You Wanna See Something REALLY Scary?

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Published on: April 8, 2011

Last night, GF was tossing and turning again. This has happened for the third night in a row. Normally she’s dead weight, which can be good or bad. Good if she’s to the side, bad if she’s laying over my carotid artery. However, when she literally horse kicks me in the middle of my rapid eye movement sleep, I just can’t say it is pleasant, for myself or my little dream-friends. After talking it over with her, it seems she’s been having really bad dreams because of the content of the films I put on right before we fall asleep recently.

After reading Paralegal Hell’s recent post about the movies everyone would probably only watch if they caught them on TV, it seems only right that I dive into the reasons I’ve been terrorizing my girlfriend’s subconscious. For one, I should mention that I retain a degree in film & video production. Which is ironic, considering I work as a paralegal and normally find no common creative ground with anyone else in the firm. I may have proof nobody here listens to music produced within the last two centuries. Another is that my father did not care less about covering my eyes from on-screen violence during my formative years. In fact, I think he willingly approved of having me, all before I made it to the age of 8, sit through Rambo gun down an army of Vietnamese, Robert de Niro break a baseball bat over one of his flunkeys’ heads in the Untouchables, or an alien rip out of a space marine’s ribcage.

Rambo: Bad Ass
Al Capone: Big Slugger








I should’ve said ‘Cover Your Eyes’, huh?


I just want to let you know that I never grew up torturing little animals or plotting shooting sprees. I seriously do not believe in the idea that watching something violent will lead to the urge to act out violently. Sure it gets your heart rate up because you don’t know what’s gonna happen next and it’s the same thrill you experience when you get on a rollercoaster, but the people in the news who claim that video games and Marilyn Manson were the reasons behind Columbine need to have their own heads checked. It has nothing to do with the environment one is brought up in. No, not at all… It’s fundamentalist propaganda, if you ask me. It’s like the crazy author who wrote the book in the 90’s telling parents that their children’s toys were demonic and heretical and they should be thrown out or their entire family would burn in Hell for eternity.

Aside from that, I grew up pretty normally. In fact, I had a wide appreciation for movies. As I mentioned, I went on to go to school for movies. So, take that, Mothers Against Violence In Films. Then again, having a career in law is kind of like self-mutilation, so I’m at a quandary there. Throughout my life, I guess you could say that horror flicks have kinda been one of my guilty pleasures. And, honestly, I treat them as comedies, because 95% of them are just goofy plots with bad acting and stupid special effects. The bad part these days is that GF really doesn’t like scary movies, so I have to get my fix in long after she goes to bed. Unbeknownst to me, these movies REALLY seem to seep into her dream state, because she’ll have nightmares the rest of the night.

Last night, I found The Twilight Zone: The Movie.  For those that have not seen this, you may have seen a lot of pop-references to it in other things about a guy seeing a creature on the wing of a plane. In any case, I had forgotten how messed up this movie is. It’s actually pretty scary, even for it’s time. And GF’s sleep pattern can well verify the horror-factor of this, too. When a movie is rated PG and creeps you out that much, you know you have a good movie.

Another scary film I watched recently – one I had also forgotten how scary it was – was Candyman. This flick is terrifying. I think it was Tony Todd’s first film and his voice alone from that movie is still in my head.

So, there are my horror film recommendations. Maybe once I’m finished with my scary flick run,, I’ll give you some good foreign film rec’s. I mean, if you’re in the legal field, I’m sure you’d be jumping up and down to get off work only to have to read more by focusing on the subtitles…

Space Monkey’s Nugget of Advice for Friday

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Published on: April 8, 2011

If you really want your coworkers (whether colleagues, team, lackies, etc.) to read the attachment in your email, do not make your subject:

New Article! This is 429 pages.

Just sayin.

TODAY in Continued Legal Education!

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Published on: April 6, 2011

I am supposed to be learning about Civil Litigation right now. That’s what I got my firm to pay for. I have the headset on. I am listening to the teacher. I have the slides up on the screen. But, in reality, I am playing Tower Defense. Yes, it’s a great time-waster, especially when my conference-call instructor is rambling on about the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure, describing her five cats and giving us subsections that don’t match up with the specific rule we are supposed to be discussing.

“Now, Rule 3 says that when you file a complaint, you’ve started a civil action. So, remember that subsection (d) here says you must send it through first class mail, accompanied with another copy and an stamped envelope with the return address on it.”

