I’m living a hard fucking life here. Not conventionally so. Not like with actual suffering and shit.
No, the deal is I try to be a creative type. You know all clever and coming up with stories and stuff I pull out of my ass to amuse others. An artiste, right?
The hard part is two-fold really. One is my home life is pretty goddamn stable. Mostly the strife on the home front is grumbling, fleeting, no worries misunderstandings. If domestic violence equals cancer, occasionally we experience a little chafing that a good moisturizer could fix right up. How fucking dull is that? Seriously, have you ever seen any prose in which the funny, the quirky, the life’s little lesson moment, the humanity came through in a tale of cloying, treacly happiness.
Right.
The second of the two-fold fold of hard living is work. Sure, it sucks mightily every now and again. Aggravating, boring, frustrating, the usual stiltifying numbness any good cubicle gig can give you. Yeah, I got some of that. But, still and all, it beats digging graves.
Moreso, there’s the past-life thing, where weblogging got my ass in the grass realm. You know, twice bitten, once shy or some such cliche. Worse yet, even at it’s worst, I can’t really get myself into a righteous stab-fantasy froth. Couple of folks could maybe use a dope slap upside the head, or maybe a noogie. Perhaps a retraining wedgie. No one, though, longs for the sneaky shiv jammed under the old rib cage.
Maybe they do, I’ve lost sight of caring that much, I fear. Either that or the free kumquats of last week kind of wear the hate right out of me. Seriously, kumquats, just right thre for eating.
Maybe I’m just weaker now from going to the gym. The free gym, the one at work. (I’ve been aching for the last few days after trying out this little bit of torture 
It really only hurts when I laugh. But then it fucking aches, whilst making me feel 110 years old.)
The only other shitty thing to complain about is I finally found something akin to a real-live, East Coast submarine sandwich, or hoagie if you swing that way. Fuck yeah, I got me a small Italian that turned out to be about as big as my head.
Seriously, one thing Cali don’t have, besides pizza, is a good greasy sandwich. If it’s faggoty and on a crisp, sourdough baguette, yeah they got that aplenty. But, crispy baguettes make crappy hard to bite into sammiches. And, sourdough? Fucking blows. It’s all famous and shit in this area, tourists line up at Boudin Bakery, and I don’t fucking know why. Among other things, the bread tastes sour.
Anyway, my Italian from a place down the street from our very own home scratched an East Coast itch. When I get to my old stomping ground next month, it’s gonna be pizza and fucking ice cream 24/7 on an expense account no less.
Perhaps a trip to Kelly’s is in order ? Or maybe a sub from Armando’s ? Hmmm ? I hear Emma’s has added some kick-ass toppings to their line-up ? Or even delivery from Cinderella’s , for old times sake ? Ooohhhh! I can’t wait !!!! Hurrry!!!!!
Yay, a dining companion.
What’s the place in harvard sq w square slices? Or where’s the nearest pizzeria regina?
I simply must head to toscanini’s. I miss them most of all. The ice cream here is inadequate. And probably christina’s and back to toscanini’s.
Pinnochio’s on Eliot Street near St . Paul’s Episcopal ? Or is it the one in the Garage ? I’m in Baby, Oh yeah !!!I’m in !!!!!
its like another world aint it
wazzup dont you get real bakerys in merica
I still miss The European and of course, Buzzy’s. (but not so much the Buzzy’s blow out.)
Santarpios is good and The Lynnwood has to get honorable mention. I even liked The Wurst House before it became Gap for Deuches or whatever. Black Forest cake…mmmmmm.