This is actually kind of depressing, sorry.

So I decided to volunteer at a soup kitchen, as I may have mentioned before, and the other day I went in to sign my forms saying I won't sexually assault any of the homeless people, the usual. I dragged Annie along with me in case I needed a wingman for a swift exit. The place seemed nice enough, except most of the homeless people didn't have any teeth, and they were serving some sort of tough meat dish that I just don’t think was realistically edible for the toothless population in there, and that made me feel sad. But there was some soft apple squish for dessert so that was okay.
I made one homeless friend named Gary (sidenote- literally every man I meet here is named Gary. All three of my professors are named Gary. Like, skewed stats). He had two small teeth with some sorta stitches on them. He told me “I was pretty in pink and would make the boys wink.” Then he winked at me in a scary, spastic sort of way, but it was a nice kind of scary, like Nanny McPhee or Count Chocula. Annie was frightened, I think.

So Friday was supposed to be my first real day of work, and right as I’m about to leave I get a phone call saying there has been a FIRE at the soup kitchen, and although it was minor, they are closing the kitchen for the day. Like, WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME. You can’t just CLOSE a soup kitchen. Don’t people depend on that? Where is Gary going to eat today? Here I am sitting in Kincaid’s, full of hotdogs, and the soup kitchen is closed. Ridiculous. I’ll report back next week on any further developments.

Here’s a thought: One horrible genetic trait that I really hope I don’t pass on to my children is psoriasis. I see you people staring at my knees in the gym, and I know what you’re allll thinking. IT’S NOT MRSA ITS JUST A CHRONIC DRY SKIN CONDITION, SO LETS ALL JUST CALM DOWN.