Evidently, she’s mixing up the rule on commencing civil action with the procedures for a defendent’s waiver regarding a summons. It’s interesting how the legal association I picked to take these courses has marketed this lady as being a member of four separate state bars and the president of some prestigious school in the early 1980s. I’m not really sure how much of this is true, but I try to believe it all. Perhaps time has just worn away a once great mind. Maybe she was an incredible litigator in her day. It’s hard to imagine that at this moment, because I have this PowerPoint presentation both on my screen and in my hand. And I know she’s looking at the presentation at the same time we all are, but suddenly she’ll just randomly veer off topic and start talking about a completely different subject that doesn’t even enter into the realm of necessity.

“I remember all those years ago, when I was just starting in the legal field, there was a clerk in the courthouse named Beth. You didn’t want to cross Beth. She even scared me once, because I gave her too many copies of the brief I guess. So its important to remember here that you need to always go by the rules of the court. But, then again, Beth had some sort of nervous breakdown and now I think she’s in a mental hospital somewhere… So, let’s continue on to what different types of counterclaims there are.”

I swear, I’m relaying what she’s speaking. Verbatim.

This woman kind of reminds me of my mom… One of those ladies that makes you really wonder what color the fireworks are in their head. The other day, my mom was trying to make me feel better about my next oral surgery and very matter of factly tells me:

“Last time I went to get my bridge worked on, they took the thing out of my mouth and this terrible smell came out. I mean, JUST terrible! They then pulled a piece of meat out. Then I remembered we had filet Mignon for dinner last week.”

Yeah, I know. Gross. But, that’s my mom. I think with age, people (and in my estimation, women especially) gradually lose control of their verbal filter. After 60, communication is straight up stream of consciousness… or maybe unconsciousness. I’ve seen it happen with my mom and it’s evident this woman is well on her way. It looks like we’re all on the verge of a Chatty Cathy pandemic..



Symptoms May Vary


Huzzah! (Blog Update)

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Published on: April 6, 2011

Well, look at that. The email subscription widget finally works. Doesn’t that make you happy? I know it makes Space Monkey happy. Now, get to it, peeps, and hit that subscribe button!

Also, please mind the dust and debris. Make sure to wear a hard hat and perhaps a hazmat suit while tweaks are being made to the blog, because Space Monkey is like a child playing with a chemistry set and Dad’s business things…

Cheers, and of course, feedback is always welcome.



‘Tis the Season

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Published on: April 5, 2011

It started out like this last year, I remember it quite well. Well enough that once it was over, I immediately began fearing it’s coming for the next year. I am on my morning Metro train at 9:40am. Any other day, I’d have missed the morning rush and would be one of about five people in this car: four of us being the late-comers to work that will soon be chastised by their coworkers for their tardiness; the other one being the unmistakable window-licking tourist. Today, as it will be for another 89 days or so, I will be sharing my once peaceful train ride with an extra 200 window-licking tourists.

This is because at the dawn of civilization (circa 1900,) the Japanese were invited to come plant a bunch of cherry blossom trees all around Washington, DC. Fast forward a century and they are all over the place. And, my my my, they make our country’s monuments even better to check out. Which is why tourists from other nations decide DC is the best place to take their vacation. From about April until June we will roughly receive a billion tourists to our town because the trees just make our monuments so much more damn beautiful. It’s also inevitable that during this time, I will cross paths with each of these billion lost and confused tourists.

Today, I am surprised to find a seat on the train. Well, perhaps not as surprised as the large, amorphous tourist whose girth has overflown from “it’s” side of the seat onto the vacant side. I made no hesitation to make my seat on half of it’s leg. Curiously, though, it didn’t seem to mind, since there was no movement or reaction, not even a twitch. It just continued to stare out at the budding cherry blossoms surrounding the Tidal Basin around Jefferson’s Memorial. Something made me think it may have been salivating and I really wanted to tell it that the trees in fact produced no cherries. But, I didn’t want to ruin it’s trip.

It’s this time of the year that actually makes me want to be at work as quickly as humanly possible.

Now, the problem with living in a town frequented by tourists is that there is an overwhelming feeling permanent residents get that we plainly do not exist or that we are a pseudo-attraction at a zoo or something. Almost like we all are frozen in one of those dioramas the tourists would find in the Smithsonian Natural History Museum and we depict human life, but, in reality, we really aren’t there.

