1-2 times a week I go to a local Thai restaurant for some good grub. There are two. One uptown, and one downtown. The one I go to is the one uptown. After awhile I became considered a regular. So much, in fact, that the dish I order about 80% of the time (Kee Mao with Squid, 5 star spiciness) is assumed. Also, seeing how I tend to tip very well, I've been gifted with free ice teas. Well, I blame the tips and the customer loyalty.
Anyways, today I still tipped well, but not as much as I normally would. Also, the communication between myself and the owner seemed a bit strained, out of comparison with our normal happy, day experience exchanging selves. That is it. That is my whole story. No big deal.
So why do I feel so shitty about it, something so minor. Why does it matter to me? Because I know it really fucking shouldn't. In fact, I almost never want to return there. Fine service, still fine food, but...something.
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
I started smoking little cigars again. I tell myself they merely pass the time. But they do a lot more. Now a particular ex girlfriend and my mom will call me up after they read this and bitch at me. Well, ladies, these cigars aren't going to give me cancer. Your nagging will. Just kidding. I love the both of you. One of you more than the other. One is a cheating whore who can't get out of my head because of my problems with attachments (making and letting go of), and the other is my ex-girlfriend. Get the joke? It's that I'm banging my mom. Gross, huh?
Seriously though, my ex-girlfriend *censored* is a total slut. She knows it, I know it, the whole human race knows it. Sorry, back to the topic at hand (which already ended).
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
If it does, then you can't make that statement. I disagree.
Murderer: I didn't kill anyone, I sware!
See how that analogy works?
(There is joke in there, disproving the analogy as well as jabbing/begging for a laugh, but most wouldn't get it, so I added this snippet in, for you to be able to find it, which destroys the joke all together. Me at my most anti-climactic.)
How depressing is this post, right? Wrong. Check this out;
See? Laughs all around.
~Xavier R.
p.s. I started with my story, 'My Friend The Machine.'
Anyways, today I still tipped well, but not as much as I normally would. Also, the communication between myself and the owner seemed a bit strained, out of comparison with our normal happy, day experience exchanging selves. That is it. That is my whole story. No big deal.
So why do I feel so shitty about it, something so minor. Why does it matter to me? Because I know it really fucking shouldn't. In fact, I almost never want to return there. Fine service, still fine food, but...something.
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
What's the deal?
I started smoking little cigars again. I tell myself they merely pass the time. But they do a lot more. Now a particular ex girlfriend and my mom will call me up after they read this and bitch at me. Well, ladies, these cigars aren't going to give me cancer. Your nagging will. Just kidding. I love the both of you. One of you more than the other. One is a cheating whore who can't get out of my head because of my problems with attachments (making and letting go of), and the other is my ex-girlfriend. Get the joke? It's that I'm banging my mom. Gross, huh?
Seriously though, my ex-girlfriend *censored* is a total slut. She knows it, I know it, the whole human race knows it. Sorry, back to the topic at hand (which already ended).
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
I think lunacy haunts me.
If it does, then you can't make that statement. I disagree.
Murderer: I didn't kill anyone, I sware!
See how that analogy works?
(There is joke in there, disproving the analogy as well as jabbing/begging for a laugh, but most wouldn't get it, so I added this snippet in, for you to be able to find it, which destroys the joke all together. Me at my most anti-climactic.)
How depressing is this post, right? Wrong. Check this out;
See? Laughs all around.
~Xavier R.
p.s. I started with my story, 'My Friend The Machine.'
Liked the beginning to your story you be writing. Sex and insanity is always a good start.
ReplyDeleteBurn the restaurant down, it's the most elegant solution. Right?
Agreed
ReplyDeleteAnyways though, I need to write a chapter, set it to the side, look at it later and edit it up, THEN post it, because I sure fuck up on A LOT of minor things. Be they story details, or spelling/structure errors, I can tell it sort of takes away from the story. Blog posts too, I'm sure.
Then again I never learned anything from anywhere. I just decide to do things, then do them horribly, and eventually do them horribly well.
Sleep time.
We're all drinking the same water.
ReplyDelete