The longboards are coming out of their closets, get ready Olympia. And you're not allowed to ride on the sidewalk either Mr. Bike Cop.

I would write about Olympia, but I can't see it right now. I've had pneumonia for about a week, and it's proved to be quite the downer. I just want to go out and work, play, drink coffee and get rained on.

But instead, I'm stuck inside taking as much medication as your late grandmother and trying to find something to do on my computer. I've watched every episode of my favorite show, Trailer Park Boys. I've watched dozens of movies. I've watched dozens of MMA fights. I've picked up video games I haven't touched in months and beaten them.

I used to resent not having the free time to do these things because of work and school, but now I'd love nothing more than to be busy and healthy again. Go get rained on and enjoy it for me, I'll be busy coughing up blood.

but instead of brains he's got lizards

I'm buying a pair of used turntables and a mixer off of Craigslist, and we've agreed to meet halfway in Tacoma on Saturday. However, I don't really have any way of trying them out and making sure everything is in working order. Is there a park or a community center with plug in outlets we could use for a few minutes for this purpose? I don't know much of the Tacoma area, so I'm looking for help.

    You know, it just occurred to me that for the most part, I toss salads for a living. Puns and dirty jokes aside, I find it to be pretty sad.
    I don't really know much about our customers. The few that talk to me on the open kitchen treat me more like an exhibit at a museum than a cook, or a person, even.
    "Great job, guys!" proclaims a cheery old man. His hair is grayed and slightly balding, his glasses are small. Nothing about him is distinguishable from the dozens of other old men who came before him. Without even thinking, I smile and wave.
    He's probably the same guy who complained about his Olympia oysters being too small. His ceaser dressing was too salty. Ten ounces of ice cream wasn't enough for his blackberry cobbler.
    Fuck. It's no use, really. I don't claim to be a good cook, not by a long shot. My knowledge of food is jumbled and slim, at best. Instead of trying to teach the server or customer, I go for the faster route: remaking the problem order. To try and teach them, my breath would be wasted. The customer wants food, the server wants tips and I just want them both to get the hell out of the restaurant.
    "Order up!" Oh, great.
    "Table 135 didn't get enough avocado or egg on their Hawaiian Cobb, could I get some more?"
    Sure, it costs us a lot. But I take a handful of each and randomly arrange them on a bread plate.
    "Thanks a bunch!" The server disappears as quickly as he appeared. Hopefully he can appease the customer in time. An offer to the gods.
    But before I have time to be displeased with my job, the timer beeps. Another melting cake. I hope it's for Christine Gregoire again, I'll stab it on purpose.

The man working the downtown Taco Truck fronted me a burrito a few weeks ago. I hope he isn't mad that I haven't paid him back yet.

He was closing up the truck and me and friend walked up. He reopened to sell him a burrito and give me one since he doesn't take debit.

God bless the Taco Truck.

that thousands of eggs will rain down on olympia. on march 6th, around 4:55 PM.

THE OMEN HAS COME.

I JUST SAW YOU CHUCKLE THAT MEANS IM RIGHT

fuck ya'll mofuckers.