Ladies flashing under a bridge

[Boyager]

I've gotten into that moody nearly lucid dream swing, where everything's golden and waking up's a chore. So this morning, amid a few dozen well placed "fuck this's", I got up and ignored the pot of drunk coffee I brewed the night before and headed out the door.  This comes in phases. Like the moon.

I had shit to do. You know. Shit. Like, responsible stuff.

I was on a mission to deliver a time sensitive package and some mail. Or some time sensitive mail and a package. One of the two.

I was listed as a character reference for a friend of mine and I somehow beat my procrastination laden  itch and got the letter in the mail the next day. Pat on the back, Boog. Pat on the back, motherfucker. Pat on the back, you magnificent character reference.

So, as long as I was out doing the things I should be doing but dreaded to do on my one day off for two weeks, I headed out to the store for some serious grocery shopping, because every good story begins and ends at the grocery store. Every single goddamned one. Except this one, which is just a total recall of the mundane sludge I do.

I had everything I needed, which included the rare case of beer, a reward for my too many days without a single day off and I headed towards the self pay counter, seeing as everything else was packed with single mothers toting small children and enough groceries to feed a fledgling young colony. Maybe not an American colony (because american's are so fat, hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahaha) but you get the picture image idea.

And then, as I was checking myself out, I realized I couldn't buy beer using those self check things. I was pushed back to the end of a line behind a middleaged woman on the verge of something.

And then, right before my turn, the lane next to me opened up and the latecomers flocked and got served first.

And then, as I scrambled through my wallet, I realized my driver's license was sitting on my desk at home so my abnormally large brick of alcoholic beverage was recalled over the loudspeaker and I was shunned as another underage clown looking to score some booze for the upcoming weekend.

And then I found myself at the bar with a few friends and feeling horribly out of place and depressed because these bronze toned blonde haired drunk douchebags were being the biggest assholes to the bartender that I almost said something but held my tongue because I didn't want to start something. The last time I started something, it ended in me having to outrun a pickup truck full of repressed and angry bastards that probably would have tried to cut out some of my organs if given the chance. I might not be kidding.

Some days, living as a white, middle class-but-not-necessarily-struggling caucasion 22 year old male with tuition debt feels like an orphan in Africa. The constitution gives me the right to complain.


And I love the hell out of it!

[Boyager]

I've gotten into that moody nearly lucid dream swing, where everything's golden and waking up's a chore. So this morning, amid a few dozen well placed "fuck this's", I got up and ignored the pot of drunk coffee I brewed the night before and headed out the door.  This comes in phases. Like the moon.

I had shit to do. You know. Shit. Like, responsible stuff.

I was on a mission to deliver a time sensitive package and some mail. Or some time sensitive mail and a package. One of the two.

I was listed as a character reference for a friend of mine and I somehow beat my procrastination laden  itch and got the letter in the mail the next day. Pat on the back, Boog. Pat on the back, motherfucker. Pat on the back, you magnificent character reference.

So, as long as I was out doing the things I should be doing but dreaded to do on my one day off for two weeks, I headed out to the store for some serious grocery shopping, because every good story begins and ends at the grocery store. Every single goddamned one. Except this one, which is just a total recall of the mundane sludge I do.

I had everything I needed, which included the rare case of beer, a reward for my too many days without a single day off and I headed towards the self pay counter, seeing as everything else was packed with single mothers toting small children and enough groceries to feed a fledgling young colony. Maybe not an American colony (because american's are so fat, hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahaha) but you get the picture image idea.

And then, as I was checking myself out, I realized I couldn't buy beer using those self check things. I was pushed back to the end of a line behind a middleaged woman on the verge of something.

And then, right before my turn, the lane next to me opened up and the latecomers flocked and got served first.

And then, as I scrambled through my wallet, I realized my driver's license was sitting on my desk at home so my abnormally large brick of alcoholic beverage was recalled over the loudspeaker and I was shunned as another underage clown looking to score some booze for the upcoming weekend.

And then I found myself at the bar with a few friends and feeling horribly out of place and depressed because these bronze toned blonde haired drunk douchebags were being the biggest assholes to the bartender that I almost said something but held my tongue because I didn't want to start something. The last time I started something, it ended in me having to outrun a pickup truck full of repressed and angry bastards that probably would have tried to cut out some of my organs if given the chance. I might not be kidding.

Some days, living as a white, middle class-but-not-necessarily-struggling caucasion 22 year old male with tuition debt feels like an orphan in Africa. The constitution gives me the right to complain.


And I love the hell out of it!

hahahahahah

[Boyager]

So, as long as I was out doing the things I should be doing but dreaded to do on my one day off for two weeks, I headed out to the store for some serious grocery shopping, because every good story begins and ends at the grocery store. Every single goddamned one. Except this one, which is just a total recall of the mundane sludge I do.

qft. good shit.