“100 Days”: Day One (It’s not a fucking diary, alright?)

I’ve seen a bunch of people doing that “100 Days of Happiness” on Instagram over the past few months. I hate it.

I really fucking hate it.

There has to be some value in being able to find at least one thing to be happy about every single day, but it seems too much to me like the sort of thing OBAMA would want you to do.

Sheeple.

A half-man, half-sheep hybrid I am not, so I will now begin a 100 day-long documentary of what I think about and experience on a daily basis, regardless of how un-happy or shitty it is.

It’s not a fucking diary.

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Fuck.

Let’s begin.

DAY ONE

At work, they set up a smoothie bar for breakfast. I took a bowl, put a bunch of shit in it, handed it to a guy in an apron, and watched as he blended that shit up with some almond milk.

(How in the fuck does one milk an almond?)

I “forgot” I’m allergic to most fruit, so my throat was all scratchy for a couple of hours. Should have disregarded the smoothie bar and ordered a bacon egg and cheese.

Do Syrians eat bacon?

Some friends and I took an Uber to the bar last Saturday, and our driver had a pretty thick accent, and drove a Honda Pilot, so I asked the only natural question one asks in moments like these:

“So, where are you from?”

“Syria!”

Utter. Silence.

Seriously, you could have heard a pin from a grenade drop in there.

Too soon?

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One thought on ““100 Days”: Day One (It’s not a fucking diary, alright?)

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