My goodness, is it time for another one of these things already? It felt like just yesterday I was crafting a beautiful newsletter for you people to read while you poop. Sand through the hourglass.

I’ve been underwater at work lately, so I haven’t had much time for spicy snacks or Instagram posts. I hope you understand.

I DID go to the National Zoo on Sunday with Melinda and Robert, and boy, did we have fun. Sure, I enjoyed looking at sleeping tigers and lazy bobcats, but what I enjoyed observing the most were the people. Whenever I’m feeling like I’m not enough or doing a good job at the game of life, I find going to a public place really boosts my morale. I listened to a 300 lb woman snarl at a lazy panda and say “These damn animals at this zoo is bullshit. They don’t turn their heads or nothin’.” And you know what? I feel like maybe I’m not doing so bad.

Here’s what’s happening:

From The Blog

I mentioned last issue that the family and I took a vacation to Myrtle Beach for my daughter’s dance competition. Despite having literally written the book on how disappointing vacations are when you are an adult, I found myself moping around a lot and feeling unfulfilled. There was one bright spot, however: the night we went to dinner at The Boathouse, a locals-only establishment where it’s a foregone conclusion you’re going to pick up a DUI on the way home.

Read F— Boy Patrol HERE  

Headshot Headache

I recently got a promotion at work, and my awesome company put out a social media post to mark the occasion. It feels good to be recognized publicly for the work you do, but there was one thing about the post that made me cringe.

Me.

I hate taking posed photos. No matter what, I never feel like I look normal. I think it’s because I’ve spent so many years ironically ruining pictures that I’ve actually forgotten how to take a good one.

And like, okay, the one my company posted isn’t terrible. But take a look at the outtakes of that photoshoot that are still haunting my phone’s photo roll:

See what I mean? What the fuck is wrong with me?

I really envy those people I see posting selfies all day. Not only do they seem so carefree and natural, but they have the balls to pull out their phone in public and take a picture of themselves. Like, I watch people take selfies at the bar all the time, and I’m embarrassed FOR THEM. Who is this picture for? Did you really need to memorialize this pilsener you drank at 4 pm on a Thursday? Do you go home and stare at yourself in the mirror after that?

I guess what I’m saying is, I understand why professional photographers are so expensive. It’s hard to make normal people look like they aren’t about to take a giant shit.

Just me?

Social Media Ad of the Week

This week, the Instagram algorithm decided I have dirty ears.

I’m not sure how it came to this conclusion. I feel like my ears are of average cleanliness. I use Q-Tips when I get out of the shower, and 99 percent of the time, they come back clean as a whistle. So I was a bit put off by the WUSH, which seems to be a device that douches your ear canal.

The fine people at Black Wolf Nation must have spent a lot on this ad campaign, because I had to click through FOUR beautiful young people telling me how AWESOME it feels to have clean ears. Having done a bit of studying about advertising, I’m very aware that the subtext of these ads is that if I buy this product, I’ll get clean ears, and THEN I’ll get to have sex with these hot young people.

Is it really that easy? Is that all I’ve been missing all along? Sam’s a nice guy and all, but did you see his EARS? It looks like Madam Tussauds in there!

What’s the big deal with having squeaky clean ears anyway? Are you guys having dinner parties in there? With my apologies to WUSHers, I feel like I’ve made a pretty good life for myself using the trusty ol’ Q-Tips, even if my ears aren’t clean enough to eat from.

My Favorite Things

Watch: I know I’m WAY late to the game on this one, but while I was waiting around for my daughter to get done with her dance competition, I watched the first season of Squid Game on Netflix. It was one of those shows I just kind of missed when it came out. If I’m being honest, shows with subtitles have a time and place for me because it requires more work and attention. Sometimes, I just want something in the background that I can follow while doing something else. If I wanted to read, I’d pick up a fucking book. The plot is definitely chilling and kept me clicking to the next episode, which is a good thing, because a LOT of the dialogue is straight dogshit. Like, first year of film school wooden. I found myself thinking it’s a good thing you’re pretty, cause you ain’t got much brains.

Listen: I’ve been listening to a lot of self-help gurus lately—mostly for work, but also to teach myself how to not feel like a bag of turds when I wake up every morning. In my quest for nirvana, I came across the REAL AF podcast, hosted by Andy Frisella. Truthfully, I don’t know much about the dude and I’m too lazy to look him up, but I’ve gleaned that he made a shitload of a money in the business world selling…something, and now he does a podcast about how to do the same. Andy’s primary message seems to be “don’t be a pussy,” which in a way is a refreshing change from a lot of the self-care rhetoric that’s gushing from every pore of the internet. In an episode I listened to earlier this week, Andy had this to say: “Do hard shit, and do it when you don’t feel like fuckin’ doing it. Stop making fucking excuses. It’s weakness. Stop being fucking weak.” My man is definitely not for everyone, but there’s something about the show that keeps me listening. Maybe it’s that I’m worried if I stop, he’ll come to my house and take my lunch money.

From The Headlines

Poor kid. Just trying to explore his body when a burglar invaded his home. Hey, at least he’s not ashamed of it. Maybe those public schools are doing some good after all.

Broad Street Briefs

It’s All Star Week in baseball world, and I was happy to see the Fightins represented by both Bryce Harper and Kyle Schwarber this year. Despite a unanimous DH nomination, Bryce couldn’t play because he’s got a fucking pin in his wrist, which was disappointing. But I was excited that Schwarber, who’s leading the NL in home runs right now, decided to compete in the Home Run Derby. Spoiler alert: he lost to Albert Pujols, who’s an at-bat away from social security. It felt a little fishy that Pujols got the go-ahead, and the shit-talking Phillies fans agreed:

Can we have something nice in this city, just once? We haven’t thrown snowballs at Santa in FIFTY FUCKING YEARS. Can you people PLEASE let that shit go?

Obligatory Kid Pic

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