Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Economics, Nisi style
Hmmm, the $12 I forked over on a cab to haul my hungover ass to work could have bought another $12 bottle of Jim Beam.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
protein power plate!
IM with my coworker-
Me: i'm making a *$ run, want anything? i'll buy you some coffee or a pastry like substance
dude at office: pastry like substance, wow, you would make a great waitress
dude at office: I'll have a slack-roissant!
Me: chocolate or apathy flavored?
dude at office: emo please? can I have a buttered rickroll?
Me: i'm making a *$ run, want anything? i'll buy you some coffee or a pastry like substance
dude at office: pastry like substance, wow, you would make a great waitress
dude at office: I'll have a slack-roissant!
Me: chocolate or apathy flavored?
dude at office: emo please? can I have a buttered rickroll?
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
The day I've always waited for....
Since I was a child, I was never fixated on my wedding day, or the day I'd get my first period, or lose my virginity, or the day of my death. While I suspected that all of those things were inevitible, I knew something else was- the odds of being crapped on by a bird.
I am oddly giddy to announce that today, Tuesday, November 18th, I noticed a dollop of hunter green bird shit on the shoulder of my black shirt. I was walking to work, a mere two blocks from my door, when I noticed it. Luckily I had tissues in my bag, so I was able to get rid of most of it. Alas, reminants are there, and I can't stop staring at my shoulder.
Mazeltov!
I am oddly giddy to announce that today, Tuesday, November 18th, I noticed a dollop of hunter green bird shit on the shoulder of my black shirt. I was walking to work, a mere two blocks from my door, when I noticed it. Luckily I had tissues in my bag, so I was able to get rid of most of it. Alas, reminants are there, and I can't stop staring at my shoulder.
Mazeltov!
Sunday, November 16, 2008
schmoozing...
I think I've perfected my method of making things happen for my clients-
1. call the restaurant/hotel/spa, etc
2. act as if i've already been confirmed/told something
3. mention that my client is a major VIP for a huge company
4. get panicky because I am sooooo about to lose my job.
5. wait for hostess to take sympathy on me and transfer me to a manager.
6. Flirt with reckless abandon with a male manager, upping the damsel in distress routine to epic proportions. "Oh my god, you are such a sweetheart! You just saved me my job!" is quite effective. Kiss the ass of a female manager, thanking her profusely for taking time out of her busy day.
7. call my client, unleash my magic on their asses. Attribute it to my powers of persuasion when it comes to such an important client.
8. go home, take an extra long shower to clean off the deceit.
1. call the restaurant/hotel/spa, etc
2. act as if i've already been confirmed/told something
3. mention that my client is a major VIP for a huge company
4. get panicky because I am sooooo about to lose my job.
5. wait for hostess to take sympathy on me and transfer me to a manager.
6. Flirt with reckless abandon with a male manager, upping the damsel in distress routine to epic proportions. "Oh my god, you are such a sweetheart! You just saved me my job!" is quite effective. Kiss the ass of a female manager, thanking her profusely for taking time out of her busy day.
7. call my client, unleash my magic on their asses. Attribute it to my powers of persuasion when it comes to such an important client.
8. go home, take an extra long shower to clean off the deceit.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Get thee to the suburbs...or the nunnery
So word on the street is that the back patio at Lucky 13 is closing at 11pm nowadays because the neighbors are having a shitfit about the noise. Mind you, Lucky 13 is located right off of Church and Market, a buzzing area sandwiched between the castro and mission. My favorite bar, the Gold Cane, is getting more and more adament about shutting down their famous, smoker-friendly back patio around 11pm on weekends because a lawyer neighbor is threatening legal action.
Where are we, Palo Alto?
Uptight people.....you've always been on my shit list. I have no problem with those of you who reside in your compulsively clean gated communities, going weeks without seeing a lick of graffiti, or a bum, or anything that may slightly inconvenience your robotic life. But what the fuck was going through your head when you decided on your apartment in a notoriously hectic San Francisco neighborhood?
There is a certain checklist that even the most irresponsible and oblivious of potential tenant would go through- they scan their neighborhood. Are you trying to say that you didn't do recon work and notice- hmmmm, I love those granite countertops but that bar next door may disrupt my beauty sleep.