Many towns seem to revolve around their tourism. Their economic heartbeat comes from the money brought in from visitors. I’m not sure if DC would necessarily be subjugated to the same live-or-die scenario if suddenly tourism fell off. After all, it is the seat of American government. However, I am probably not alone in thinking that most residents of the District would have no qualms in seeing one less group of bass-ackward tourists all on their Segways with that one son who just can’t figure the dang machine out.

Click to See Stupid Segway Tourists

So, if you come to DC, here’s a small list of things that YOU can do to not beleaguer the actual people who live in the city:

  1. When using public transportation, traveling through a mall, going anywhere, do not become an ESCA-LEFTER: One who stands to the left side of an escalator, not realizing that the right side is for standing, the left side is for walking. We could give two shits less if you and your chum are having a fascinating convo about that neat-o IMAX presentation you saw on Black Holes at the Aerospace Museum, other people have shit to do and you’re blocking them from being able to do it.
  2. If you really think you’re part of the cool crowd, wearing one of those CIA or FBI hats you just bought at one of the ten thousand sidewalk carts in DC will prove to us all that you are not. Take it off and keep it in your bag until you get home and can surprise Cletus and Krystal with your mad talent.
  3. Do NOT bring a whistle to round up your troops. Our eyes are already blinded by the fact you make your group of middle-schoolers wear matching neon-green t shirts so you don’t lose them. I’m sure you don’t know how to pronounce ‘collateral damage’, but that’s what you’re doing to us every time you blow that thing.
  4. Fanny pack. Don’t. Just don’t.
  5. We actually keep this place pretty clean. See that trashcan? I know you do, because there’s one within ten steps of where ever you stand in the District. Put your soggy chili cheese dog wrapper in that. Not on the sidewalk.
  6. If you see us walking faster than you, don’t ask for directions. And if you ask for a picture, we’ll take your camera and keep on walking. Seriously.

In sum, I want to give you the message of my rant:

doing overtly obvious things like these will not only aggravate the piss out of everyone around you, but (and I think you would have really thought about this before you bought two dozen bright orange TEAM SALVATION GOES TO WASHINGTON! t shirts,) you become an easy target for crime. Even if the crooks don’t pin you out at first, perhaps your already annoying nature will make them think twice about what ever it is they do.


April Foolery

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Published on: April 1, 2011

Hey, Guess What?

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Published on: March 31, 2011

It’s Almooooost FRIDAY!!!!!

Just remember this… It’s all downhill from there, guys.

And don’t forget what tomorrow is…

I plan on changing my coworker’s Google interface script to Swedish Meatball Chef and switching around Pear Bottom‘s G and H buttons on his keyboard.

Could You Put the Compliment on the Back of the Hand, Please?

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Published on: March 31, 2011

Okay, that was weird. I mean, awkward doesn’t cut it. But, I am still trying to understand exactly how to take the conversation I just had with The Big Un. The Big Un is one of our office’s senior partners. When I say senior, I mean


Not only that, but he’s also the guy that hired me. Out of pure happenstance, I was in a bar having a beer with an old family friend when the friend sees The Big Un and brings him over. Friend tells Big Un that I just moved to DC and am looking for a job (completely unrelated to law, but that wasn’t mentioned.) As it turns out, Big Un also knows someone in my family and says, would you like to work for my team as our paralegal? Wow, well, let’s see. I could either go business to business, office to office, cold call to cold call selling myself and my “skills”,  or… not.  Okay, Mr. Un, you got yourself a new paralegal!

So, I’ve come to realize The Big Un is a hard guy to pin down to talk to about job direction. Or even just to talk to in general. I think in the last year and change, I’ve been able to squeeze in three talks with him. It’s not at all because he’s avoiding me, I know he likes me and hears good things about me around the office (because I’m sneaky and manipulative in making people think I’m awesome.) But because The Big Un is seriously one of the busiest people I’ve ever met. He’s in his office perhaps 10% of the week and without a cell phone to his ear 0.1% of the time. Exhibit A:


So, after two months of trying to see him, I finally get penciled in. In truth, the conversation was about what advice he could impart on me so that I could actually be of more use around the office and also advice on long-term goals. Well, I was amazed when we passed the ten minute marker in his office. Then even more so when I saw it had been twenty minutes. He did take a phone call, but that won’t count against his score.

