"Ohmigosh I think I'm going to have a breakdown."
"You'll be fine."
"No, I won't. I'm old now."
"Old?! You're only 25!"
"Right! I'm 25! Tweeenty-fiiive! I've lived a quarter of a century now, and it's all downhill from here."
"I'll do it, man. Just watch me."
"No way! You ain't gonna do it!"
"Just watch me."
"I'll bet you ten bucks you ain't gonna do it!"
"You're on!"
San Francisco is tabasco sauce like New York City is wasabi.
I've been in San Francisco for a little more than six months now. So I guess it's time for a temperature check on how I feel about this place.
One of the worst feelings in the world is regret. A blend of guilt and self-disgust with heaps of with sorrow and remorse, its putrid taste lingers on your tongue long after you've forced yourself to swallow.
"You shouldn't worry about the past," a friend said to me. "You can't change it; it's happened already. Think about the future."
I've got a case of them blahs
You know the kind
Hard to do just a "Ha!"
With this blah, blah mind
I didn't realize it was a date until later that evening.
I had no reason to think it was a date. It was originally going to be her, her sister, and myself going to that comedy show.
A date doesn't have three people. So why would I ever consider it one?
This is a story about a friend of mine.
Yea, I know. Every time someone says, "This is about a friend of mine," you automatically assume that he/she is talking about him/herself.
And sure, that's sometimes true. But this time it's not.
Really. It's not.
What makes a good friend?
Is a good friend someone you can have no contact with for years, then meet and pick up things as if you just saw each other yesterday?
Or is a good friend someone who keeps in regular contact?
Good bye, New York.
I'm sitting on the plane right now, on my way to San Francisco. It's about a six hour ride. The batteries on my laptop are almost gone, so I need to write this ramble quickly.
I'm nervous about Monday. I'm nervous and anxious. On Monday I start my new job.
As I sit here, recovering from a mighty wicked hangover from a going-away bar crawl last Friday, my eyes wander back and forth over photos of my ex-coworkers and the ten gallons of water I have next to me to replenish my dehydrated brain before it shrivels into a raisin.
That was quite a run-on sentence, don't you think? Probably a product of my raisinifying brain. Oh well.
Weekly random rambles, musings & writings of Mike Lee in San Francisco, CA