Everyone's a crack whore in my eyes.

Well, I meant to quit, but I've been drawn back to this whole blog thing. I think it's because I've been trying to keep a journal regularly and I keep asking myself, "Why am I forcing myself to write the funny things that happen to me in a private diary when I really just want to shout it to the world?" What a great question, I answered myself. So here I am.

I'm gonna switch up the format of this baby and primarily post short entries because I am not doing enough to warrant those super-sized essay-length posts any more. Out with the old world, in with the new. More is less. Etcetera.

So I am walking down Tremont to my hotel (let's hear it for living on-campus at a school with housing space issues!) with a big ole mesh bag of groceries from Trader Joes. I get stopped at an intersection and I hear some lady saying, "Excuse me, ma'am?" I ignore her, partly because "ma'am" is just not specific enough to get a response from me, but mostly because a year and a half of living in Boston and Europe has turned my heart hard and callous to street crazies. She continues to "ma'am" me in an increasingly nagging voice, so finally I break down and make eye contact. "Ma'am, I'm really hungry, could you help me out?" My bag of groceries consists of some avocados, apple cider vinegar, organic cereal and some bananas. Not the most appealing variety. I offer her the bananas and she immediately refuses, and gets bizarrely snappy with me about how she wants a meal. I reply, "Okay, well I can't help you, sorry," and walk away.

Look, lady. Clearly you wanted money, but don't feed me some story about how you're hungry and then reject my banana bunch. I make a point of refusing to give people money any more, because I have let people take advantage of how nice I am too many times. I know it's not very Jesus of me, but you know, Jesus never lived in Boston.