A very long time ago, and much less technologically advanced:

I went to boarding school. We had a little bit of a propensity for sneaking out of the dorm at night.

New dean comes in our senior year and installs alarms on all the exits.

Our senior year time capsule contains the controlling keypad to that alarm system that wasn’t even functional for twenty four hours.

I’ve no doubt that today’s teens possess the ingenuity to bypass if not completely disable this thing.

I don’t know. Some people who experience abuse and escape it become far worse abusers when they’re in position to do so.

I’d wager that his lease has a mandatory arbitration clause that requires him to pay up front then try to get it back via arbiters chosen by the landlord.

I think I read not too long ago that there are still bales of cash buried around Colombia that were never accounted for.

They’ll make you listen to Vogon poetry. If your head explodes, you’re not a bot.

Biodiesel was gonna be the next big thing before EVs started gaining traction. Arnold drove around a Hummer that was modified to run on vegetable oil while he was governor.

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I used power delete suite last year. Just checked and most of my profile is back. Assholes.

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We would have to first value education, and that counts for parents and home life as well.

Instead, we’re at war with education trying to water it down as much as possible if not outright eliminate it.

I’ve been on a jury once. In that particular case, there were a couple jurors who took it upon themselves to police anybody bringing up anything that we were instructed to disregard. You may not think twelve people is a lot, but I’m my experience, it was twelve wildly different personalities which was frustrating, but ultimately beneficial in coming to a unanimous decision.

Further, they sent us out of the courtroom several times during the trial so opposing counsels could fight over what could and couldn’t be entered into evidence for us to see.

Just looked through some of that stuff. Holy hell, it would be easier to be seen as without sin through the eyes of an angry old testament God than it would be to be seen as worthy of dating from that crowd. And that’s fine, because I would want less than zero to do with it.

(Assuming it’s real. Who knows? Could be a bunch of neckbeards cosplaying, but if I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that there are shitty shitty men in this world, and that there are equally shitty shitty women in this world)

He probably hates sex because it requires him to show up and actually perform.

There were also weird sizes and brands like Clan Kangaroo Scotch Whisky in the seven quart bottle, invariably sold at a drug store next to the Dutch Master cigars.

I never did any real research with microfiche, but I sure did love going through old newspapers. I especially loved all the old advertisements.

I spent several months last year actively looking for a therapist. I’m not talking a single casual Google search and done. I’m talking months of calling, emailing, physically driving to. The only therapists I could find who were taking on new patients and would accept my insurance were magic Jesus Crystal types whose “therapy” was little more than thinly veiled proselytizing.

Given how it seems people need to go through several therapists to find the right one, I gave up after failing to secure the first.

I almost fell for that whole better help scam but fortunately it was exposed for the personal data mining nonsense that it is before I signed up.

I learned of my father’s death weeks after the fact. My involuntary reaction was an emotionless, “huh.” I think I was forty eight years old at the time.

I hadn’t spoken to him for over thirty years, and had suffered decades of nightmares that he’d found me.

After learning he had passed, the nightmares finally ended, but the lifelong fight or flight tendency to keep to myself and never rock any boat remains.

My sister has said that she’s jealous of my daughter because we have a pretty close father/daughter bond - something my sister never knew and never will.

In my fifties now, I generally avoid human interaction as much as is physically possible. While I could cite other reasons as to why I’m this way, I can confidently point a rigididly extended index finger at dear old dad as the foundation of it all.

My parenting duties complete, I mostly just exist waiting for the sweet sweet embrace of death when I’ll no longer have to go make money for the man or pretend that I enjoy the saccharin sweet small talk of co-workers who don’t give two shits about me or anybody else, but professional decorum for the win, right?

I don’t even look forward to weekends because those are just two day stints of solitude doing chores so I’m ready to go make more money for the man on Monday.