Off to the Pacific Northwest
Alright. All my t’s are crossed and all my i’s have beautiful little dots placed neatly above them. The work is done. Now it’s time to let off a little steam and get down to the business of serious, unrelenting R&R. I know the first days of afrojet withdrawl can be pretty tough on you kids. I don’t want you going all crazy – counting the days I’m gone by scratching charcoal hatch-marks on your prison walls, so for the next week the misses will be doing some guest blogging on these pages (look for a dramatic improvement in both spelling and punctuation). She’ll be coming out West next week. And then, I’m sorry but you’ll be on your own for awhile. Unless of course I find a quiet moment with some super connectivity. Or, shit, maybe I’ll get bored at the airport tomorrow and I’ll pay their $24 dollar/hour wireless usage fee just to let you know how everything went with my ‘terror alert orange’ body cavity check. You never know. I get pulled aside for extensive security screening every time I fly. Every time.

Today, while in line at the bank, there was a little girl ahead of me who was waiting to make a transaction. She couldn’t have been more than 11 or 12 and she was on her own. She was very small and spoke to the teller in a very cute squeaky voice. She asked if she could know what the balance was on her savings account. I expected the teller to say something like, “you’ve got a whole twenty-one dollars in there honey.” And then the little girl would grin real big and skip away thinking about all the freeze-pops she would buy with her twenty-one dollars. But no. This little girl is freaking loaded! The teller gave the girl her amount. I shit you not it was in the high four figures. I think I actually made an audible sound when I overheard the number I was not supposed to overhear. But damn, that girl ain’t thinking about freeze pops. She’s on a fast track to real-estate investment.