If you're old enough to live on your own, you should be self aware enough to know what does and doesn't work for you and your precious need for quiet. I personally would LOVE to live next to a bar in an area like Duboce Triangle or Haight....but I have a very high threshold for noise. My close friends live immediately above (like floor vibrating above) a bar on Haight Street and they simply adapted because they knew what they were getting themselves into. It also doesn't hurt that they think the idea is kind of fun- the view from their window provides hours of entertainment.
Once upon a time people came to this city because of its reputation, not for 5am yoga and haute brunches. SF was and should still be a place that caters to the alkies, the insomniacs, the social butterflies, the adventurers. That San Francisco has the catalyst for such perfect bouts of euphoria experienced by yours truly, don't ruin this for us.
Where are we, Palo Alto?
Uptight people.....you've always been on my shit list. I have no problem with those of you who reside in your compulsively clean gated communities, going weeks without seeing a lick of graffiti, or a bum, or anything that may slightly inconvenience your robotic life. But what the fuck was going through your head when you decided on your apartment in a notoriously hectic San Francisco neighborhood?
There is a certain checklist that even the most irresponsible and oblivious of potential tenant would go through- they scan their neighborhood. Are you trying to say that you didn't do recon work and notice- hmmmm, I love those granite countertops but that bar next door may disrupt my beauty sleep.
If you're old enough to live on your own, you should be self aware enough to know what does and doesn't work for you and your precious need for quiet. I personally would LOVE to live next to a bar in an area like Duboce Triangle or Haight....but I have a very high threshold for noise. My close friends live immediately above (like floor vibrating above) a bar on Haight Street and they simply adapted because they knew what they were getting themselves into. It also doesn't hurt that they think the idea is kind of fun- the view from their window provides hours of entertainment.
Once upon a time people came to this city because of its reputation, not for 5am yoga and haute brunches. SF was and should still be a place that caters to the alkies, the insomniacs, the social butterflies, the adventurers. That San Francisco has the catalyst for such perfect bouts of euphoria experienced by yours truly, don't ruin this for us.
Monday, November 10, 2008
NaNoWriMo and the death of coincidences
It seems like National Novel Writing Month rears its ugly peer-pressurey head into my orbit with increasing force every year. I recieved three emails from friends to the tune of "dude, you have got to get on this shit!"
I did it about three years ago. It is a consuming, horrid, addictive affair. I ended up with 70,000 words but I did so via willing alienation from my friends and complete rejection of my school work. And the novel? A piece of shit whose only value would be to expedite the workings of a compost bin. Don't really remember what it was about- I lost the thing in the great Chicken Soup Computer Takedown of 2005 (never forget!).
Alot of people say that the time constraints help with writers block and get the ideas flowing- after all, they are not being held to any kind of standard for a good story because they only had a month to write it.
Cracker, please.
You're writing a novel, not raising funds for a goodamn cancer research 10k. Time is not money. To me, rushing a novel is like aiming for a quickie on the first date with your soulmate. There is nothing more exciting than letting plot points just come to you- while commuting, as you get your groove on, in the shower, in the frozen foods section of trader joes- on their terms, when they're damn well ready.
There's a dualism to all of this- every writer is influenced by the shit around them. This is a fact. Some writers are better at tweaking/ignoring this than others, but I cannot tell you how much badassery I have come up with because of what I have witnessed on the streets of San Francisco. And then somewhow the imaginary voice/world in my head decides on how this can be used to continue the plot. Sometimes its the actual occurence (ie- a tap dancing nun) and other times its the mystery of this occurence (perhaps this nun had an offer at juilliard....I wonder why she didn't take it. Hmmm, maybe she's masochistic. Hmmm, maybe my villian is as well.....) And what is the plot but a series of happy accidents? That's life, isn't it? Nobody can plan their futures and therefore, how are we to fully plan our novels?
If I'm right about this.....what is your atmosphere going to be like in this hurried novel? A sea of black turtlenecks chugging espressos in a cafe-meetup scenario. Sounds self indulgent to me. You may as well write a book about writing a book. Unless you're Charlie Kaufman, I think you should take your time and take the party outside.
I did it about three years ago. It is a consuming, horrid, addictive affair. I ended up with 70,000 words but I did so via willing alienation from my friends and complete rejection of my school work. And the novel? A piece of shit whose only value would be to expedite the workings of a compost bin. Don't really remember what it was about- I lost the thing in the great Chicken Soup Computer Takedown of 2005 (never forget!).
Alot of people say that the time constraints help with writers block and get the ideas flowing- after all, they are not being held to any kind of standard for a good story because they only had a month to write it.
