Are you there, Jah? It's me, Ras Trent. And I am not a Peeping Tom.
Monday, June 15
I went to the Passport Agency today.
Was quite boring, I guess.
The building itself was huge and somewhat cool looking though.
And I guess it was kind of interesting just because of how many different kinds of people there were.
Including a mommy that was pretty mean to her children. And a French couple.
A stereotypically German looking man with extremely thick blond hair on his thighs. (Think more 20th century German, not Nazi German, if that makes sense)
Also, this ragtag team of foreigners kind of made their own little clique and started cracking jokes with each other and shit. I guess it was kind of cute because all of them were borderline obese or balding so it was fun to see them socialize. That made me seem quite the voyeur, which I guess I kind of can be, when I feel like it. Sometimes I glance in whatever windows homeowners have cared to leave open as I walk/bike around Cypress. It's usually the same, too, man and/or woman on couch, watching TV, drinking some beverage, petting some dog, touching some body part. It bothers me when they're watching commercials, though. We all have at some point, but watching someone else watch commercials just kind of makes me sad. Now I suppose watching me watching someone else watching commercials would make you even sadder, but it's not like I stay watching them for more then a few seconds anyhow. So don't go shedding those tears for silly ole me now, ya here?
Now get!
Get!
I said get! I don't want you anymore! Can't you see?
You stupid dog!
Get, you curd! Get!
Shoo! (boy kicks dirt)
(The dog is at first stubborn, but after one last longing search in its owner's eyes, he runs away. The boy breaks down into tears. Cue sentimental score and more sniveling from young boy.)
But anyway, them old people. It was a sight akin to children meeting each other for the first time at the neighborhood playground. Kyoot.
The process itself took perhaps a combined 20 minutes but I had to wait for about eternity.
Also there was a picture of Barack Obama and Hilary Clinton on the wall behind my helper (or whatever you want to call them), for obvious reasons. It was kind of neat, I guess. Dept. of State and all. I actually considered applying to be a Foreign Service Officer but I realized that I would probably fuck up all our foreign relations and we would get nuked or something like that. Other than that, I wouldn't really make it anyway. I guess I kind of romanticized the actual job, too. But still, it would be neat.
Hey, summer starts tomorrow!
I'm not looking forward to it other than my trip, really.
Korea.
Yes.
Hopefully, I can get my grubby little appendages on a digital camera and I will take very touristy photos and possibly post other sentimental shit about my roots and heritage or something like that. But apparently it's supposed to be extremely hot and muggy, which in my opinion is the worst type of weather ever created, I'm talking to you, God.
Lil' Baby Jesus gotta ruin all my travel plans.
Last note: 12 HOUR PLANE TRIP! WHAT THE HELL.
Also, don't worry guys. The dog comes back to save his owner at the last minute and charms the landlord enough so that he may stay. Happy ending.
Was quite boring, I guess.
The building itself was huge and somewhat cool looking though.
And I guess it was kind of interesting just because of how many different kinds of people there were.
Including a mommy that was pretty mean to her children. And a French couple.
A stereotypically German looking man with extremely thick blond hair on his thighs. (Think more 20th century German, not Nazi German, if that makes sense)
Also, this ragtag team of foreigners kind of made their own little clique and started cracking jokes with each other and shit. I guess it was kind of cute because all of them were borderline obese or balding so it was fun to see them socialize. That made me seem quite the voyeur, which I guess I kind of can be, when I feel like it. Sometimes I glance in whatever windows homeowners have cared to leave open as I walk/bike around Cypress. It's usually the same, too, man and/or woman on couch, watching TV, drinking some beverage, petting some dog, touching some body part. It bothers me when they're watching commercials, though. We all have at some point, but watching someone else watch commercials just kind of makes me sad. Now I suppose watching me watching someone else watching commercials would make you even sadder, but it's not like I stay watching them for more then a few seconds anyhow. So don't go shedding those tears for silly ole me now, ya here?
Now get!
Get!
I said get! I don't want you anymore! Can't you see?
You stupid dog!
Get, you curd! Get!
Shoo! (boy kicks dirt)
(The dog is at first stubborn, but after one last longing search in its owner's eyes, he runs away. The boy breaks down into tears. Cue sentimental score and more sniveling from young boy.)
But anyway, them old people. It was a sight akin to children meeting each other for the first time at the neighborhood playground. Kyoot.
The process itself took perhaps a combined 20 minutes but I had to wait for about eternity.
Also there was a picture of Barack Obama and Hilary Clinton on the wall behind my helper (or whatever you want to call them), for obvious reasons. It was kind of neat, I guess. Dept. of State and all. I actually considered applying to be a Foreign Service Officer but I realized that I would probably fuck up all our foreign relations and we would get nuked or something like that. Other than that, I wouldn't really make it anyway. I guess I kind of romanticized the actual job, too. But still, it would be neat.
Hey, summer starts tomorrow!
I'm not looking forward to it other than my trip, really.
Korea.
Yes.
Hopefully, I can get my grubby little appendages on a digital camera and I will take very touristy photos and possibly post other sentimental shit about my roots and heritage or something like that. But apparently it's supposed to be extremely hot and muggy, which in my opinion is the worst type of weather ever created, I'm talking to you, God.
Lil' Baby Jesus gotta ruin all my travel plans.
Last note: 12 HOUR PLANE TRIP! WHAT THE HELL.
Also, don't worry guys. The dog comes back to save his owner at the last minute and charms the landlord enough so that he may stay. Happy ending.
Labels: are you confused?, blabber
