Despite it being a Saturday, I’m currently sitting at my desk and nodding off like I have fentanyl flowing through my veins. My boss called and asked me to come into work today, and being the idiot that I am, I actually answered his call in a hungover stupor. I didn’t have his number saved and he called 3 times in a row, so I figured it had to be something important. I admire his persistence, but lesson learned that I should let that shit ring until the cows come home next time. On top of that, it isn’t even busy, so it was completely unnecessary for me to come in today. Besides one conference call this morning, which literally could have been completed by the weekend janitor, it has been slower than a sumo wrestler running the marathon all day at work. It’s just me and 4 coworkers sitting around in silence like we’re The Breakfast Club, and the worst part is Bender isn’t even here to get us all stoned. But I guess I should stop bitching, because I’ll gladly get paid time and a half to watch dunk montages on my phone in between solitaire games. But real talk, being bored at work is way worse than actually working hard, which is why I’m currently sitting at my desk pondering this completely legitimate comparison

But that isn’t why I’m writing this blog. I’m writing this blog due to something that happened earlier this week: Ash Wednesday. I know it already happened, but similar to the bowel movements of a constipated individual, I’ve been backed up lately so I’m a few days behind. Now admittedly I didn’t know it was Ash Wednesday, but once I saw people walking around with black smudges on their foreheads, I was able to use my impressive brain power to put 2 and 2 together. Upon seeing this, I made my way to the ash trays at the front of my building. Once I got there, I smeared cigarette ash across my forehead because I didn’t want to feel left out. I returned to my desk bearing the remnants of marb reds on my forehead, and I got asked something that caught me completely off guard by a coworker of mine: “So, what are you giving up for Lent?”. Huh? Oh right, the ashes and the religion thing. I’m usually pretty good on my feet, so jokingly I said “Sex”. It was a pretty terrible joke if we’re being honest, but in the office comedy world, I had just hit a walk off grand slam in game 7 of the World Series with that answer. My coworker started laughing like a hyena high on laughing gas over the very mediocre joke I just made, and it got to the point where I actually started to feel a little uncomfortable. But then it hit me: Is he laughing that hard because he’s never heard a joke before, or is he laughing because he knows I already don’t have sex, so I’d basically be carrying on as normal. As much as I would love to believe his eruption of chuckles came from my humor filled and charismatic response to his question, there is the distinct possibility he was laughing at me and not with me, mainly because the latter part of what I said a few sentences ago is true.

I know you didn’t wake up today thinking you’d be reading about my sex life, but too fucking bad. I’m in a bit of a dry spell at the moment, and it’s safe to say my dick is about ready to go on strike. But I was always taught to play the cards you’re dealt, so taking my recent lack of penetration into consideration, I have decided to (albeit somewhat involuntarily) give up sexual intercourse for the duration of Lent. It takes a very strong person to go months without sex, and that is a feat I have already accomplished numerous times throughout my life, so 40 days will seem like a walk in the park. Plus, as an added incentive, I’ve noticed a correlation between not trying to get laid and actually getting laid. I know that sounds like a contradiction, but let me explain. In college, it was always the nights where I wasn’t planning on going out at all when I would end up getting wasted, meeting a willing chick, and going p in v. This forced Lent abstinence is like that on steroids. So if the opportunity presents itself, you bet your ass I’m taking it. Sorry Jesus, but a man’s gonna do what a man’s gonna do. So happy Lent everybody (Is that a thing people say?). I don’t know man, but 6 o’clock can’t get here soon enough. Bruins at 7, Celts at 8:30, and me passed out in a parking lot covered in my own puke at 2 AM. That’s the plan, and I’m sticking to it.