Phone it in Friday
Have about a month long backlog to get through here. Let’s dive right in:
Sad life snippets
Was walking around Boston the other day and was starting to get sweaty because my heart rate gets up to like 120 BPM on brisk walks somehow. Anyways, went to pop the hoodie off and realized I wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath. Was just going commando in a sweatshirt. Not the first time this has happened.
Was in a situation where I was trying to make awkward small talk with a dude I don’t really know at a bar and was trying to find common ground. Bear in mind I was slightly drunk during this, that’s important context. He mentioned something about gambling so naturally I jumped at the chance to discuss. The gentleman mentioned that he knows an offshore book taking action on obscure sports. I then joked that if they ever take action on the Little League World Series, I’ll make a killing. Told him I’d pay some Venezuelan kid to take a dive. He immediately stopped smiling. Ok, misfired on that joke, took it a bit too far. Remember, I was kind of drunk. Just then, a bagpipe guy randomly started playing in the bar. I pivoted the conversation to that, saying “hey a bagpipe guy, you don’t see them too often. Really just on St. Paddy’s Day and at military funerals.” Again, smile faded. Whatever bro, that was solid material.
Was down in Florida about a month back at this scumbag Irish bar. My cousin got ID’d both at the door and at the bar, though I didn’t get carded either time. I jokingly asked the bartender how old he thought I was. He said 47. He tried to claim later that he was joking, but he wasn’t. Dude thought I was 47.
Was walking around in the North End and walked right by Matt Poitras, a young player on the Bruins, heading to the stadium in a suit. Once it clicked who it was, I turned around and yelled “Give ‘em hell Potsy.” This both made no sense because he’s been on injured reserve all year and was entirely ignored by Poitras. Shooters shoot.
Had a day where I was locked in on work all morning and kind of just forgot to eat. Around 1PM I realize how hungry I am and head to a dank burrito spot in FiDi. I swear to God I carried that thing home like I was holding a brick of cocaine. I looked like Marshawn Lynch touting the rock on a Beast Mode run. I wanted that thing and no one was taking it.
I’m not even concerned that Instagram is clearly spying on us, I’m more just mad at the targeted ads I’m getting. Every other ad is for semaglutide, which for those skinny bitches among you, is essentially Ozempic. How about recommending a treadmill or some sort of exercise program? If you’re going to call me fat at least don’t call me lazy too.
I really enjoy waking up early and getting a big jump start on my day. The problem is I don’t fall asleep until 1-2AM, which makes waking up early a challenge. The other day I had a dream that I was awake and beginning my morning routine as normal. It’s what’s referred to as a false awakening. Only problem is in my dream, I woke up then just immediately procrastinated work with Twitter, Netflix, etc. Can’t even be productive in my subconscious.
Was walking around the North End and could have sworn that an old man I walked past was Red Sox legend Johnny Pesky. I got all excited and was about to text my friends when I realized that Johnny Pesky has been famously dead for 12 years.
Was getting sized for a suit for a wedding and told the lady I need a nice collared shirt to go with it. She didn’t ask my size, she just nodded and came back with a 2XL. Really annoyed me that she was dead on.
This is from two months back but it’s worth mentioning: I ordered late night DoorDash McDonalds on a Monday, stone sober. That in itself is depressing and a habit which I’ve since rectified. DoorDash orders in general cause a type of existential panic about the direction of one’s life, but this one was an especially weak moment for me. So I’m in a vulnerable state waiting for this order. Then I see who’s delivering it…
Motherfucking Santa Clause. What a visceral moment of self-loathing that was. If that’s not the perfect encapsulation of lost youth I don’t know what is. A once bright-eyed child who eagerly awaited Santa’s bounty of brightly wrapped toys and clothes and books each year like a literal kid on Christmas is now fighting off sleep while waiting to house a lukewarm quarter pounder at his desk on a work night. Get your fucking life together George.
Have a nice weekend, don’t DoorDash anything.
