Next up, Ken Paxton sues San Francisco State

I’d wager that his lease has a mandatory arbitration clause that requires him to pay up front then try to get it back via arbiters chosen by the landlord.

They’ll make you listen to Vogon poetry. If your head explodes, you’re not a bot.

I’ve been on a jury once. In that particular case, there were a couple jurors who took it upon themselves to police anybody bringing up anything that we were instructed to disregard. You may not think twelve people is a lot, but I’m my experience, it was twelve wildly different personalities which was frustrating, but ultimately beneficial in coming to a unanimous decision.

Further, they sent us out of the courtroom several times during the trial so opposing counsels could fight over what could and couldn’t be entered into evidence for us to see.

I spent several months last year actively looking for a therapist. I’m not talking a single casual Google search and done. I’m talking months of calling, emailing, physically driving to. The only therapists I could find who were taking on new patients and would accept my insurance were magic Jesus Crystal types whose “therapy” was little more than thinly veiled proselytizing.

Given how it seems people need to go through several therapists to find the right one, I gave up after failing to secure the first.

I almost fell for that whole better help scam but fortunately it was exposed for the personal data mining nonsense that it is before I signed up.

I learned of my father’s death weeks after the fact. My involuntary reaction was an emotionless, “huh.” I think I was forty eight years old at the time.

I hadn’t spoken to him for over thirty years, and had suffered decades of nightmares that he’d found me.

After learning he had passed, the nightmares finally ended, but the lifelong fight or flight tendency to keep to myself and never rock any boat remains.

My sister has said that she’s jealous of my daughter because we have a pretty close father/daughter bond - something my sister never knew and never will.

In my fifties now, I generally avoid human interaction as much as is physically possible. While I could cite other reasons as to why I’m this way, I can confidently point a rigididly extended index finger at dear old dad as the foundation of it all.

My parenting duties complete, I mostly just exist waiting for the sweet sweet embrace of death when I’ll no longer have to go make money for the man or pretend that I enjoy the saccharin sweet small talk of co-workers who don’t give two shits about me or anybody else, but professional decorum for the win, right?

I don’t even look forward to weekends because those are just two day stints of solitude doing chores so I’m ready to go make more money for the man on Monday.

On the flip side, please don’t touch me.

First I wondered if the post had it spelled incorrectly.

Then you had me wondering if I’ve been spelling it incorrectly this whole time.

Turns out extravert and extrovert are both acceptable spellings but extravert did come first.

Meanwhile, the mantle is tailgating the hell out of the core wishing it would move over to the right lane

I can’t watch him anymore either.

No issues watching old Robin Williams clips, but I just can’t watch Anthony anymore.

This is a good little illustration of why his passing made me feel like I lost somebody I knew personally

That’s always been my response when manager and owner use that whole “nobody wants to work anymore,” thing because they can’t get people to take offers for six bucks a year.

Every single time I hear that, I say out loud, “Well I certainly don’t want to work. Who in their right mind does? That’s why we get paid to do it.”

I know it’s wrong and that I’m going to Internet hell for admitting to it, but there’s a smell when Grandma would light her cigarette in the hot box car with the windows up that I find nostalgic to this day even though I find the concept of smoking in a car repugnant

The crazy thing is that it was so prevalent, I don’t really remember the world smelling smoky unless I went into a small room like my grandparents living room.

I didn’t notice it in places like restaurants and bars until after the bans came.

I would guess that my generation has a diminished sense of smell because of it.

It’s not me and I have an office. It doesn’t get to me.

But I can definitely see that it would bother a whole lot of people.

On that, I’m old enough to have begun my working life when people smoked cigarettes at their desks. This is a much, much better alternative.

People bring their dogs to work all the time in my office. Fortunately, all of us are dog lovers, so we all enjoy it.

The other trend that doesn’t bother me, but surprises me is that I’d estimate about two thirds of the people in my office vape at their desks.

We also have bean to cup espresso, which is nice. People will go find high end beans and contribute them. It works out nicely.

We’re highly educated professionals, damnit!

We’re headed for global serfdom, aren’t we?

I thought this was North Korea for the following reasons:

The street is largely empty

There’s a foreign car

The license plates are significantly different than what I remember

Never heard of Pangyo

Looking all of those things up (except the empty street) I realize I would absolutely not recognize the country I lived in thirty years ago

Oh. You like brutalism.

Well look where I went to school.

By tenth grade I had been commissioned to write some software. When I completed it, I walked away from all of it because of the social stigma. Didn’t touch a computer again for ten years. I won’t say I regret that because walking away led me to other life adventures, but I will say I regret the circumstances that drove me to do it.