As today I sat on my lunch break, initially wondering why I had not purchased hardly enough food to last me through five days of the week (and at that, I bought some really shitty stuff...I must have been really out of it on Monday when I went to the store), and secondly wondering how likely it would be that I would be at a Subway, in Los Angeles, on my lunch break, listening to Beautiful Stranger by Madonna...I decided it would have been highly unlikely for me to be in such a position. First of all, when I eat Subway, normally I do not choose the dine in option, as when you do this you typically run into: a)a slew of people trying to lose weight but eating two footlong chicken and bacon ranches and leaving you to wonder why they also got the chips and the cola that would satiate a whole village and b)homeless people being fed the low grade meat. Secondly, the weather in LA, while one of the factors that is freaking me out about this place, as I have decided I love seasonality, is always beautiful, and the outdoor seating areas are lovely outside this particular Subway. Thirdly, the homeless seem to always be getting free sandwiches at Subway, which, while I have no problem with that, tends to hurt my appetite a little. So, yes, a different experience.
While walking to the bathroom the other day at work ( I work in a 24 floor large office building), I noted a grizzly old janitor man. I decided janitors who are in the profession after the age of 50 have three primary jobs, and in this order:
1)Have an awesome mustache.
2)Be grizzled, stare angrily ahead.
3) Leer at women.
The mustache part is by far the most important. Sure you can be angry as you are seemingly a professional janitor, but you know they are spending hours at night at home grooming their mustache, which is most admirable. I would love to have a job where I could steam around angrily, leer at women and be extremely grizzled. I mean, think about it, sure you have to occasionally clean overflown toilets and such, but you have permission to have an awesome stache, seem super angry, and stare at attractive women, it is totally expected.
OJ Simpson was included as a suspect in some sort of Las Vegas sports memorabilia heist today, and it only made me thing one thing: I want to be a suspect. Why only suspect the crazy former NFLer who was suspected of murdering a few people? Do you know what joy it would give me at work or to be watching ESPN and see my name scroll across the bottom line: OJ SIMPSON, SEPERATELY TIM RADWAY SUSPECTED OF HOTEL ROOM BREAK-IN... I would be so proud to round up alibis and know exactly what was up. It would make my life so very exciting.
That is all I have for now. And shut up, what have you done for me lately?
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