Win: I sent my doc a message via his website about my 4 week cold, he called in a prescription for a Z-pak, and I did not have to talk to a human.
Loss: he called it into the pharmacy where I used to live, resulting in a 90+ minute trip home.
I am washing the first dose down with a surprisingly not-terrible Sam Adams Latitude 48 IPA. Bosslike.
I will be at latitude 23 in something like 100 hours, not that I’m counting or anything, but when I get to work tomorrow, I could tell you to the millisecond.
Only one rule for me in Cabo: NO SAMMY FUCKING HAGAR.
Work has been surprisingly good the last few days. Turns out that if you act like you’re in charge long and hard enough, people start to think you are.
I’ve also read that some cultures have almost reverent respect for the mentally ill, so maybe it’s just that.
I’m gonna be very sad to see my right-leaning friends who describe themselves as “small government libertarians” trip all over themselves to support Santorum if/when the time comes.
Can I blame Pinterest for this fad of posting pictures of words on Facebook? I want to blame Pinterest for something. Anything.
I talked to an old friend for the first time in way too long today. His story was gut-wrenchingly sad and he’s not sharing it widely. I’m glad to have been there to listen. I wish I could do something more.
The people who run my daughter’s dance class made an “optional” request for the fathers to dance with the girls at their upcoming recital. Fuck them and fuck that. I would absolutely rather die than dance in public, and there’s no optional about it if she asks. They put me in a terrible, awkward place—between one of my greatest fears and my own child. Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too, motherfuckers.