Epic fail, Cincinnati. That should be the tag always associated with this town. As Mark Twain stated, he'd only like to be here knowing he'd escape the apocalypse for a little while longer. Yeah. Woo hoo. Go us. When I think of Cincinnati, I think of some alcoholic pipedream, which I've had the misfortune of experiencing, where people are so socially pent up that they drink themselves into oblivion, their way to the alter, and wake up 15 years later going "holy shit fuck! What the hell have I done with my life? Too late now!" That's the dream, apparently. New suburbs, cheaply made, overpriced homes, and Ikea furniture.
Why did I start this rant? Why? why? why?! oh yeah. Because I'm doing this instead of filling out my paperwork for the university's review board.
Ok. Back to the subject. This could all be because I'm turning 22 next month, and apparently, that's the start of something. Real life, they call it. If real life is settling down, then shoot me now, Jesus.
That's all I have to say.
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