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Why yes, I am Steve Jobs's bitch, and I like it that way
You'd be surprised what an iPod can do for your mental health. (Perhaps you can get your insurance to pay for it on that account ....)
Ordinarily, if I were waiting for a 6 train at Spring St., and I waited for fifteen minutes and a 4 train running local came by but it was too jam-packed full of people not wanting to get out at Spring St. for anyone to get on, and then a three-quarters full 6 train came by but it honked at us and wouldn't stop, and it was a good half-hour before I could squeeze onto the next 6 train, I would have been up in arms calling for the messy and painful deaths of any MTA employees I could get my hands on. As it was, I just leant against a pillar and twiddled around and listened to music quite happily.
Best completely self-indulgent paycheck I ever spent, I tell you. Not that it has a lot of competition, as I'm an inveterate tightwad.
The purpose of my subway venture being groceries (and funny how having an unlimited MetroCard makes every venture involve the subway, somehow), I have groceries. Groceries which extend beyond a quarter of a tub of cream cheese, a jar of pickles, and a box of couscous, which is a Good Thing, as I found the former options rather limiting.
Now I do not know what I shall do with myself. I should probably work on my takehome exam since tomorrow I have agreed, quite rashly, to meet my cousin Heather at some church in the Bronx, where we will hear a speaker whom I will hopefully not desire to pelt with rotten fruit, because my cousin has heard such good things about him. It's hard being the cynical agnostic in the family.
Ordinarily, if I were waiting for a 6 train at Spring St., and I waited for fifteen minutes and a 4 train running local came by but it was too jam-packed full of people not wanting to get out at Spring St. for anyone to get on, and then a three-quarters full 6 train came by but it honked at us and wouldn't stop, and it was a good half-hour before I could squeeze onto the next 6 train, I would have been up in arms calling for the messy and painful deaths of any MTA employees I could get my hands on. As it was, I just leant against a pillar and twiddled around and listened to music quite happily.
Best completely self-indulgent paycheck I ever spent, I tell you. Not that it has a lot of competition, as I'm an inveterate tightwad.
The purpose of my subway venture being groceries (and funny how having an unlimited MetroCard makes every venture involve the subway, somehow), I have groceries. Groceries which extend beyond a quarter of a tub of cream cheese, a jar of pickles, and a box of couscous, which is a Good Thing, as I found the former options rather limiting.
Now I do not know what I shall do with myself. I should probably work on my takehome exam since tomorrow I have agreed, quite rashly, to meet my cousin Heather at some church in the Bronx, where we will hear a speaker whom I will hopefully not desire to pelt with rotten fruit, because my cousin has heard such good things about him. It's hard being the cynical agnostic in the family.