Cracker, please.
You're writing a novel, not raising funds for a goodamn cancer research 10k. Time is not money. To me, rushing a novel is like aiming for a quickie on the first date with your soulmate. There is nothing more exciting than letting plot points just come to you- while commuting, as you get your groove on, in the shower, in the frozen foods section of trader joes- on their terms, when they're damn well ready.
There's a dualism to all of this- every writer is influenced by the shit around them. This is a fact. Some writers are better at tweaking/ignoring this than others, but I cannot tell you how much badassery I have come up with because of what I have witnessed on the streets of San Francisco. And then somewhow the imaginary voice/world in my head decides on how this can be used to continue the plot. Sometimes its the actual occurence (ie- a tap dancing nun) and other times its the mystery of this occurence (perhaps this nun had an offer at juilliard....I wonder why she didn't take it. Hmmm, maybe she's masochistic. Hmmm, maybe my villian is as well.....) And what is the plot but a series of happy accidents? That's life, isn't it? Nobody can plan their futures and therefore, how are we to fully plan our novels?
If I'm right about this.....what is your atmosphere going to be like in this hurried novel? A sea of black turtlenecks chugging espressos in a cafe-meetup scenario. Sounds self indulgent to me. You may as well write a book about writing a book. Unless you're Charlie Kaufman, I think you should take your time and take the party outside.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
don't mean to sound like a bitch....
Buuuut, if you're trying to come off as a high roller and, for some ungodly reason, impress a person who makes travel/dinner/entertainment/party plans for the general population for a living, please consider the following:
1. If your US weekly or daily E! fix has informed you that some starlette puked on her assistant at some up and coming club, please assume that very few celebrities will show their face in this joint again and have already moved onto another spot. This will not stop the venue from attracting the models-and-bottles douche set. While your friends may ooooh and aaah with your tales of $350 bottles of goose, please be aware that your attempt at joining the name dropping world garnered you a b (maybe b+ if you're from a small town) in the grand scheme of things.
p.s., while constantly mentioning on the phone to me that you are a doctor will not hurt your chances with the club, they will most certainly not inspire me to beg and plead with the club/restaurant/hotel. Do you really think you'll be the only doctor in the joint? Are you willing to offer your medical expertise should someone overdose? That is the only scenario where I can imagine your oh so exclusive title giving you an advantage over all the other hard working folk.
2. Learn how to pronounce things in foreign languages....particularly food. A basic grasp of the general sound of the assorted romance languages should do you right. You don't need to use a phony accent, but be sure to articulate the proper sound and structure. You can spend all the money in the world on some foie gras for your table and still manage to look like a peasant if you botch the pronounciation. Now, attempting to appear civilized by gobbling the liver of a forcefed creature is another lecture, meant for another time.
le disclaimer- I should mention that I personally do not advocate all of this fancy hoity toity shit. I much prefer dive bars to lounges. With that said, I can understand why some embark on the hobby of flashiness and I make a living from coordnating this kind of thing......so keep on being fabulous. And I like doing what I do, it's a blast to live vicariously through other's travel/leisure plans! I just feel like unleashing a rant directed at those who have gotten a little out of touch with reality. And obviously, anybody who would even bother to read my ponderings is obviously of the joe 40oz mentality anyways. (fuck six packs!)
3. You cant have it both ways. I understand why you don't want to spend $1,000 on a chanel clutch. But I do not understand why you expect to be treated as if you are at the chanel store as you browse canal street.
4. You want front row or other primo seating for concerts at face value? Just think about the logistics of that. Think about capitalism. Yeah, very unlikely. And if you're not a huge fan, don't just go for front row tickets because you think it will impress your date and secure some kinda post encore performance of your own. There's nothing worse than being at a concert of a band that you adore and watching some douchnozzles in the front row texting and nodding off mid-performance.
5. If you want the best room or the best table in the house, you have to give me a reason. We need to know what makes you sooooo special. If you can assure me (and the restaurant) that you are willing to try two bottles of whatever they're trying to move from their shelves......I've got something to bargain with. And if you want to bullshit an anniversary or birthday, fine. But please consider the fact that maybe, just maybe, you are grabbing a spot that could be used by somebody who *is* indeed celebrating something.
Because....really....what the hell makes you think you're so goddamned special? You are not the only paying customer....often times, you're the dude or lady who is arguing about the bill and shorting the staff on tips. And yet, somehow you insist on having the best of everything. Did your parents give you too much positive reinforcement, or teach you that you never have to wait your turn? What is there to look forward to if you insist on always going for the best?
