Lately I've been at loss of blog topics, but I'm really bored; so I'll just force myself to think of something.

You know your 578 square foot studio apartment is at a revolting level of disorganization when it actually takes hours to achieve partial decorum. I have been enduring this very problem for the past week or so and have finally decided to hop off my lazy ass and hop into the kitchen where I've begun my clean-a-ton clean-a-thon. I guess cleaning isn't so bad once you've begun; everything just sort of transpires like clockwork. It's really just the initial motivating factor that I find difficult to come by, but who doesn't?

My job is starting to aggravate me a lot more lately, and I'm not really sure why. I mean, I haven't really been the victim of the sous chef's incessant bitching as much as I was prior to October, but who knows what's really going on in that fucking weirdo's cranium. On the bright side, the mouthbreathing dolt whose presence I had to painfully suffer for like four months got demoted and has been replaced by some guy who can hopefully spell "asparagus".

I, until like right now, thought the phrase "Jah will provide" was actually "Jawa will provide". I think "Jawa" is cooler because Star Wars fucking rules. Last night I was at my mom's house, and she had an episode of Wife Swap recorded, so I decided to check it out. There were an absurd white Rastafarian family from Florida and an even more absurd Texan family who lived by spreadsheets. The Texan dad controlled his family into living a pretty much chaste lifestyle as a means of appearing refined, but it wasn't really too convincing; I guess because it's hard to view a bald hick living in the practically rural suburbs of I think what is south Texas as cultivated. The Rastafarian family were just delusional bozos with the idea that "Jah will provide". Their intentions were sensible, but their lifestyle was not.

I guess all I'm trying to say is, queso flameado is a damn stupid appetizer.