We got on the subject somehow of our own team and chain of command. He said that obviously he was the top dog and he barked the orders that everyone else would then follow. The Big Un told me that he knew that most of the actions were performed by his senior associates, like Pear Bottom, however he has absolutely no clue what that first-year associate on his team does (Mr. Clean).

The Big Un:

“You see, son, when you’ve finally hit my level way up here and get to sit in my seat, it’s really hard to see all the way back down to the level of someone like him… Damn, what’s his name again? Well, if I saw him in the hall, I’d remember his name. Anyways, take what I’m saying and push it to yourself. Now, you actually work for these first-year associates, doncha, son? They are your bosses. Correct? So, logically, I shouldn’t even know you exist. But, look at us. Here we are. Sitting and talking.”

Like I said. Wow. I know he meant no harm by that, and trust me, I wasn’t harmed. I was just… shocked, maybe? That entire analogy is something I would think would come out of the mouths of Rupert Murdoch or Kenneth Lay to their stockholders. I mean, arrogance abound, I still saw that he had respect for me in the end. It’s just a weird place to be in. I think I just nodded my head after that until I could leave.

What the Puck?!

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Published on: March 30, 2011

Last night, GF and I were in a random discussion with things having to do with days gone by when suddenly it popped in our heads we ought to watch some of the early reruns of one of today’s yesterday’s most wildly popular shows. The Real World. Today, if you can still believe it’s on today (I think it’s in its 25th season?), is really just a showcase of how much of a 24/7 frat party six or seven post college-age kids can throw. However, back in the day, I remember it actually stood for something with our young Generation X social crowd.

So, we started searching for it. Amazingly, we couldn’t find it on any of the numerous Internet TV sites. They didn’t even have it on Netflix. Amazon and eBay, of all places, weren’t even selling the early seasons. Finally, after about an hour of scouring the web, we were smart enough to actually look on MTV’s website. There we found The Real World: San Francisco in all it’s glory; every episode contained the original and unmuddied meaning of:

This is the true story of eight strangers picked to live in a house, work together, and have their lives taped to find out what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real.

(However, now MTV’s streaming site is being gimpy, so we have to find yet another site…)

For those that don’t remember the second season (all the way back in ’93), that was a landmark year for the show. I think that in the first season, no one, even the producers, really knew what they were doing. However, this was the moment in the series when we got to see real life drama come together in real life fashion. I think a lot of us (or maybe I’m being a little too presumptuous here) were a little too young or a little too naive to get what really was unfolding before our eyes. Understand, this was the first reality show. We would not have Big Brother, Survivor, The Bachelor, Jersey Shore, The Biggest Loser, The Real Housewives of the Jersey Turnpike, even those shows about the experts helping failing cupcake factories that my GF seems to like so much. Think about it.

Coming back to the show, if you had watched the show at all back then, you’ll immediately recognize and remember all the characters. But even though they are living in a different time, when people acted differently and lived by different social norms, you feel you understand their inter-personal struggles and even inner struggles so much more. Perhaps we all witnessed the evolution of these story lines, because they have since been so prominent in our society. In 1993, the story of the homosexual guy (Pedro) living with AIDS at such a young age moved some but, at that moment in time, really shocked others. However, homosexuality is so ubiquitous and accepted nowadays we don’t even think about it like we did back then. Most of us, straight men included, will have gay friends. My sister even had a gay friend in her wedding party. (He didn’t have to wear a dress, though.) While I watched a few Real Worlds last night though and although back in the day Pedro’s character was in a way like opening a new door to understanding ignorance and prejudice so prevalent in society, he really just annoyed the fuck out of me this time around. He was so arrogant and acted like he was the only one allowed to say ‘gay’. Now, I mean absolutely no disrespect to the deceased (he succumbed to his disease in 1994,) but he really was a whiny little bitch.

Back then, a lot of us thought Puck was a complete bad ass, while everyone else thought he was just an asshole. Within that same timeframe (and remember, this is 1993), no one had really considered the idea of ADD. While still a complete freak of nature, he should also be thought of as the poster child for what a kid without “proper medication” will grow up like. Or at least, that’s what our teachers would tell our parents, right? The fights that he would get in with his roommates were off the wall and made him look bat-shit insane, when nowadays, we would just say, “Awww… he’s just really in need of attention!” While he did get the boot for getting in too many fights with Pedro, he did have some classic lines, like: “Bike messenger is revered as a pretty big thing here in San Francisco.” Umm, okay, please tell me which town worships its paralegals.

