LAKR RETURNS!!!

I’m back in Atlanta. But I’m a much more seasoned and tender lakrfool this go round. I sound like a delicious steak. Just don’t cook me past midrare…that would be criminal 

My first go round in ATL (2002-05) I was in a bitter, doomed marriage. I really had the inspiration daily to transition from a functional alcoholic to a non-functioning drunk. But I wasn’t there just yet. I had to be patient, and gradually increase my intake. (I got there eventually)

Remarkably, our kids from that time (7 & 2 yo) have turned out remarkably as high functioning Millennials. Multiplying two negatives makes a positive. You can’t argue with math. 

So it goes.

So now I’m older numerically, married to a woman who loves me loves me loves me for who I am instead of begrudging me for what I’m not. Things are looking up. But I still suck magnificently if the occasion calls for it. Ask her about it.

Speaking of assholes in Georgia, look at this shit I saw walking home from the Marta station, plastered in the window of one of those hi-rise gentrification monstrosities:

Look at those names…

LOOK AT THOSE FUCKING NAMES!!!!

They sound like the most pretentious neo-yuppie douchebags you could ever be so unfortunate to get stuck behind in line at Starbucks when he makes a pistachio Frappuccino order that goes on for over a minute until you just wish Flanders was dead.

Seriously…you know that one dude pronounces his last name rih-shard and drinks single malt scotch out of a hand chiseled crystal tumbler with one giant ice cube, when he’s not out with Tosh, Biff, and Lunden quaffing overhopped microbrews made with real local spring water, rooting for their favorite Euroleague soccer team loudly. They each have the crest of their team tattooed on the underside of their forearms, because that’s how they roll. Oh they roll HARD, like a golf ball on the unwatered fairway of a 5 par on Thursday afternoon at the  newly opened country club in Alpharetta of which they are all members, where they take viagra and enjoy a warm sauna afterwards, and when they’re sufficiently dry, they sniff coke off of each other’s dicks before racing back to Midtown in their German sportscars. I ran out of ideas of what a group of horribly pretentious doucheclods might do. (Comments please)

I know nothing about these men except for their name, and I think I hate them for it.

Yeah, I reckon I’m still rather bitter, judgemental, and hate myself in an unhealthy manner, but at least I’m directing my anger at those most deserving.

Thanks for the rant.

XOXO-LF

(look forward to the tale of a giant tree crashing into my bedroom…ATL is the gift that keeps on giving!)