The dangerous sidewalk

Walking to work today was adventurous: A WWII German bike almost ran me down, a pooch chased me away. And I almost stepped on a homeless man camouflaged under some white cover.

Was I glad to get to the MUNI bus.

Maybe it was payback for the venom I spewed out at media in the previous blog entry. Or maybe it was Mom's curse -- she wasn't one bit happy about the filthy language I used in the entry. Mom being mom, she was perhaps worried that she didn't raise her children right.

It's family ethos to be nice, never to curse, to stay on one job and make plenty of $$ (not in my nomadic nature). My bank's run dry twice and I've landed up at my parents' doorstep for shelter. Mom's always been there, feeding me free chow and blabbering about how useless I am.

Mom's great and welcoming the first few days, then comes her request for a rent check. (read: you bum, hit the road, get to work.)

Not that she'll like the previous paragraph either. I'm kidding Mom, I love ya and how much you worry about me. And happy 21st birthday.