twenty third

incidentally, that incident had left me
right on the untaken path, feelin a little Daft
one more time! Harder, baby, better/faster/stronger
stay in this digital love just a little bit longer

twenty second

Summer Goals:
[ ] Battle a lot, rep STL hard
[X] B-twist
[ ] Aerial
[X] Fresh moves
[ ] Make a video with phil and matt (Night in STL 2) maybe just phil for now...
[X] learn to drive
[X] Start Mark Rippetoe weights program
[ ] Capoeira in the STL
[X] Adventure with Stacey
[X] Watch FIFA World Cup
[X] Cook. A lot
[X] Buy a new laptop with high end gpu, play lots of SC2, Guildwars 2, Diablo 3, all that good stuff
[ ] Redo wardrobe

twenty first

one of my friends is allergic to msg

yooo im gonna wake up early tomorrow, to eat breakfast

at this place


so one time we were at a restaurant and he was like

hokkaido milk restaurant

if i start breaking out in hives

they make the most bomb breakfast

stab me with this needle

Twentieth

Everyday, at around 9:00 pm, my dog Whisky runs out to the balcony. As he trots over, a low growl escapes his normally smiling mouth. His lips curl up, giving him a much more intimidating look. grrrrrrrrrrruuuh. He takes a step out. There is a grille, arranged so that there are 9 squares. Whisky sticks his head through the bottom left square. Ruff ruff ruff grrrrr ruff ruff ruff. The barking is deeper, more resonant than usual.

My mom screams at Whisky. Whisky pulls his head back in, and barks a few more times for good measure. He steps daintily back into the house, and just for kicks, gives another bark. He walks back into the house and sits down. My mom comes over to me and says, "do you know why he barks at this time? Come outside".

I step outside. "Look down. Sniff the air. The people right below us smoke outside, and that's what Whisky is barking about". Indeed, I see that one floor down, on the balcony, is an ashtray, the remnants of several cigarettes lying still in a field of light fluffy grey ash. 

Whisky slinks over, looking satisfied with himself.

"Good boy."

nineteenth

"To new friends, better sex...and eye contact"

-capoeira
-Tiara
-beach partyyyyyyyyy

seventeenth

Delivering newspapers [送報紙] vs Delivering Milk [送牛奶]

Garic: Do you know what that means?
Me: nuh-uh. Not at all...
Garic: Well...how do I put this...

[dirty smile]

When you deliver milk, you have to go inside. But when you're delivering newspapers, you can just throw it outside. And just leave it there.

Me: ohhhhh *ding* OHHHHHH

sixteenth [Taxi driver edition]

Me: Hey, you gonna go to xx road?
Taxi Driver: Yeah, get in. [motions with hand]
Me: Thanks a lot
(Driver is pretty cool dude, old Chinese man with a ballin' beard, it's all wispy and shit)
Taxi Driver: Hey, don't thank me. Look at this shit...it's hard finding customers
Me: Really?
Taxi Driver: Yeah, they can tell you all this shit, but us taxi drivers...we know the truth. It gets reflected in our work...the economy is shit right now.
Me: Dayumnn.
Taxi Driver: Yeah, look at this damned street. Not a single customer. You see all those taxis with the light on? We call it Dung Loong (Lanterns). This street is full of lanterns.
[more talk about how the economy sucks and mainland Chinese are screwing us over]
Me: It must be pretty tough.
Taxi Driver: hell yeah.

fifteenth

Nick is passed out on the bed. He is eerily still. The white pillows, huge and impossibly soft-looking, frame his small baby-face wonderfully. His arms are askew, his face is slack. Standing at the foot of the bed is the imposing figure of Kenny. He looks angry, but at this point I have no idea what he's thinking. He reaches out and nudges Nick's knee.

"Hey Nick, do you want to go home and sleep?" 

Kenny's slight British accent never fails to catch me off guard. It's strange that his accent comes and goes, extremely profound in its rarity. "Nick! Don't you you want to go home so you can sleep on your own bed?"

Next to me, Danny moves. He's been silently watching the scene, his arms crossed. He fidgets a little, and shifts his weight to his other foot. I turn back to the computer sitting on the desk in front of me. I take my hand off the keyboard, and then point to Nick.

"Nick. We need to get you out of here. You need to sleep in your own bed." 

Kenny's voice grows harsher, his tone angrier. His posture is not unlike that of a irate parent, about to scold his child into a fit of tears. I get up. Walk over to Nick and slap his thigh. No reaction.

Finally, Nick stirs. He mutters to himself, something in Korean. He turns his head back and forth. I have a strong urge to draw on his face, a consequence of him being unable to stay awake for more than a few seconds at a time. I share this with Danny and Kenny, who find the idea hilarious but are unwilling to actually do the deed.

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