Call Me

Yo, dudes, I’m up blogging at you early-like. The drain in Tanya’s shower is fucked, so after she showered, getting up an hour before me, there were still a few inches of standing water up in there when I looked, so I skipped the morning shower. I took one yesterday evening after the gym and didn’t have a physically taxing night, so it’s no big deal. Besides, I’m wearing the same shirt I wore yesterday. What can I say? I like being a slob.

I saw a link to the Lame Game on Amy’s Facebook page and checked it out. I’m feeling it. They call out Boston for being the shitty smug city it is, and I always appreciate that. They need to step up their game, though, because it didn’t take me long to work through all their entries.

Since coming back from Pittsburgh the other week, I’ve been hating on the people in this city more than usual. It’s been tough going anywhere or doing anything. Yesterday, since it was in the 60’s, I decided to try to do some shopping on my lunch break. I went to Filene’s Basement, looking for some underwear. I’m kind of particular about it. Filene’s Basement almost always drives me into the red pretty quickly. I thought 2:30 on a week day might not be so bad, although I obviously factored in people Christmas shopping. It wasn’t too crowded. There was the usual mix of brand-hungry foreigners, gross old people, girlfriends buying cheesy shit for their boyfriends, neutered men shopping with their spouses/girlfriends/sisters, and predatory Newbury Street homosexuals. Man, pervy old dudes just camp out in the underwear section. I had to bail.

If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s gratuitous phone usage, which you’ll find plenty of in Boston. I work with someone who takes about 15 personal calls a day. Out trying to shop, I saw several people shopping while talking on the phone. Two days ago, while in a group having some normal conversation someone just had to look up some bullshit on their phone, for no reason. Even eating at Frank’s last night, people across from us had to make a couple phone calls just trying to confirm something, all, “Larry, do you remember the name of that steak place? No, okay I’ll try Carl…” Fuck you. People who talk on their phone at the gym are some of the worst. Some flisp has to be all, “Okay, I’ve got like twenty more minutes on the elliptical, then I’m just going to take a quick shower and put on my American Apparel leggings and Uggs and I’ll meet you at Starbucks.”

Tanya and I want to move. For now, I’m trying to convince her to stay in and watch movies.