The Measure of Success


I could hear myself still breathing hard and I only walked down 3 flights of stairs and around the corner. A crazy thought considering two nights ago I picked up my date and put her over my head. “OMG, I’m 200 lbs!” she screamed.

“I know I’m much stronger than I look.”

The whole point of the walk was to put some vodka in my green tea fusion. I wanted to chill within the Starbucks but it was fucking hot in there.

“Can you crank the AC up in this bitch?” I asked the Barista.

“I’m sorry my brotha, I’m just a low man on the totem pole. I’ll get fired, if I do that.” Modern day slavery at it’s finest.

So here I sit outside watching all the girls walk by in yoga pants and pondering how this chick got her own article. I remember her within my Physics class, constantly talking about how hard she studied, and high fiving her lab partner when they got the voltmeter to read out 3.50. A real Type A, drone personality, that some Anthony Michael Hall character with no direction would love to marry. Most likely a first chair male flute player, that could crush it on his Brahms solo.

But apparently she was a rising star in Academia, headed to MIT for her doctorate to measure the current in autistic kids brains. Creepy as fuck to me, but anything in the name of science.

I’m legitimately happy for her. There are some people in this world that want that lifestyle. The 100,000 in student debt, attending parties with people who constantly use the word “predominately” in a sentence, and love to tell you about how well the new Prius handles.

Then there are the people, that like to get drunk in public, type on a blog, and get called a pervert by passing women.

I mean success really comes in all different forms.

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