Last night Lyndsey and I went to the most awesome dive bar in the history of all things seedy, Bar 119. Its couches were stripped of leather and its walls rotted off their frames. That being said, we got to watch an old Asian woman high on coke play a young white male hipster in pool, which I found to be more awesome than the Texas vs. USC Rose Bowl in 2006. And for whatever reason, every other song that played was from Wilco. I will be going back soon.

Today, in line at the bank, I stood right in front of the woman who sees my therapist right before I do. I don’t know anything about her except that every Tuesday around 11 am, she walks out of the office with mascara and snot running down her face, just as I am about to walk in. That, and she usually wears fur coats. Anyway, being stuck in front of her in line today was ALMOST as awkward as the time I nearly ran over one of my old therapists my senior year of college when she was jogging with headphones on and darted across the street before looking. I hated that therapist, so even though I didn’t even realize it was her until after she shot me the stink eye after the near-miss, I’m sure Freud would have had a lot to say about that.