Confession

I am too dumb for C.S.I. Miami. The plot moves too quickly and I can't keep up with all the technical information. Some episodes I am "better at" then others, but mostly I find myself two steps behind the action. If only there were more commercial breaks in between all of those flashbacks and lab scenes, then maybe I'd be able to process the information faster and enjoy the show.

I've noticed that the people on that show know a lot about things I've never given much thought to-- like guns, bullets and blood spatter patterns. I am not convinced that ythis is an adequate excuse for not understanding, since they usually explain this stuff pretty well. They do it too quickly, though!
Jeez. Some people are addicted to this show. These people are SMART! Or at least smarter than me.

I have to practice watching this show because as it is, I am too dumb for C.S.I. Miami. Law and Order is more my pace.

What's The Skinny?

Births/deaths, Weddings/funerals...

Same psycho-intuitive emotions attached/conventions conveniently compartmentalised by Modern Western Civilisation, or distinctive passages marked by similar attire? Discuss.

How Not to Order at Starbucks

I've recently been catapulted from Carefree, Summer Dre into full-on Crisis Dre. I have spent the past thirty-six hours or so on autopilot: stoic, scattered, and scared. My mind is racing a mile a minute-- a fact evinced by my ineptitude at quotidian transactions requiring the least possible amount of actual thought. Decision making was difficult today.

This morning in Starbucks, as I was sandwiched in a big line:

Barista: Hi, can I help you?
Me: Uh...
(Barista raises eyebrow)
Me: May I have a... (five second pause)...big...
Barista: Yes?
Me: ...coffee?
Barista (nonplussed): Breakfast Blend or Bold?
Me: Caffinated.
Barista, pointing to a size: This one?
Me: No smaller than that, but bigger than the small one. With room!

I must have looked like an idiot, or one of those customers who purposefully avoid using Starbucks jargon in order to either irk the Baristas or throw them off their game. I intended neither. Nonetheless, in the interest of keeping things simple while the going is rough, perhaps I will drink from the Second Cup's carafe tomorrow.

Gnawing pain means poverty, I guess.

It's not like I wasn’t poor before, but I never really thought of it that way, since I had attributed my lack of funds to the fact that I was still a student, and as such, did not expect to earn any appreciable income.

The fact has come into stark relief this past week, however. I am one month out-of–school, working a part-time job with no benefits and… and… I just got a toothache. A wisdom-toothache. My latest consultation has yielded an estimate of the work required at just under two-thousand dollars after taxes.

I have in my possession two bottles of Tylenol 3’s from previous injuries: never used, but wisely kept. Either this codeine goes, or my teeth do.

*Sigh*
I may never see the ocean again.