Phone it in Friday
Yes I know this is two blogs in one day which would suggest effort, but I’m writing it in bed at 4:00 in the afternoon with old episodes of House in my split screen. Let’s call it a wash.
Sad life snippets
Went to a wedding with my girlfriend a few weeks back but was still dealing with the tail end of my stomach problems. Ended up having to set time limits for myself when I was in the john so her family wouldn’t notice I was gone and start asking questions I wasn’t prepared to answer.
Went to get Communion at the wedding and every Tom, Dick, and Gladys there is dunking their wafer in the Communion wine. Not this guy — I raw dogged that chalice. That wafer isn’t a Dunkaroo, have some respect for tradition for Christ’s literal sake. Also, the blood of Christ is a tawny port if I’m not mistaken. Maybe sherry, but I’m leaning port.
Took like 7,000 pictures at the wedding because it’s probably the only time my girlfriend will see me wearing anything nicer than sweat shorts and a Barstool hoodie. After a while, I realized that the muscles I use to smile get sore very easily. That is a bad sign for both my dental and mental health.
Went to the gym down in Florida because it’s all old people at the gym in my parents place so I just flex how I’m in slightly better shape than most of them. Anyways I tried to max out the weight on the tricep pulldown machine. While I was able to do it for a rep, I felt a pain in my neck that will almost definitely come back to haunt me some day. Also, I realized after the fact that I had a chocolate stain on my shorts the whole time I was working out. At least I think it was chocolate…
I’ve gotten back in the habit of telling slight lies for no reason at all. My grandma randomly asked me if I’ve ever made a souffle and I said yes, once. Never made one in my life. Had nothing to gain through that lie.
Mentioned it in my earlier blog but I had my girlfriend place like 12 bets for me while I was out of betting range and I think I won 2. She has to be at least a little concerned about me.
My parents took us to dinner at the Ritz (the scummy casual tiki restaurant there where a tuna melt costs $35 not the nice one that requires a blazer and wine is only sold by the bottle). Had a road beer because how else do you get through a 20 minute car ride. (I wasn’t driving). Anyways I get out of the car and had a little beer left so I just one touched the can in front of a valet at one of the nicest hotel chains in the world. I really embrace the fat scumbag thing.
Sidenote: when we were getting the car from the valet after dinner, a BMW, brand new Tesla, and $100K Mercedes all pulled up for the other guests, followed by our shitbox Toyota Highlander. We collapsed laughing.
Was rolling into the driving range at my parents' golf club and the dude who runs the place greeted my dad then said, “I need the big guy to flip his hat around for me,” referring to me and my backwards hat. First off, why is that a rule? And why did my dad act like it was common knowledge that your golf hat must be oriented orthodoxically? The hat can be rotated can it not? You know what — I’m gonna fight my dad. Calling you out Steve. Do something about it, you won’t. Secondly, where the fuck does golf clubhouse dude get off calling me “big guy?” You’re not exactly winning any smallest waistline contests yourself there champ. I guarantee that this big guy could pipe his 8-iron about 100 yards further than that smug prick. You know what — add him to my fight card. I’ll throw hands with him right after the three hits I need to put my dad down (I hit him, he hits the floor, ambulance hits 60).
A few days later my brother and I were at a bar rooting for the Patriots to lose for draft position purposes and the old guy next to me asked me to save his seat as he went to the bathroom. He then said, “you seem like a big guy so I trust you’ll keep it safe.” Weirdly appreciated that and took it as a complement. Context matters.
My company sent me a leather bound notepad as a workiversary gift which is really nice and a wonderful gesture. While I’m free to use it as I wish, I’m guessing they didn’t anticipate that it would become my gambling ledger.
This isn’t really a life thing, but why don’t they just make doorways bigger? Was trying to move a desk at my parents house and it took us forever to angle it through the doorway. Just make wider doors so you can carry things normal. I’ve been to ballrooms, the technology exists.
I’ve officially decided that alcohol is keeping my gut biome regulated. After weeks of stomach issues, I took an antibiotic and was completely healed in 3 days. In other words, the problem was likely an excess of bad bacteria. Interesting that happens the one month where I wasn’t drinking. Certain proofs of alcohol naturally kill bacteria, hence alcohol-based hand sanitizers. I take that regulatory agent away and the bacteria was free to grow out of control. In summation, booze is the key to a healthy gut.
Only problem now is that my digestive system seems to be working too well. Every trip to the bathroom now is like that one scene in the original Jurassic Park. You’re welcome for not posting the scene.
Yesterday I was eating a roast beef sandwich because I’ve learned nothing from my illness and a small piece of beef got wedged between my teeth. I tried to use one of those tiny end piece fries that gets super crispy and sharp like a toothpick to wedge it out. Didn’t work.
I should probably start going to the gym again huh? Have a good weekend! I’ll be trying to figure out why I voluntarily live in Massachusetts.