However, more important about the show is how it illustrates how far the real world can change in, wow, almost twenty years. Now, for one, this was when MTV played music. It was when The Real World came on right before Headbanger’s Ball. MTV also had really good shows. I think this was around the time that Liquid Telivision also aired, which introduced us to Celebrity Deathmatch, Aeon Flux, even Beavis & Butthead! This is a show before the Internet… You actually see people sitting around socializing. They even all eat together each night! There are also so many throw-backs in the show. Remember the Nerf Vortex? They even talk on those crappy “video-phones,” which would have like a 5 frame per second bit-rate. I really think, though, that one of most pertinent of the show’s ‘anachronisms’ would be the black singer/poet, Mohammed. I don’t mean the person, but the fact that nobody on the show at all reacts in any way different to the fact that he is Muslim.

Before continuing, I should point out that we watched about six episodes and he has not yet expressed he is Muslim, but I am willing to say he is. Mohammed is strictly a Muslim name. No one of the Christian, Judaic, Hindu, or Shinto faith would think to name their child Mohammed.

The obvious answer to the avoidance of this issue is that this takes place before 9/11. However, and I do not want to get too political here, but this did cross my mind, but you never really see Mohammed giving faith to Allah through the Five Pillars of Islamic Faith. The one, I believe, we would most easily see on the show would be Mohammed doing his five daily prayers. However, the cameras never roll. Who knows. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. Maybe the 1990’s producers thought, “Yikes, no one knows what that is! We don’t have enough time to explain that to the audience!” Fast forward a decade and just about everyone in “Christian” America knows exactly how to point out someone who follows the tenets of Islam. My point is that back then, they were so widely accepted and nobody had an ounce of fear about them. Today, it’s a totally different story.

Okay, let’s all shake off that heavy feeling we just got. We’re here to have fun and relive the good ol’ days. It’s really cool to watch this, too, if not for the human interactions, for the fact that this takes place back when nobody knew what reality TV was, so when the cast got hired to join in, they weren’t trying to act. They were genuinely being themselves. I don’t believe even the producers knew exactly the impact they would have by having the cameras follow these kids around to all the businesses around San Francisco.

Most notable was that the stars weren’t portraying some retarded persona like Audrina or Snookie or someone else completely scripted that the producer told the “reality show” actress to portray because the marketing exec told the producer that’s what kids these days are attracted to because the market researcher told the marketing exec that teenage drinking and partying is on the rise because the legal counsel told the market researcher he won a case to employ laxer restrictions on underage drinking because the paralegal showed the legal counsel a loophole in the system while three-hole punching documents. See? It always comes back to us.

And if you followed that to the end, you win. Here’s your prize.

My Biggest Week-ness II

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Published on: March 28, 2011

Part II

And when there’s nothing to want
When we’re all brilliant and fast
When all tomorrows are gone
There will be teeth in the grass

Iron & Wine, “Teeth In the Grass”

Evidently, one of the most frequent dreams in society is the falling out of one’s own teeth. Freud interpreted this scenario as a reflection our own personal anxieties about how others perceive us. Of course, since it’s Freud, there’s some sort of sexual connotation involved, but is it really necessary to get analyze our subconscious impotence in one of my posts? Not here, so stop right there.

Interestingly, as common as this dream/nightmare seems to be, I’ve never had it. Instead, my teeth are falling out during the waking hours. I guess that means I’m REAAAALLY anxious about how my own appearance.

To understand my dental predicament, realize that all my life, my grill has been one of “all shine and no substance.” I’ve never needed braces, which I am astonished when I think about my English heritage. However — and this may make some of you drop your jaw — every single one of my teeth has been drilled on at least once. Let’s say that I’m a dentist’s wet dream.

Shit, and I said we wouldn’t go into Freudian sexual innuendos here.

So, when I cracked my tooth on a Crunch Berry from who I thought was my old friend, the Cap’n, I thought I just needed to suffer through the weekend and get to the dentist to fill a cavity. Dentists, in my mind, are a very personal relationship to develop. I could care less who I pick for my orthopedic specialist or my ENT doctor. Dentists, on the hand, put their fingers in your mouth. They put tools with sharp little ends that whir around and are intended to make holes in bone while you are still conscious. Likewise, they trust you enough not to chomp down and devour one of their digits. Like I said, it’s a relationship that should be built upon trust.

