mischief managed.

sometimes I wish I could trade in my unparalleled knowledge and propensity to get everything right with boobs.

true story.

sometimes I like to misplace capital letters.

OR USE THEM EXCESSIVELY. 

the ps3 has lost internet connection, which means I have lost the epic battle of dungeon defenders vs. netflix.  the intro music to dungeon defenders sounds eerily similar to marvel: ultimate alliance, resulting in dashed hopes and crushed dreams.  I suspect that I have been outsmarted in a ruthless conspiratorial coup d’état, but power only comes to those with proof.  you win this round, monsieur de paolo sacre bleu, but my name is marice romeroya, you killed my netflix, prepare to die.

my gay roommates have taught their non-spayed puppy to hump on command.   

there is a toyota venza in my apartment’s lot that parks like a bird pecked his eyes out and replaced them with kidney stones.  I would like to pee in his gas tank, but I lack the necessary equipment to do so effectively and paolo says that is untoward (although he didn’t actually use that word).  I will settle for pitching a series of tents around his car and holding up signs that express that I stand with the 99% who think you’re an asshole.

I used to be able to read and write french really well but all I can think to say now is je pouvais lire et écrire le français très bien, mais tout que je peux penser à dire maintenant est

C’EST LA CHANSON QUI NE FINIT JAMAIS.

bitch.

I saw a video that disturbed me last night.  When I woke up this morning, I thought I had dreamed it because I was still naive enough to believe I lived in a country where peaceful assembly is a right and blunt force is a resort only used to protect against the dangerous.

A group of students pitching tents where “it’s not allowed” are not the dangerous I need protection from.  I need protection from those who make higher education more unlikely for the intelligent yet underprivileged, from those who render a college degree almost worthless due to a >10% unemployment rate, from those who are satisfied that over 1/3 of the nation’s wealth is held by 1% of the population.  I may not always fully agree with the Occupy movement but I am grateful that there are still people in this country courageous enough to stand up and say that something isn’t right here.

So this is the question I pose to you…

Is this how it feels to be at the forefront of a revolution?  To feel angry, unsatisfied and unwilling to accept things as they are, to know there’s a solution for this mess and that it is not in the hands of those in power?  I think that we are standing at the precipice of a struggle that will test and challenge us in a way we can’t even comprehend or prepare for right now.  There’s something brewing that we may not be ready for.  But I do believe that change should and will come regardless, and for once, I’m actually excited to see what legacy this generation has to offer the world.

There’s something immensely calming about walking through San Francisco in the crisp autumn air, something akin to the feeling of returning home or reuniting with an old friend.  I’d like to lay outside in the dewy grass and allow the cold air and clouds to completely encompass me, the cold air conspiring to bring me back to a state of normalcy.

This feeling is magnified because the past few weeks have been unusually warm, making me feel off center, out of place and outside of myself.  I felt like a paralarval octopus floating among the microbial inhabitants of the water’s surface, awaiting the day I could expect grander things, for the day I could descend to a home I wasn’t aware existed.