6. Put things into perspective. Be grateful that you are doing what you're doing and consider how many people in this world will never get the chance to eat such an establishment, or go on such a trip. Learn to roll with the punches. And don't you fucking dare call me to say that your wife is crying hysterically because the host just informed you that it will be an additional 15 minute wait for your table. Need I remind you that we're at war?
I've had a half a dozen people call to inform me that their trip is ruined because they only have a partial ocean view instead of a full on view- mind you, most of them booked their rooms at heavily discounted rates, which means that they are to recieve whatever room is available. Don't get me wrong, if you get screwed over while paying top price, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you get what you were promised. But with a good rate comes a few concessions, please understand that.
Ahem, to conclude this know-it-all rant-
You want to be classy? Be humble. Treat your fellow patrons and the staff with respect and appreciation. Have fun. Pick things that are based off of your needs, your preferences, your taste. Learn to name drop with some subtlety. Keep your bearings in any situation. And PLEASE avoid cliches!
1. If your US weekly or daily E! fix has informed you that some starlette puked on her assistant at some up and coming club, please assume that very few celebrities will show their face in this joint again and have already moved onto another spot. This will not stop the venue from attracting the models-and-bottles douche set. While your friends may ooooh and aaah with your tales of $350 bottles of goose, please be aware that your attempt at joining the name dropping world garnered you a b (maybe b+ if you're from a small town) in the grand scheme of things.
p.s., while constantly mentioning on the phone to me that you are a doctor will not hurt your chances with the club, they will most certainly not inspire me to beg and plead with the club/restaurant/hotel. Do you really think you'll be the only doctor in the joint? Are you willing to offer your medical expertise should someone overdose? That is the only scenario where I can imagine your oh so exclusive title giving you an advantage over all the other hard working folk.
2. Learn how to pronounce things in foreign languages....particularly food. A basic grasp of the general sound of the assorted romance languages should do you right. You don't need to use a phony accent, but be sure to articulate the proper sound and structure. You can spend all the money in the world on some foie gras for your table and still manage to look like a peasant if you botch the pronounciation. Now, attempting to appear civilized by gobbling the liver of a forcefed creature is another lecture, meant for another time.
le disclaimer- I should mention that I personally do not advocate all of this fancy hoity toity shit. I much prefer dive bars to lounges. With that said, I can understand why some embark on the hobby of flashiness and I make a living from coordnating this kind of thing......so keep on being fabulous. And I like doing what I do, it's a blast to live vicariously through other's travel/leisure plans! I just feel like unleashing a rant directed at those who have gotten a little out of touch with reality. And obviously, anybody who would even bother to read my ponderings is obviously of the joe 40oz mentality anyways. (fuck six packs!)
3. You cant have it both ways. I understand why you don't want to spend $1,000 on a chanel clutch. But I do not understand why you expect to be treated as if you are at the chanel store as you browse canal street.
4. You want front row or other primo seating for concerts at face value? Just think about the logistics of that. Think about capitalism. Yeah, very unlikely. And if you're not a huge fan, don't just go for front row tickets because you think it will impress your date and secure some kinda post encore performance of your own. There's nothing worse than being at a concert of a band that you adore and watching some douchnozzles in the front row texting and nodding off mid-performance.
5. If you want the best room or the best table in the house, you have to give me a reason. We need to know what makes you sooooo special. If you can assure me (and the restaurant) that you are willing to try two bottles of whatever they're trying to move from their shelves......I've got something to bargain with. And if you want to bullshit an anniversary or birthday, fine. But please consider the fact that maybe, just maybe, you are grabbing a spot that could be used by somebody who *is* indeed celebrating something.
Because....really....what the hell makes you think you're so goddamned special? You are not the only paying customer....often times, you're the dude or lady who is arguing about the bill and shorting the staff on tips. And yet, somehow you insist on having the best of everything. Did your parents give you too much positive reinforcement, or teach you that you never have to wait your turn? What is there to look forward to if you insist on always going for the best?
6. Put things into perspective. Be grateful that you are doing what you're doing and consider how many people in this world will never get the chance to eat such an establishment, or go on such a trip. Learn to roll with the punches. And don't you fucking dare call me to say that your wife is crying hysterically because the host just informed you that it will be an additional 15 minute wait for your table. Need I remind you that we're at war?
