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So, as I mentioned before, I'm have moved downtown. I was looking forward to moving, but didn't really know what to expect. I've been here now for almost a month so I'm officially qualified to write about it.
Let's cut to the chase: living downtown is sweet. The best part, that I hadn't fully considered, is that it's now convenient for everyone to come visit me. When I lived in my house 20 minutes North of town, I had a visitor maybe once or twice a week. Usually we'd meet at a restaurant or something closer to downtown, so I always had to drive. Now I live in such a convenient location that everyone comes to visit me. Often they're doing something else a block away, so it's really easy to come say hi.
Another cool side effect of this is that different social circles I'm in are starting to mingle because they often stop by at the same time. I don't think I've gone 24 hours without someone visiting.
I'm sick of being treated like an idiot. Last weekend I rented a boat with some friends, and we were forced to sit through a 15 minute talk about boat safety. It was boring and slightly condescending, but tolerable. After the talk I asked if I'd have to listen to it again if I rented a boat next weekend. He said I would have to.
On the highway I am forced to drive at the speed limit even though I'm a better driver and have a better performing car than most people.
When I call Sprint to upgrade my service I am forced to say "no, no, no thanks, no" while they try to upsell me on ringtones and other such digital garbage.
I don't know if most people would want a stalker or not, but I have one and I think it's great. Technically she may be more of a secret admirer, but I don't have any proof that she admires me, and I do have proof that she's crafty enough to find my addresses. There's also been some speculation that she isn't actually a hot girl, but is someone playing a trick on me.
I walk into work and see a large envelope sitting on my desk. Hmm... I'm not expecting anything. I look at the to address.
I've got a lot of good stories coming up, just not much time and no good internet connection (on purpose). For now, you can read my recent interview at Bipolar Nation. I have another interview coming up at Sole Goal.
In other news, my stalker wrote me another letter. I'll scan it and write about it soon. Adios!
It's 6am and a couple friends and I walk out of my building to get some food. Katz' deli gives half price food to pedicab drivers like my friend Aaron, and I can't turn down a deal. As we walk across the street we see a shady looking fellow walking near where we're parked. Hopefully we can avoid contact.
"Hey guys... can you help me out? My car ran out of gas... "
High school is nearing its final semester and I need a P.E. credit. Actually I need two P.E. credits. If you've ever taken the time to admire my physique, it may surprise you to hear that my high school career is lacking in the Physical Education department. Suspend your disbelief for a moment.
I sign up for bowling by correspondence. It sounds easy and I like bowing. One down, one to go.
"Just take color guard!"
Ok, so I hung out with Cristina and Evan the other night and wrote about it, but not here. To read of our magical adventures, go to Tynan's Angels, which is the greatest site in the land, other than perhaps this site.
The road to Reno stretches far ahead of us, but we all wish it is even further away then it is. I glance back. Style is working on his book, The Game. Every once in a while he reads a sentence to get some feedback. I'm sitting on the side bench staring through the darkly tinted windows at the passing space. We're in the limo.
Just a few months ago Style told me he was going to get an SUV to carry his surfboards. Always at odds with the beaten path, I persuade him to buy a 120" stretch caddilac limo instead. They're cheap on ebay. A day after he agrees to buy it we're in Houston driving it back to LA. I like people who are impulsive. It turns out to be a fabulous surf car, and a pretty great road trip vehicle at the same time.
Driving at the moment is Cliff, one of Style's friends. A somewhat macho guy who is the head bouncer at a hot Hollywood nightclub, he's the nicest guy in the world once you get to know him. They're doing a movie or TV show or something about pro dirt bike riders, and we're on our way to Reno to meet them and watch them ride. Always looking for an adventure to lay waste to my free time, I'm along for the ride.
Usually I come to this page with an idea of something to write about. Not today. This will probably be one of those random posts with little bits of everything in it. Have you ever noticed that my first paragraph is always long enough to make that drop cap thing on the left look right? Often I'll want to start off with a single sentence, but I write some fluff to make it look right.
I just gave my fish some medicine. They still have fin rot. It's really scary because huge chunks of their fins just dissolve into the water, so they look really pitiful. I've bought tons of different kinds of medicine for them, but none have fixed them yet. Each time they seem better, but then after the treatment the symptoms start showing up again. Of course I'm trying to treat the root problem, too, although I don't really know what it is. I change the water and feed them less. Almost everyone feeds their fish too much.
I really love my fish. I think they're the best pet ever. I can go out of town and not have to worry about them, but whenever I have a spare moment I sit and watch them swim around. Now I don't like watching them as much because they're sick so it makes me feel bad. It's amazing that they can just swim around and not die of boredom. I couldn't.
I always help myself to the student discount when available. Sure, I don't actually go to school, but I still have my UT ID, and I'd argue that I learn more on a regular basis than most college students. Before today I'd never had any problem using my ID.
I'm sitting at a poker table at Foxwoods Casino in Connecticut. I haven't played in a while, and it's good to be back. I step away from the table to answer my phone. It's my mom and she wants to know where I am. I'm at the casino. She insists that I'm flying back to Austin at 7:30am the next morning. No, I was flying out on Sunday and planned on spending Saturday with the family. She checks, and she's actually right - my flight leaves in only seven hours.
We pile into the car and begin the two hour journey back to my grandparents' house where I'm staying. That gives me about 5 hours to sleep, pack, and leave the house.