It started yesterday. While waiting in line for brunch, I said, “I mean, why would anyone even run the marathon? It totally messes up your body.” Because hours of VH1 and leftover Easter candy don’t, right?
I always have today off. It’s Patriots Day, which is a Massachusetts-specific holdiday, and apparently commemorates the Revolutionary War and NOT our football team, so put that in your pipe and smoke it. The Boston marathon takes place today and the Sox are always playing a home afternoon game, so whatever I end up doing, my day inevitably involves drinking during daylight on a Monday.
I find that any bad feelings that I may have about that are easily silenced by a periodic “WHAT? I’m on VACATION. I pay TAXES.” But there’s always a tiny voice in the back of my head reminding me that I live right near Heartbreak Hill and a few short miles from Fenway and yet my most strenuous mental functions today are things like, “Should I put on flip-flops and swing by the Container Store? Meh. How’re the Sox doing? Damn, they look so good in HD. It’s like I’m outside right now, but I don’t need shoes! Technology is awesome.”
As I’m writing this, there’s a Russian redhead in the women’s lead of the marathon, but there’s an Ethiopian lodged in her ass. Seriously, Kournikova, give it up. There are a few things that all Bostonians know: Everyone else is a bad driver, you only boo Johnny Damon, and Africans always win the marathon. And don’t listen to the commentators tell you it’s because they train really hard. It’s because they spend all day running from cheetahs. Bostonians spend all day ordering coffee. You do the math.
To be fair, there are plenty of locals who run the marathon. They are good, decent people who value physical fitness. And have you ever noticed that they’re totally fucking annoying? There’s one in every office, and they’re always eating something green for lunch and talking about shit like “endurance” and “discipline” and “being their personal best.” They want you to come to some party that will celebrate them with copious amount of water and crudites. Whatever, Zeus. My body fat keeps me warm in the winter.
Of course, a caveat exists for the people who cross the finish line in wheelchairs or push loved ones in wheelchairs. All of a sudden there’s nothing to do but hang your head, acknowledge that you have done nothing but squander your time here on God’s green earth, and order another draft. And wings, maybe. The wings here are wicked good.
Shut up. The “wicked” only comes out when I’m drunk.
the cupcake tent 
“It’s because they spend all day running from cheetahs. Bostonians spend all day ordering coffee. You do the math.” LOL
Massachusetts has its own holiday?!? I have lived in 5 different states, and never have we had our own state holiday. That’s impressive.
I’m dying over the cheetahs comment.
Heh heh – I say “y’all” a lot more when I’m drunk.
I too am in awe over the state-specific holiday. Why doesn’t Minnesota have one of those??
“there’s an Ethiopian lodged in her ass” That’s why you’re you, Red, and why we love you.
Sigh. I heart you, Red. I would also like to say: God Bless America, where we do not have to spend all our time running away from cheetahs and can instead lie on our asses and watch quality television like Rock of Love 2 (my personal favorite).
Haha, running from cheetahs. That was hilarious!