I've had a half a dozen people call to inform me that their trip is ruined because they only have a partial ocean view instead of a full on view- mind you, most of them booked their rooms at heavily discounted rates, which means that they are to recieve whatever room is available. Don't get me wrong, if you get screwed over while paying top price, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you get what you were promised. But with a good rate comes a few concessions, please understand that.
Ahem, to conclude this know-it-all rant-
You want to be classy? Be humble. Treat your fellow patrons and the staff with respect and appreciation. Have fun. Pick things that are based off of your needs, your preferences, your taste. Learn to name drop with some subtlety. Keep your bearings in any situation. And PLEASE avoid cliches!
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
I see how it is, David Plouffe....
Would it kill him to write me an email that simply asks me how I'm doing? I get the feeling him and his friend Barack are only after my $10 a month gift.
For instance, last night I woke to the sounds of pebbles hitting my window. I trudged out of bed to look outside, only to see David looking haggard and stressed.
Nisi, He said, I am so happy to see you. I'm here, at three a.m., to share with you an alarming situation in our country today. You see, in July a focus group made of bookies released a statement that encouraged the American People (tm) to place bets on a young stallion named Dolemite for this years Breeder's Cup. Ordinary Americans like you and me took this as encouragement to place their hard earned dollars on Dolemite-
David, I interrupted, I'm not a gambler.
Which is good! He affirmed. You are correct to not want to gamble away your right to health care, a college education, and a decent wage for eight more years of the same corrupt bookie administration. I'd like to tell you about a man named Dave- he is a hard working grassroots organizer who took for granted what the powers that be told him was a sure bet. Little did Dave know that these "powers that be" were not out to serve his best interests. No no, they were Las Vegas fatcats who took advantage of Dave's yearning for a 16-1 odds payoff. Dave now feels betrayed...he's turning into a cynic- he is also rather concerned with the Bookie's policy of leg separation should he not come through with their "loser tax".
Can you take a stand against these pork barrell methods and help restore Dave's sense of hope by donating $25 today to Barack Obama's campaign? Might I also mention that checks are environmentally wasteful, but cash would suffice as it is a renewable resource.
For instance, last night I woke to the sounds of pebbles hitting my window. I trudged out of bed to look outside, only to see David looking haggard and stressed.
Nisi, He said, I am so happy to see you. I'm here, at three a.m., to share with you an alarming situation in our country today. You see, in July a focus group made of bookies released a statement that encouraged the American People (tm) to place bets on a young stallion named Dolemite for this years Breeder's Cup. Ordinary Americans like you and me took this as encouragement to place their hard earned dollars on Dolemite-
David, I interrupted, I'm not a gambler.
Which is good! He affirmed. You are correct to not want to gamble away your right to health care, a college education, and a decent wage for eight more years of the same corrupt bookie administration. I'd like to tell you about a man named Dave- he is a hard working grassroots organizer who took for granted what the powers that be told him was a sure bet. Little did Dave know that these "powers that be" were not out to serve his best interests. No no, they were Las Vegas fatcats who took advantage of Dave's yearning for a 16-1 odds payoff. Dave now feels betrayed...he's turning into a cynic- he is also rather concerned with the Bookie's policy of leg separation should he not come through with their "loser tax".
Can you take a stand against these pork barrell methods and help restore Dave's sense of hope by donating $25 today to Barack Obama's campaign? Might I also mention that checks are environmentally wasteful, but cash would suffice as it is a renewable resource.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
All aboard the pixie express....
Yet again, I have chopped off a sizeable chunk of my hair and am quite satisfied with the results. I have enough length to pull off a haphazardly chaotic fro and enough different layers to comb it all forward for a very short pageboy.
And sure enough, I have recieved the following gendered reactions-
Ladies-
Omigosh, it's so CUTE (key-ooo-te)!
I wish I could go that short!
It suits you so well!
Good for you!
Gentlemen-
Oh, wow, you chopped off your hair.
That's nice....good for the summertime, I guess.
Nice do. (from gay men)
I'm not saying I don't like it, I'm just saying that I need to get used to it... (one person in particular)
Someone, either a comedian or somebody I actually know, once went on a diatribe about men's and women's attitudes towards boyishly short hair on women. It's common knowledge that most men prefer long hair. That's fine. I happen to think that most people look better with hair above their shoulders- there's such little versatility in having a bunch of strait pieces of hair taper to one's mid-back.