Well, I haven’t gone to see a dentist since moving up to DC. By my watch, my last checkup was about twenty months ago. I know that dental visits are recommended for prevention of bad things happening to your teeth and should come about every six months or so. But, I’m lazy. So, the aspect that my tooth is screaming bloody murder and making the entire left side of my face want to jump off of my head was a good enough to find a dentist for “preventative measures.” I mean, who the hell knows what would happen if I didn’t go!

As it turned out, it wasn’t a cavity. More like, “Mr. Paralegal, you’ve cracked your old filling off and somehow opened a gateway to Hell. Underneath is so much decay, it’s swirling around the root like a tornado. One option is that we can do a root canal. But truthfully, it won’t do much good. Your tooth… it’s as good as dead.”

Now, what I was just saying about building a trusting relationship with your dentist… this is no way to start that relationship off. Sure, I’m in pain. Sure, I’m in need of relief. But, I do not want to hear that I will soon be saying goodbye to a vital part of my body. I’m not old, nor am I frail. I’m relatively young and I’ve never known people my age needing their teeth pulled.

While the dentist is giving me the options, I’m not really listening. Instead, I’m trying to determine how my teeth and me have made it to such a painful farewell.

I don’t ever like handing out blame without first making sure I’m not to blame first. However, I can’t help but deny that my mother’s upbringing has something to do with this. As I mentioned in a previous post, she is someone who makes it her business to get into my business whenever I make a move outside of her reach. Yet, while inside of her reach, I don’t think she really ever cared what I did. From a very early start, I learned of no true discipline that now would really help me out in the Real World. It was like, I knew what Making the Bed was, but I plainly refused to do it. So, my mother relented after about two tries. There, we have Young Paralegal Growing Up With A Lack of Rewarding Discipline.

I remember my favorite dinner was a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. Chocolate was on hand any time I wanted it and drinking a six pack of Dr. Pepper was an easy substitute for hydrating myself with H20. The regiment of brushing my teeth twice a day was never met growing up, and certainly nor was flossing. It would be a miracle if I brushed once a week.

I’m not burning my mom or her upbringing here, but this was just not on her list of parental priorities for me. However, later in life, it came to bite me in the ass quite a couple of times. More generally, however, I found that I knew absolutely nothing about the Real World once I graduated from high school. The main reason is that my parents made it a prerogative to keep me in private schools throughout my formative years, where I got to be around like-minded ignoramuses, where instead of learning how to balance a check book, we learned the importance of Shakespeare’s Sonnets. Thank god we learned that, because I do not know if I would have made it this far without the far-reaching use of the iambic pentameter in my day-to-day routines.

In the years following my graduation, I found I had no idea what I was doing. For the most part, I think I was trying to learn what life was, but for the most part it probably looked like I was making a joke out of life. I would go after some sort of vocation I thought would be the career my passion would orbit around, however I would get tired of it after… on average, about six months. In retrospect, I believe this is because of the barrage of different lessons and training I got as kid because my mom thought I was this baby genius with two gazillion different talents. Well, now, as it turns out, I really am just a confused guy. I didn’t have any idea which passion I should have put my stock into because I was reared to be passionate about so many!

Now I’m losing my teeth over it.

As I sit in the dentist chair and I see the dentist move her lips, I come back to the present and begin comprehending she is telling me we need to extract the tooth. I nod to confirm the process and point at a colorful illustration (obviously intended for children) of what cartoonish false tooth I prefer. But, still somewhere in my mind, I also wonder if my mother had NOT come to visit this past weekend, if I would actually be sitting here. It’s not that she induces anxiety in me these days. I’ve made my own decisions for quite a while now and I’d like to think I’ve done a pretty good job of it. However, the $64,000 Question that is brought up in nearly every phone conversation is, “So, what’s your next step?”

That was the burning question that has for so many years made me feel my parents had been instilling in me that if I don’t know my goal in life, I am doomed to wander forever. But is that really so bad? After all, not all those who wander are lost. Perhaps I should stop losing my own teeth over how I appear to the older people. Drill on, baby, drill on.

All sunshine here, guys!
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