The other day I had the worst interpretation of "gumbo" ever. It was just kind of a tomato soup with rice and sausage. It's like the kind of thing you might expect a high school cafeteria to serve. The good meals recently have been mac and cheese at my apartment and Korean food up north, kind of near all of the prostitutes and scuzzy motels. Tonight I ate at my secondary regular place. The bartender was the one that could stab my hand with a steak knife and, while I was extracting the knife, shoot me in the shoulder, and I'd still probably say a cheery "thanks!" and leave a 20% tip.
Noticed that I've fallen into a pattern where if I am to clean up my apartment, I strip down to my boxers. Could be part of the reason why I never bother to clean up that filthy little kitchenette at work.
There are not many kids in my building but the few I've seen I get the sense that the mothers of these kids are the kind that are completely crazy and over-the-top about things. Like they would only buy certain types of baby food because they were convinced the others would melt the kid's brain or they only wipe the kid's ass with organic chemical-free toilet paper. I can think of about a dozen instances in my youth when I thought I was going to die, mostly because my parents ignored us a lot and encouraged us to leave them alone. Those kind of pukingly/pants-peeingly terrifying experiences forge character (and also the kind of emotional problems that make it difficult to form lasting relationships with people). These kids, however, at no fault of their own, will have no character.
