I was born with the supreme ability of misplacing my cellphone at any given moment in life. And the uncanny ability to bring it much unintended harm.
When in LA at sunset in a warehouse-sized costume/thrift shop and a beady eyed, stoner manager with long, dirty hair asks you to join the employee after-party and have some beers while the employees lurking in the background nod with approval, you know its time to get the F outta there.
Note to self: buy new socks that aren’t bright red.
What am I talking about. I love my bright red socks.
Note to self: buy more bright red socks.