Nothing quite like getting home, trying to microwave Japanese food, and forgetting which side of the packet is open.

Spilling food all over the floor, screaming "oh fuck," over and over again, while I grab scalding hot shrimp dim sum whateverthefucks off of the floor and placing them on my paper plate.

Only to eat them a few minutes later, with a plastic fork, and being incredibly satisfied.

Fuck yeah.

I am finally leaving.

Sixteen or so years in Cupertino has left me with, well, not a whole lot.
I understand that living in a boring suburb doesn't have a lot to offer, but unfortunately, the personalities don't make up for it.

Has it ever occurred to you that you suck?

On Chances

A conversation through a beer glass or three brought me to an interesting thought; "Do people deserve second chances?"

I argue that there really is no such thing, that life isn't so black and white.

A 'new chance' constitutes a clean slate, and as all memories and actions follow in one's wake, I find it impossible to believe that there is such a thing.

To put it bluntly, a 'second chance' is a fairy-tale notion.
Actions, reactions, memories, and all sorts of other attributes will continue to follow a person through any subsequent decision and action, regardless of the circumstance.

Well, complete amnesia could provide a second chance, but that all depends on circumstance.

Regardless; I feel that a 'chance,' so to speak, comes from the very beginning, and it is all one continual 'chance,' up until the day of death, if that makes sense. Every action is a reaction to a previous occurrence, and every decision is influenced by former ones. It is impossible to start over, to truly have a second chance, as life is a series of events without a singular breaking point. A second chance would require an absolute breaking point, severing all ties, personality traits, habits, and what have you.

Even if it was possible to have a 'second chance,' most of you assholes wouldn't deserve one anyway. I'm bitter.

That, my friends, is my two Cents on a current existential crisis.

As I spend more and more time in San Francisco, I grow to like it more and more.

Yesterday, I saw a girl taking a piss next to a Walgreens, right by my prospective house.

The other day, a junkie offered me a valium for a cigarette.

I watched a huge brawl in the street, and nobody gave a shit.

The ferocity with which people interact, or refuse to, is incredible compared to living in a suburb of an incredibly shitty city in the first place.

I think I'll feel right at home.

Kidney Service

Yet again, I remind you that I work in the 'service' industry.

I decide what goes in your drink.
When you see me, consider that I am at work. I am more than likely unhappy to be there.

Laughing at me when I burn myself with milk for your drink is probably not a good idea. Your drink is annoying enough to make as it is.

Now, you fatty, whenever you ask for your drink 'on the sweet side,' I will do everything in my power to give you diabetes with as much sugar as I can possibly load into your drink.

Your kidneys are mine, bitch.

Oh, and now you get decaf.

Also, considering you asked my co-worker for my work schedule so that you can avoid me, I will be as awful as possible, while still smiling at you.

Getting out of here will be too good.

"This is what I believe.

Fuck, what do I believe?

Fuck the military.
Fuck that shit, but I love, I love my job.

They're killing everybody. It breaks my heart."

I have a friend, and this fella served in the military. Every time I see him, he's pretty drunk. Every time I talk to him, he is on the verge of tears, describing the situations he's found himself in, and the things that he had to do.

He always reminds me, though, of how much he loves his job.
Always.

It's as if he's been conditioned to tell himself that he loves what he's doing.
He's a smart guy, that's for sure, but I can't tell if he understands exactly what he thinks. He said it himself, in the aforementioned quote. He always reminds himself, after describing what he considers to be horror, of how much he loved it.
It's incredibly difficult to watch. It's heartbreaking, even, to see the confusion.

It's a damn shame that people can be conditioned by such an institution to become confused of their own values.

That's all.

Don't stop me, tax man.

Walking down the street at 8:30 AM, I shouldn't feel as if I'm going to be stopped and searched by police.

Not that I was, but the officer that drove by me gave me the strangest look, and even went as far as to slow down to give me that strange look for a split-second longer.

It's 8:30, for fuck's sake, I'm too tired, and far too hung over to be up to no good. Stop staring at me.

There's an officer who sits on the corner of Mary and Steven's Creek, in the shade.
This cop hands out Jay-walking and speeding tickets all day.

My gripe with this is that, all day, he collects money, mostly from De Anza students that haven't done anything wrong in their entire lives. Is this truly a 'peacekeeper?'

No. This is a tax-man.
A unit that collects innocent people's pay to further enlarge an already incredibly inflated budget. Something about that doesn't sit quite right with me, but I've come to learn that my opinion doesn't mean shit to most people.

Or maybe I'm just mad because my head hurts, who knows.