I know that a.) nobody is reading and b.) even if you are, you don't give a flying fuck, but I am having an existential crisis. I do not know what the hell to do. I am completely lost.
UBALDO DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO PITCH ANYMORE.
What in hell am I supposed to do with him? Sit him for the rest of the year till he remembers what a baseball is for?
And of course if the Red Sox had to win one game this weekend, it would be the one my pitcher pitched. (It's okay, Felix, you struck out 10 guys in 7 innings and had an even 1.00 WHIP. I still love you and will never compare you to James Shields again, I promise.)
Seriously, though, I don't need this agita. Real life is fucking stressful enough right about now without my baby Hispanic power pitchers breaking my poor abused heart. Straighten up, hijos.
In other news, I benched 30 lb dumbbells Friday and today. I am a *beast*. In other, other news, I haven't cut my grass yet this year. And it looks like it. I would like to hire someone to do it, because I have had it just about up to here with yard work and because I think my crappy lawnmower is on its last legs (er, wheels) anyway, but trying to find someone to do it is stressing me out too.
I R done complaining. I may not be done bragging, however. If I think of something else I am a beast at, I'll let you know. It'll cheer me up.
xoxo
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