texan. "I would like a large--" "--a large dipped cone, the usual. Right?" The Dairy Queen drive-thru ordering station was located out in front of the restaurant, on the right side. He looked up, and saw the 19 year-old waving at him. She looked so cute in her little Dairy Queen outfit. Fontana was in her first year at Kilgore College. She planned to be an elementary teacher. He knew she would be a good one. Greg had met Fontana a few months earlier when she brought her 13-year-old brother to the studio to enroll for guitar lessons. The boy was holding a U.S. made, 1968 Harmony acoustic guitar his uncle gave him. The body and the frets were badly worn, but the instrument still played beautifully. It looked somewhat like a large violin, with arched top and f-holes. That shape produces a more mellow sound than flattops. And the guitar's age contributed additional warmth to the tone. What is Greg's specialty? A. Flattop B. not enough information C. Violin D. Guitar
D