Oh boy. We’re at it again.
Alright, I’ve been putting off saying this because, truth be told, I really didn’t like you guys.
You know what can be incredibly relaxing? Savasana, aka that resting pose at the end of a yoga practice. You know what is never — EVER — relaxing? The Boston accent.
I’m a crude, lewd individual. If left unchecked, I’d curse and make sex jokes in a way that would make a sailor blush (hey baby – are you Morse code?
Because winter is showing no signs of slowing down.
Pink Hatter. It’s a gnarly term in Boston for female sports fans who must obviously be pretending.
“What does it mean?” It means it’s time to slow down.
I’m solitary by nature. I withdraw. I keep whatever it is internalized and I shut out the world. I become convinced I can solve everything on my own. I’m always stubbornly assuming that I’m just one joke or casual shrug away from everything being okay again, even when situations are obviously and blatantly not okay.
I’m going to hate that this is my opening paragraph and I’ll tell you why in a minute. But, for the sake of starting this, let’s just get it over with: another person from my hometown recently died from a drug overdose.
“Hi, it’s nice to meet you. You pluck your eyebrows too much. Can you grow them out?”