Solo To The Senior Prom

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I’m drinking the last beer left in my apartment. I’ve been drinking a beer a night from this six pack for the last week like a 50 year old Baseball fan looking to numb the pain of a Blue Jays August. I don’t know why the six pack was in my fridge. I don’t drink Keith’s at all. I’m pretty sure it was a gift or a “here you drink this because I’m not going to.” I’ll pretty much take any gift because I find it insulting when I ship someone a gift and they’re all “no I can’t” even when the gift is gawdlike. Pretty sure I’m going to swear off Beer in my fridge for the foreseeable future (LOL screw you spell check, I do think it’s forseeable). It’s one of those “empty calorie” things and considering how rarely I have guests over, it also means I drink solo more often than I should. Yikes that sounds so much worse than I intended. DENIAL! I don’t even know where I’m going with this. I’m just writing, drinking the beer, and trying to refine Instagram SEO on my 2nd monitor..

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I’m writing this post because Casey was all “oh shit a new post” (he didn’t swear) when he saw me throw up a fancy chicken wing on my IG. Then my buddy Aaron is all “I want to start a blog” and gives me props for this thing. I’m pretty proud of this blog, at least when I’m on my game and push some quality stuff that makes people stop me at work and go “I hate you. Do you know how hungry I get when I see your photos?” Your hunger pain is my joy. I’m not even kidding when I say that. I hate all of my photos because I’m a total hack but then people flip their lids with hungry joy and my photo ego crawls out from the gutter for a little while. I’ve spent the last 2 weeks mulling over getting an iPhone 6 just so I can take better quality food photos. I’ve tried to lie to myself saying I “need” it for this or that but truth be told my 5S runs pretty well (when the battery isn’t trying to die in 45 minutes). Have you ever tried to argue logically in favour of buying a new Smartphone? You sound like the biggest tool. “Oh I need a better camera” “So buy a better CAMERA for $100! Even the worst P&S is better than most $1000 phone cameras.”

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This is legit one of the most hilariously awful photos I’ve ever been a part of. 6 grown ass men posing on the stairs like we’re going solo to the Senior Prom. I thought we were going to strike it from the record but then Jorge dropped it on FB and I figured “whaaaaaatever, laugh at yourself.” On the real though, this was a damn fun night. We ate BBQ at a place that was seemingly located in nowheresville Toronto no matter where you were coming from. We took a week off our lives powering through a ton of smoked meat.

I’ve grown obsessed with Snapchat. It’s such a weird sick voyeuristic addiction. I use it entirely to watch people’s “Story.” They post a bunch of random pictures and videos and I I think it’s the greatest thing in the world. I’m still big on watching YouTubers so this was a natural extension. I can watch 5 minute videos every few days or I can watch 20 seconds worth of video every day. At one point I thought I would use Snapchat as a marketing tool for the blog but let’s face it, I’m 34 so forget that. I wonder how many people with my thought process have the “I was born 10 years too early” thought. If I was 24, I’d be neck deep in all of this garbage trying to make a career out of Social Media. I’d also likely be broke and living at home with my mother screaming at me about acting the fool with my phone.

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I don’t hang out on the west end nearly as much as I could or should for that matter. I think if I tracked all the bus hours I spent on Toronto missions over the last 5 years I would throw up in my mouth a little. This group got together at The Works last week. I hadn’t seen Kate in forever. We all have the “it hasn’t been that long has it” moments with friends and that was me with her a couple weeks back. We hit up The Works and eat a lot of delicious bad things. I had basically discarded that franchise after back to back garbage experiences. Kate nudged me to give them another shot. Of course dinner was gawdlike and I’m forced to admit I just ran bad the last couple times. St Kitts, Waterloo, Hamilton, Stoney Creek, Burlington all repped in this photo. It makes me pretty damn happy we could all make it. My lack of double chin makes me happier. Gawdlike angles.

I took up a different position at work. It’s more money (YEAH!), new skill set (YEAH!), and could open doors down the line (YEAH!). It’ll also be dry as all hell (BOOO!) and has me joining the office jockey world 8 – 430 Monday to Friday. I’ve been in the work force in some form now for 20 years. I rarely work days. Even when given the option of working “office hours” I’ve passed time and time again in favour of afternoons. Why? I HATE ALARM CLOCKS! The idea of an outside influence shocking me out of sleep infuriates me. On afternoons I get up when I want, whether it’s on 6 or 10 hours of sleep. You wake when you wake. I can’t emphasize enough how beneficial it is to your demeanour to run on your own clock. It isn’t about the amount of sleep you get. It’s about sleep when you’re ready and wake when you’re ready. I get asked all the time how I’ve never had a drop of coffee before. I inevitably answer “I run on a natural high. I sleep well.”

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I love this photo. Sandy’s all “SMILE DAMN IT” and I do it and hate my life a little bit. Just the worst smile ever. Anyway; Cory used to be like a bajillion pounds and then he got his life together and how he’s the thinnest guy ever. Inspiration like a mofo. We play catch up but it’s also pseudo St. Patrick’s Day at the bar and you can’t hear jack all so when he says “Yeah I’m driving a truck now” I hear it as “I’m flying Oreo Cookies to Mars on the Space Shuttle now” and nod my head in amazement. We all got together for Cel’s birthday. The party was a good time. An Irish guy tried to rush me out of the can because he had to go. His look when I stepped out was awesome.

There’s a story that goes with it but I need to do an Irish accent for it to be funny.

My Irish accent is awful.

This beer is warm. Later.

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