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I spent five hours weeding today.

hat tip

This is what I do now. I weed. Actually, the weeding is a new thing. Most days I run a local path, passing geriatrics in sweatsuits, looking like they should have disintegrated decades ago.

The sweatsuits. Not the old people. That tissue paper-esque parachute material that was never a good idea.

Although I can't blame them. No need to be fashionable at noon on a Tuesday. All the good-looking and successful men are, ya know, working and whatnot. But I run all the same, because having a firm ass somehow reassures me that my entire existence isn't completely for naught.

After a run I'll saunter down to Safeway under the guise of groceries, but really leaving the house period is quickly becoming reason enough to shave one's balls. Really put that best foot forward. But that outing got old quick as I found that some people, for god knows what reason, still find it appropriate to write a check for groceries.

Get the fuck out. Get. The. Fuck. Out. GETTHEFUCKOUT. Who still does that? People in the 'burbs, apparently. In Hollywood, going to the store was practically a military exercise with all the forms of crazy you encountered. Here it's like a bad prime time sitcom, where people ACTUALLY stop and chat about what so-and-so went on to do after high school while blocking all access to the cereal aisle. Then they go and write checks for skim milk and cat food. And I die a little inside.

Weeds. Exercise. Food. Game shows. Resumes and cover letters and two references that are not members of your family. And on sneaking occasions, sixty seconds of existential crisis to the tune of:

and again

Forgive me for the lack of posts lately. My rate of inspiration is on par with my rate of income. Not to worry, however. The tides shall turn soon enough. Because,

you guessed it

Keep the faith, amigos -

J