With that said, apparently women take a passive aggressive, sneaky bitch approach when it comes to the art of the coif compliment. Where, as is so often the case with the fairer sex, what they say and what they mean are two very different things...
what they say-
It's so cute! It really brings out your face, so daring!
what they mean-
BWAHAHAHAHAHA, you dumb bitch! No man will want your lesbo ass now, more for meeee! Why on earth would you want to draw attention to your face???
Now is this really the case? I can't say for sure. Somehow I'm going to give the gals the benefit of the doubt here and maybe just assume that many of them have been tempted to go short at one time or another and just haven't been able to do it for whatever reason- insecurity, culture, massochistic pleasure in spending 30 minutes a day with a blowdryer and curling iron.... therefore when one of us goes into don't-give-a-flying-fuck mode, we are genuinely happy for one another.
Women taking pleasure in each other's successes? I've gone mad with optimism. But I do know that I really do look better, as I always do when I lose the battle against growing out my hair.
And sure enough, I have recieved the following gendered reactions-
Ladies-
Omigosh, it's so CUTE (key-ooo-te)!
I wish I could go that short!
It suits you so well!
Good for you!
Gentlemen-
Oh, wow, you chopped off your hair.
That's nice....good for the summertime, I guess.
Nice do. (from gay men)
I'm not saying I don't like it, I'm just saying that I need to get used to it... (one person in particular)
Someone, either a comedian or somebody I actually know, once went on a diatribe about men's and women's attitudes towards boyishly short hair on women. It's common knowledge that most men prefer long hair. That's fine. I happen to think that most people look better with hair above their shoulders- there's such little versatility in having a bunch of strait pieces of hair taper to one's mid-back.
With that said, apparently women take a passive aggressive, sneaky bitch approach when it comes to the art of the coif compliment. Where, as is so often the case with the fairer sex, what they say and what they mean are two very different things...
what they say-
It's so cute! It really brings out your face, so daring!
what they mean-
BWAHAHAHAHAHA, you dumb bitch! No man will want your lesbo ass now, more for meeee! Why on earth would you want to draw attention to your face???
Now is this really the case? I can't say for sure. Somehow I'm going to give the gals the benefit of the doubt here and maybe just assume that many of them have been tempted to go short at one time or another and just haven't been able to do it for whatever reason- insecurity, culture, massochistic pleasure in spending 30 minutes a day with a blowdryer and curling iron.... therefore when one of us goes into don't-give-a-flying-fuck mode, we are genuinely happy for one another.
Women taking pleasure in each other's successes? I've gone mad with optimism. But I do know that I really do look better, as I always do when I lose the battle against growing out my hair.
BTW-
I wanted to take a picture but apparently my camera decided to travel to the big e-waste dump in the sky. Here's my cut on Winona, who can do a much better job convincing the masses that short = sexy -
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
"In Summer, the Song Sings Itself" William Carlos Williams
I’m not really a fan of randomly inserting quotes into life but I am a fan of simultaneous multiple coincidences. For instance- as I waited in the elevator during my lunch break, a lovely song popped into my iPod called “It’s Summertime” and I thought about putting together a blog about the epic summer I’ve been having. I then thought about comparing my summer to the assorted verses of Whitman, particularly of course, how I’ve seemed to have established my own “Song of Self” and it was during this train of thought when the little elevator television (which I will admit to being quite a fan of) generated the above quote.
There will be no school to return to this fall, all I have to look forward to a lightened work load as a result of the seasonal (as well as economic) decline in Travel and that’s just dandy with me. I’m just now starting to comprehend my life without schooling and I must say that the freedom of not belonging to an educational and social institution suits me.
Come to think of it- I’m not even going to bother with some grand ponderings. Allow me to just say that this has been a crazy fucking summer. Non-stop events, interesting friendships budding, a near-complete overhaul of most of the things I’ve been used to.
About fucking time.
There will be no school to return to this fall, all I have to look forward to a lightened work load as a result of the seasonal (as well as economic) decline in Travel and that’s just dandy with me. I’m just now starting to comprehend my life without schooling and I must say that the freedom of not belonging to an educational and social institution suits me.
Come to think of it- I’m not even going to bother with some grand ponderings. Allow me to just say that this has been a crazy fucking summer. Non-stop events, interesting friendships budding, a near-complete overhaul of most of the things I’ve been used to.
About fucking time.
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