Found out a potentially summer-ending broken foot is only a nasty sprain. Got way too excited, and as a result, went a little too hard for a Tuesday. Cold brew and cold water are all I’m messing with today, but I’m feeling good nonetheless. Go get ’em, gang!
Amen. The fact people are able to effectively predict the dang future using math and figures even *remotely* reliably is mind-blowing if you sit back and think about it.
As long as both parties were both willing participants in what went on, isn’t that EXACTLY why this show exists? I mean, if the info we have is all there is to it, and a producer got upset they saw that, that’s like not reading a job posting and getting upset you’re asked to do something on your first day. Very strange. And, of course, Summer is now ruined.
Chugging down some cups before I skate out of here at noon to swing the sticks. Hopefully we can dodge the rain, but if not, covered range it is. If life hands you lemons, put ’em on a tee and take a whack.
Planning on taking a 30-day sauce sabbatical myself. Then again, the end-date coincides perfectly (some may even say intentionally) with a July 4th blowout I’m hosting, so taking a break may actually be the wrong plan of attack here.
From what I read, they’re doing the entirety of the self-titled ’97 album, which is pure hot fire; I jumped on some for about $20. Granted they’re lawn seats (for Chillin’ The Most) at the Detroit stop, but $75 still seems insane. Also, I really need to know how big that pitcher of beer was to result in such an S-rank fuck up.
This post made me feel things. Good, good things. One huge, unintended perk of friends getting married is the “hey, family has a cottage on the water that we have for the weekend – you in?” text. Shit yeah, I am. Can’t beat summertime in the mitten.
Got back into town way too late Tuesday from a long holiday weekend in NYC, and effectively mailed it in yesterday. Today, however… today had better watch its ass. I’m coming fully rested with a belly full of brew and I’m greeting every pending item on my project plan with a kick to the dick. Go get ’em, tigers!
I don’t know what you could do with or to ramen to even come close to it warranting $90, outside of a place that only sells it so people can say they bought it. Give me a goddamn hotdog and a beer (or 6) any day of the week, sheesh.
May or may not have re-injured a thrice-surgically repaired foot last night, but a 4-day wedding weekend in NYC begins tomorrow. Piss-poor timing, but, java, Motrin, and a closer’s mentality will get me through. (Probably.)
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Found out a potentially summer-ending broken foot is only a nasty sprain. Got way too excited, and as a result, went a little too hard for a Tuesday. Cold brew and cold water are all I’m messing with today, but I’m feeling good nonetheless. Go get ’em, gang!
Amen. The fact people are able to effectively predict the dang future using math and figures even *remotely* reliably is mind-blowing if you sit back and think about it.
Yeesh, early returns were not the whole story it sure seems. What an awful mess.
As long as both parties were both willing participants in what went on, isn’t that EXACTLY why this show exists? I mean, if the info we have is all there is to it, and a producer got upset they saw that, that’s like not reading a job posting and getting upset you’re asked to do something on your first day. Very strange. And, of course, Summer is now ruined.
Chugging down some cups before I skate out of here at noon to swing the sticks. Hopefully we can dodge the rain, but if not, covered range it is. If life hands you lemons, put ’em on a tee and take a whack.
Three presentations and one meeting today. Kind Coffee Christ, stay by my side; I need you now more than ever.
High-key pumped for more Kristina.
Get that conference room reservation locked up and keep the head down!
Mom is a bro.
You guys are making too much sense right now; much appreciated. Perhaps I’ll just throttle down a bit, but keep the engine running, so-to-speak.
Planning on taking a 30-day sauce sabbatical myself. Then again, the end-date coincides perfectly (some may even say intentionally) with a July 4th blowout I’m hosting, so taking a break may actually be the wrong plan of attack here.
From what I read, they’re doing the entirety of the self-titled ’97 album, which is pure hot fire; I jumped on some for about $20. Granted they’re lawn seats (for Chillin’ The Most) at the Detroit stop, but $75 still seems insane. Also, I really need to know how big that pitcher of beer was to result in such an S-rank fuck up.
Sacrament and slots. That’s one heck of a combo.
This post made me feel things. Good, good things. One huge, unintended perk of friends getting married is the “hey, family has a cottage on the water that we have for the weekend – you in?” text. Shit yeah, I am. Can’t beat summertime in the mitten.
Got back into town way too late Tuesday from a long holiday weekend in NYC, and effectively mailed it in yesterday. Today, however… today had better watch its ass. I’m coming fully rested with a belly full of brew and I’m greeting every pending item on my project plan with a kick to the dick. Go get ’em, tigers!
I don’t know what you could do with or to ramen to even come close to it warranting $90, outside of a place that only sells it so people can say they bought it. Give me a goddamn hotdog and a beer (or 6) any day of the week, sheesh.
May or may not have re-injured a thrice-surgically repaired foot last night, but a 4-day wedding weekend in NYC begins tomorrow. Piss-poor timing, but, java, Motrin, and a closer’s mentality will get me through. (Probably.)
The *fourteen* SnapStories made my heart skip a beat in sympathy-anxiety as I read it. My God.
Man, did this post ever take a sudden turn for the worse. Scooterrific majesty to jagmos getting topped of by your girl in mere moments. Yikes.
One must first tempt fate, in order to harness its power.