Now that I have a place to live, I need to get my stuff delivered. Both because I just plain want it, but more importantly, because my social security card and/or passport are in there and I need them in order to get paid at work.
So while looking for a room to rent here in California, the nicest place yet was with this cool girl that works for TiVo. I tried renting the place, and she ultimately decided she’d rather rent it to women. While that certainly sucks, she’s a regular climber at the gym about 2 seconds from her house, and asked if I’d be interested in meeting up there sometime. This is awesome, and I said “hell yes”.
So tonight we met there and were bouldering for a bit. We were going back and fourth trying a V2 that was giving us some trouble, and on one of my turns that I was actually making some progress, I fell and twisted my ankle. It wasn’t too bad at first, and I was able to complete a few other climbs, but then it pretty much said “No, sorry, fuck you Jaeson. I’m done”, and then it was done. After only maybe 30 minutes or so of climbing together, I had to be King Douchebag and call it quits for the night.
Stupid ankle. I fight my social retardation like hell, trying to be outgoing and meet new people in the area, and you go and screw it all up. Thanks for nothing.
Most people didn’t know I was moving to California, mainly because I don’t tell people shit about what’s going on in my life. In order to minimize confusion and maximize my not telling you shit about my life, I offer this brief summary of recent events before regaling you with the tales of my journey across the country.
Continue reading “Moving to California”
When the idea of watching the movie your future son-in-law has spent 2 years creating is proposed:
- Ask what the movie is called.
- When you hear “Sexmatic” in the title, immediately dismiss the movie as not for you, despite not knowing the actual premise of the movie.
- Instead, watch a horribly scripted and acted crime show in which a woman was killed, pushed out of a limousine onto a highway, run over by 6 cars and ends up in 18 pieces.
My favourite part was the one character that at least 6 times said “What the hell is wrong with you people?!”
Thank you for your love, understanding and support.
I occasionally do freelance work for a doctorb in Chestnut Hill. On my way home, I’ll often head a few minutes out of the way in order to get a burrito from Boloco. It only sets me back about 20 minutes, and it’s the closest thing there is to enjoying the giant, delicious burrito’s from the Black Bean, in Flagstaff, AZ. Justin enjoys these wonderful burritos as well.
Recently, Justin scored the both of us several coupons for Boloco, each granting us a burrito for a buck. He did this by somehow finding a way to digitize our love-seed and eMailing it to the president of the company, and this was their thanks in return.
Continue reading “GPS was made specifically for me.”