Alright, late Sunday night, time to write some more.
Even with today's lingering hangover, I had a fine time showing my neighborhood to my little brother and my mom. We went to this cool sub shop on 9th that is staffed entirely by sexy young Russian girls. They'll chatter in Russian while they're making the sandwiches, and I know they're saying the most totally mundane and boring shit, but that just makes it hotter. We watched some baseball in Golden Gate Park, then walked over to Clement to hunt for a Buddha for my mom's collection. Not that we really had to hunt, the second shop we went into had a bigger selection of Buddha idols than anything I've seen previously. I also managed to pick up an Ultraman alarm clock and a huge cache of Japanese snacks, like CC Lemon, Black Black gum, and, my personal favorite, Giant Pocky. No wonder I can't get girls.
Anyway. The dynamic between my mom, my little brother, and myself can be real weird. Mom wants to be buddy instead of mom, little brother just steamrolls over her, and I just kind of stir it all up. I half-jokingly say "we'll work it out in therapy", which is probably truer than I'd like to admit. I wish that I could be less conscious of the dysfunction and just live. I mean, were my grandparents' lives less fulfilling because they weren't in therapy?
Fuck it. I guess this is the point where I'm supposed to switch from the deep and thoughtful introspection to the shitty poetry, but that's not really my thing. I'd rather just ramble.
Even with today's lingering hangover, I had a fine time showing my neighborhood to my little brother and my mom. We went to this cool sub shop on 9th that is staffed entirely by sexy young Russian girls. They'll chatter in Russian while they're making the sandwiches, and I know they're saying the most totally mundane and boring shit, but that just makes it hotter. We watched some baseball in Golden Gate Park, then walked over to Clement to hunt for a Buddha for my mom's collection. Not that we really had to hunt, the second shop we went into had a bigger selection of Buddha idols than anything I've seen previously. I also managed to pick up an Ultraman alarm clock and a huge cache of Japanese snacks, like CC Lemon, Black Black gum, and, my personal favorite, Giant Pocky. No wonder I can't get girls.
Anyway. The dynamic between my mom, my little brother, and myself can be real weird. Mom wants to be buddy instead of mom, little brother just steamrolls over her, and I just kind of stir it all up. I half-jokingly say "we'll work it out in therapy", which is probably truer than I'd like to admit. I wish that I could be less conscious of the dysfunction and just live. I mean, were my grandparents' lives less fulfilling because they weren't in therapy?
Fuck it. I guess this is the point where I'm supposed to switch from the deep and thoughtful introspection to the shitty poetry, but that's not really my thing. I'd rather just ramble.
i'll be back.