I've been writing this bullshit for two-and-a-half-years. Jesus, I could have had a master's degree by now. In those 30 months, I've gone from 5 to about 8 readers. Following how my god damn generation raised all these douchebags, when you hit 8 participants, it's time to present the participation trophies.
I might have to break a couple of semi-famous thumbs.
We often forget the impact we have on others. Here's a little reminder that came from The Boy (now age 29) through Facebook Messenger of what a shitty dad I am.
If you see me being led away in handcuffs anytime soon, it was just life teaching me another little lesson about me. Here's my side of the story.
I've ranted, raved and complained like a 2-year-old with no cookie about the United States Tennis Association. And just when I thought I was out for good, they pulled me back in.
One of the fucked-up things about playing recreational tennis is away matches. You have to drive to some other part of town and play on strange courts. And worse, we can't just walk to the Third World bar to enjoy some popcorn and beer with the resident mice -- we are forced to pick a different bar.
My Fucked-Up Tennis Team is now completely fucked-up in an entirely new way.
Jesus was sitting with him at bar in the Third World Club when the first signs of a metaphorical exoskeleton started to cover the douchebag millennial's body.
Just when I was going to release my perfect whine to earn some free points with the Bear (one of the secrets to a long marriage is the art of sublte manipulation) that got fucked up too.
Fresh on the heels of my Body Shaming by Kate, her two best "friends" found a way to pick on my face.