Shit is fucking expensive. I’m at my job right now, looking at things that will help increase my productivity outside of my 9 to 5 (6 to 2:30 actually). A portable drafting board cost about 90 bucks. That’s nuts, to me at least. Damn these unsteady hands of mine for making that board a justifiable purchase.

There’s this older woman at my job who has quite possibly the most soul-less eyes and the scariest smile in the history of all things unholy. If I came across her eating a raw, bloody porterhouse and she jumped up and crawled across the ceiling and started talking about babies dying, I wouldn’t be surprised at all.

I wonder if being homeless in Hawaii is the equivalent of living in a standard row-home in Maryland, from a happiness standpoint. Obviously, having a roof over your head seems like the better option but being a beach bum has it’s perks. The beach, for instance. I guess what I’m really wondering is could I be homeless for however long it would take me to find a job and affordable housing, and not end up falling into a state of depression and/or dying from alcohol poisoning. I’m itching to try my hand at surfing too.

My branch chief wears some of the most snug, rib hugging suits. One good dual bicep flex, and that back seam is a fucking wrap. RIIIIIIIP