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How Mispronunciations, Difficult Conversations, And A Shit Load Of Gin Deterred Me From Success This Week

I care a lot about what people think about me. Whether it’s my coworkers, the readers on this site, or even my best friends, I’m constantly anxious about the way my actions are going to be perceived. Will they think I’m trying too hard? Will they think I’m pretentious? Is there a way for me to do what I want to do without it being misinterpreted and making me feel like shit in the long run?

Obviously, this is just another example of me overthinking everything that I do. In fairness, it’s gotten a lot better. I’ve started just owning who I am and doing whatever I want to do, and apologizing for it later. For the most part, it’s been working out. People appreciate the assertiveness and spontaneity. I’m sure my boyish charm doesn’t hurt either.

But this week, I found out that there are some things that you really can’t get away with, and it’s coming to bite me in the ass. For example:

I made a small but significant mispronunciation.

Chicago was beautiful last Saturday. The highs were in the upper 60s with hardly a cloud in the sky. Naturally, the only thing that we had on our mind was drinking while being outside in any capacity. I fired off a few feeler texts only to remember that all my dude friends live in the suburbs and all my lady friends were out of town. Luckily, my friend Angela was around, and so we both walked about a mile from opposite directions to meet up at Derby in Lincoln Park.

My personal go-to warm weather drink is the classic Gin and Tonic, and I can’t tell you how excited I was to get back into that. I downed four in the first two hours and kept going throughout the night. After catching up with Angela, I got invited to a friend of a friend’s going away party. Gin Drunk Charlie accepted, and realized upon walking in the bar that he was the only man with the group.

We ordered a few rounds, and when I finally needed a refill, I stood up, and dizzily looked around the table at everyone else’s glasses to see who else needed a round.

“What, uh, what are you looking at, Charlie?” asked the friend of a friend.

Being the only man in this situation, I thought it would be really funny to say something sassy. The only thing is that Gin Drunk Charlie doesn’t know how sassy works. So what I tried to say was, “Just tryna git you betchez some more dranks!” But what I actually said was this:

“Just trying to decide whether or not I should get you bitches some more drinks…” which is way more aggressive and not what I was trying to say at all. I was met with several angry faces and ultimately decided to just go home.

I contributed a significant chunk of change to the alcohol industry.

Not to dwell on it, but between Friday and Saturday night, I probably had 15-20 gin drinks, plus a bottle of red wine with dinner Friday night. Normally I’ll just drink whatever’s in the well because I hate myself, but last weekend felt different. Maybe it was because I was trying to impress people, maybe it was because the tease of warm weather brought it out in me, but I was calling out the kinds of gin I wanted with the confidence of an oil tycoon.

Sunday morning was the first morning in the longest time that I’ve woken up legitimately afraid to check my bank account, and let’s just say that I had every right to feel that way. Luckily, I’ll be out in the suburbs this weekend trying to save some money.

I started working out before going to work.

Traditionally, I’ve been a post-work workout guy. I hate getting up early in the morning, the people at the gym that early typically take themselves seriously, and I just don’t fit in. However, as of late, I’ve been seeing myself partake in more and more post-work shenanigans, and I’m not ready to give that up yet.

I think I saw a headline at some point that alluded to working out giving you more energy, which would be dope. That’s what I need the most. When does it kick in? Because right now, I’m calling bullshit. Getting up early to hit the gym is making me want to pass the fuck out at 2:30 p.m., which seems a little counterintuitive to me.

And finally…

I was outed as a PGP contributor at my office.

I don’t know how it happened. Maybe I flew too close to the sun. Maybe I’m too vain in attaching my Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat handles to my account. Frankly, it doesn’t matter how it happened. The fact is it did, and people have read through everything I’ve written here and are looking at me differently. I’ve had several difficult conversations this week with my colleagues about it, and if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that I took a lot my relationships with coworkers for granted. That, and that people really don’t like my takes on U2.

So what does this mean for me? No more office-based humor, that’s for sure. It also knocked my ego down a few pegs, which is necessary every once in a while.

Time to start over and build it back up.

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Charlie

At any given moment I'm either tired, drunk, or stressed out. Hobbies include complaining, gentrifying things, and complaining about things getting gentrified. Get at me at charliepgp@gmail.com or whatever.

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