(Ed. note: Primadonna here wanted me to mention that it's my fault this got posted late. My pay has been docked appropriately.)
This weekend was essentially a holiday, which would (in my mind) justify all the drinking and poor food decisions made this weekend. I think I joined a band called Morrissey 2, which seemed like a great idea at the time, but now I can only think about how expensive pomade probably is. Also, I’m pretty sure I weighed 10lbs more on Monday than I did Friday, which isn’t really awesome, but understandable. I expect most of it to burn off by today, as my body re-adjusts to real food, and liquid that isn’t beer.
Despite all the awesomeness of Debacle Fest, and seeing a bunch of friends, I had to come to terms with a hard truth this weekend. I’m just not a happy person these days. It’s really fucking aggravating. I don’t mean depression, cause that comes and goes, no big deal. I don’t mean I’m sad about a girl or something, cause that comes and goes, no big deal. No, I just feel defeated.
Damn, that’s pathetic, let me try again: Sagat just K.O.’d me in the 3rd round, and I’m watching that timer tick down to “00” but I can’t remember which pocket I put my last quarter in. Shit, that wasn’t much better.
This entire sad boy routine is bunk anyway. I just need to find the self-defeat valve in my head and turn it off. Almost a year ago I turned my life around completely. I was probably headed to an early grave or a rascal.
In my own way, I’m pulling a Richard Simmons. Not only that, but I’m sharing it with the Internet, even ridiculously uncomfortable topics like the above. I get emails from hardware stores that want to give me a wheelbarrow to carry my huge balls around in as an endorsement. So why am I being such a sad bitch about it?